No fucking kidding. It was a miracle the guy was still alive.
Tank eyed up the clubhouse door, but Bark wasn't done.
"The Galiendo cartel is pulling routes from the Gypsys. All the fuck-ups are making them nervous, plus they've lost some buyers themselves. They're slowly getting squeezed by the Castillos." Again, that name. And the target that Knuckles took out for the Nomads. Tank's skin got tighter. Bark had to smile. "Whatever you guys do, don't get involved with cartels. They're fucking animals."
Tank nodded. "I know."
There was a pause while they eyed each other up. Bark hooked his thumbs in his belt loops and gave a dry laugh. "So here I am. Telling you your club doesn't need me anymore. And I've got Gypsy ink on my back. Truth is I need to disappear."
Tank knew he wasn't asking to be killed—very few would ask for that. But he was asking for help making a fake death happen.
"So you want it to look like you died. And you want our help because you gave us this warning." To Tank it seemed like his thoughts took more than five times the norm to get out, but if Bark felt the same, it didn't show at all.
"It's what I got."
Tank was acting as the head of the table here. The guys wouldn't be back tonight. Spaz had called to confirm that it was raining cats and dogs about six miles out of Pasadena. They were lucky to get to a motel whole. Even Tiny's truck trailer was hydroplaning on the highway. Now the clubhouse was about to be attacked.
And a man who could handle a gun was here asking for their help. The same man who'd done as much as he could for Gertie when she was in the worst possible kind of torment and danger. Tank tried to think like Buck, and Jayce, all at the same time. So he put himself in a similar position, trying to imagine that Bark was the man who had tried to spare Rose any pain or terror or humiliation, and the decision was really fucking easy.
"Okay. How much time we got?"
-oOo-
Tank was glad the dance studio was still in Archie Turnbull's ex-wife's name. The three women were stowed away on the barely-finished second floor with three steel doors between them and the street. Rusty was staying there with two shotguns just in case. And to his surprise, Rose had her Glock and Gertie was packing a Colt Pony as well. Jolene was carrying her own Colt, but that wasn't news. She'd been an old lady for longer than anyone else. Mickey had made damn sure she knew how to defend herself.
Tank didn't let himself fret about his woman taking care of herself. She'd proven she could, and he let that keep her at the back of his mind so he could focus.
They didn't have numbers in this fight. There could be ten to twelve Gypsys headed their way and even with Bark making up for Rusty staying at the dance studio, that left them horribly outmanned. They'd have to be smart and use the only advantage they had: surprise.
Tank was assuming the Gypsys didn't think Bark was coming to warn them. He'd been given a beat down before they took his patch, and he'd made sure to look like he was running scared. He’d left behind personal items (all of them fake) and even cash just to make the panic look real.
Tank debated letting the guys on the road know what was happening. If the weather was that bad and he freaked them out, they'd all be tearing off into danger not in the best state of mind for riding. But if they made it through this without him letting them now, they'd kick his ass.
One was definitely better than the other, so he made a very different phone call, one he wasn't sure he should be making, but he figured friends were friends no matter what. And then he called Guido. The Nomads were just south of San Diego, so they could be in Markham in three-quarters of an hour. Tank asked them to head to Hazeldale instead, and Guido promised they would.
Tank knew the Gypsys’ president, Thor, wouldn't be on this raid. And if things went as bad as he was expecting in Markham, he wanted the head of this serpent at least tied up if not cut off. That would mean Buck and Jayce not getting their pound of flesh, but these assholes were coming to Markham to kill. Again. The Red Rebels had been polite for way too fucking long.
He set Tims up on the roof of the motel. The guy had some crazy marksman skills, something to do with hunting with his grandfather in the Appalachians when he was younger. Either way, a sniper was a tool that he wanted used properly.
It was a little known fact that the platforms under motel beds were hollow. Under Knuckles’ box spring he grabbed a few supplies, confident the guy wouldn't mind. Knuckles always managed to get the really good party favors, and his treasure chest was half-stocked with some explosives that civilians could only dream of getting their hands on.
The diner was eventually convinced to close early. Tank felt bad for that, since the folks running it just wanted to make a living, but he promised the club would make it up to them. Getting civilians shot was not something he wanted to risk. So citing a power outage, they put up a sign apologizing for the inconvenience of closing early. The motel was empty by some miracle, so they sent their staff home without question.
Bark had his two sidearms, and he took the offered shotgun with a wide smile. Richey was armed with an AK-47; one of the really big toys the club kept hidden for special occasions like this one. He had two Glocks holstered to him as well, his kutte worn over a T-shirt hiding his Kevlar.
Tank was vested too, his flannel buttoned up uncomfortably high to hide the protection. His kutte was tight with the extra thick layer but his adrenaline had him beyond caring about it. His blood was thrumming through his ears; his breathing had reached an unnervingly even pace.
This was likely his body's fight reaction. He knew it well, and it got him through shit before.
The night was cooling, and the breeze was light. When the sun's last rays finally gave up their last gasp, the temperature had dropped to the mid-thirties, unbearably cold for this part of California. And even birds seemed to find it uncomfortable. They were silent. There was nothing to block the sound of at least a half-dozen straight pipes, cutting through the quietness of an evening in Markham when the MC was, for all intents and purposes, out of town.
The gate stood wide open, the exterior lights off. Tank kept his eyes closed as the lights swung into the lot. He didn't want to give up the advantage of the night vision he'd acquired by simply staring into the dark.
The explosion was louder and hotter than he would have liked. Before he could even open his eyes, one of Knuckles' IEDs, hidden in a discarded paper cup on the ground like innocent trash, went off in a whoosh of light and sound that was likely awe-inspiring if he'd been looking.
Tank opened his eyes. He was actually surprised it had worked. He'd intended to hedge the Gypsys close to the litter on the ground, keeping distance and hoping they'd step on one as they were engaged in a fire fight. But one of the idiots had rolled right over it to start the whole thing off.
Tank saw at least three bikes down. The explosion must have thrown the riders far, since he couldn't locate any bodies close by. But by then he'd brought up his own AK-47 as well.
Targets were harder to pick with the fire and smoke, but he knew where Tims, Bark, and Richey were, so any moving objects not in those locations were treated to a quick burst from his assault rifle.
It was an ambush, absolutely. There was no guilt over it not being a fair fight, since the Red Rebels had been ambushed by these assholes before. That was what had killed Skip, and there was a sweet justice to doing it now.
When the gunfire appeared to be dying out, Tank lowered the AK and took a deep breath. The absence of the loud popping meant he could hear the sirens approaching. Yeah, he'd warned Downey it was coming but he'd asked her to wait before calling in the cavalry.
Tank had known they'd take the Gypsys out. There had been no doubt that with the element of surprise it would be as easy as picking off fish in a barrel, but until he stood and the motion didn't draw gunfire he didn't breathe.
Ten minutes, tops. That was what it had taken. His hearing was thick and fuzzy from the firefight, everything sounded really far away. He sca
nned the lot, seeing Richey stand up from his spot behind an overturned oil drum garbage can. He raised his AK over his head to show he was whole.
Up on the motel roof Tims gave a whoop of accord that made Tank grin. And once he saw Bark step out from behind the steel support from the hotel staircase Tank took a moment to think to himself Holy shit.
Four of them. And from what he could see, there were eight dead Gypsys on the concrete.
He knew they were lucky the Gypsys were so headstrong and cocky. A smarter club would have had a plan; they would have tried to surprise the Rebels as well. And if it hadn't been for Bark maybe it would have been a surprise, but eight Harley Davidsons were a stupid way to sneak up on someone.
Flashing lights were bouncing around in the smoke, and Tank turned his attention to the body walking his way. "Hands in the air! On your knees!"
Without hesitation he did as instructed, the AK clattering to the concrete as his knees met the surface as well. His fingers were laced behind his head as he was cuffed, and maybe it was just adrenaline, but he was laughing like a maniac as they forced him into the cruiser.
Chapter Forty-Five
Seeing Sheriff Downey come through the doors of the concrete room over the dance studio had been a shock to the system she didn't think she'd get over.
Rose was sure the woman was there just to tell her Tank was dead. Being bundled up and herded off to the studio again was not the problem. Sitting there alone just waiting to hear what was going on made her start panicking.
She was quiet about it. She didn't want it to catch on to everyone else, but Jolene had held her hand, running her thumb back and forth over Rose's knuckles. It had been soothing.
The knock on the door made Rusty spring to his feet. His shotgun was in hand as he asked "Who's there?" Rose ignored how his voice cracked.
"Sheriff Downey. Let me in, Rusty, it's okay. It's over. Tank sent me."
That was when the relief began. When they'd seen the Sheriff and she'd explained about the "incident" at the clubhouse Rose wanted to weep. Tank was fine. Arrested again, but he was with Tims and Richey, so that was good.
Rusty came with them to Buck and Gertie's house. They had a spare room and a sofa, and Rusty promised to keep watch until someone called to let them know what was going on.
Rose didn't expect to sleep, but she did. The fear and uncertainly of the past six hours were exhausting, as it turned out. Not that she slept in. She was woken to Buck arriving, him basically attacking Gertie in the kitchen with hugs and kisses and "I love yous" that inspired Jolene, Rose and Rusty to leave them.
At the clubhouse, Jolene and Mickey likewise greeted each other, and Rose had to smile. Jesus, she wanted to see Tank. But no one knew when that was going to happen.
The story that Downey told them sounded insane, but there were dark stains and scorch marks on the clubhouse concrete, the site marked off with police tape. The walls of the clubhouse were pitted, and she knew that had to be from gunfire. Not seeing it happen gave the scene a surreal effect.
They were okay to go into the clubhouse and the dorms. The PD only seemed interested in the courtyard, but no one felt like getting in their way. Rose went through her things and packed a bag, then she went with Jolene and Mickey to their place. They had a spare room in the basement they offered to her while Tank was inside.
Two days. Two days for the legal smoke to clear. Citizens close to the clubhouse reported hearing the motorcycles outside, noticed a contingent of Mad Gypsys ride by. The Rebels had clearly been attacked on their premises.
Such a joke that one of them had dropped a grenade right as they’d pulled into the lot. But at least it had alerted the Rebels that something was amiss.
No one mentioned the fact that the diner and motel had been closed early that day. No, the club had just defended themselves and no civilians had been hurt.
Rose had no idea how the hell the Red Rebels in jail could possibly be released. There were unregistered weapons all over the ground, and they'd all been wearing bulletproof vests. Yet when the call came that they could go free she only felt further relief.
All available club members were waiting for them outside the police station. Rose had driven Tank's truck over, and as she climbed out of the driver's side the glass doors of the police station swung open, glinting sunshine. And then there he was.
She didn't wait. She ran for him and pounced, wrapping arms and legs around him. She was crying, but she didn't bother trying to stop.
"English," he greeted her, wide hands on her back, running up and down affectionately. "Jesus, I missed you."
"I love you," she whimpered.
"I love you, too."
He held her aloft for a while, and when she'd stopped crying he set her down on her sandals. "You're okay? You weren't hurt?"
His chuckle brought more relief than necessary. "Not so much as a scratch, honey."
She frowned up at him, winding her arms around his neck again. "You're talking better. How come?"
He frowned, like he hadn’t realized it until right then. "I don't know." Now he sounded the same, and she felt bad for pointing it out. She'd jinxed it.
"Doesn't matter," she muttered, pressing her lips to his, hard, and kissing him with all she had.
-oOo-
At some point that afternoon, she let him up for air, giving him a chance to tell her what he wanted her to know about what happened. It made little sense to her, but it meant he was out and not being charged with anything.
In short, they’d insisted they were caught unaware. When the grenade went off it had blown up three of the Gypsys, and their weapons were the ones Tank and the others had defended themselves with. Official documents left out details like Kevlar and the fact that Tims had been on the roof. There was little local love for the Gypsys, so no one was hell bent on disproving anything.
The police had moved in swiftly, which boded well for Downey in the upcoming elections. Even if they personally hadn’t arrested a Gypsy or fired a shot, they’d responded when people called them out of concern after seeing the other MC arrive in town.
Locally, people knew that Tank and the guys had done what they could to limit civilian risk, and so far the only rumbling about the MC being bad for Markham was coming from Archie Turnbull. He hadn’t dropped his bid for Sherriff, and he would likely be a pain in the ass for the next while. But he wasn’t a threatening pain the ass, not yet.
Rose held Tank tightly, his head resting on her chest. Her cheek was on the top of his head, starting to get scratchy as the hair was growing back. Then Tank really shocked the hell out of her. "How hard would it be to get your mom here?"
"What?" Her hand stilled on his scalp, and he rose up to one elbow.
"Your mom. If we brought her here, got her a spot at the care home. How difficult would it be?"
Rose's mouth opened because she intended to talk, but nothing came out.
"I think she should be close. And I really want to meet her, but international travel's a bit sticky for me, English."
Rose swallowed and tried again. "I hadn't thought of it. I don't know."
"I don't think we'd need to get her American citizenship. And as long as we're paying the home no one can get all bent out of shape that she's here to take advantage of our health services." He chuckled. "She's probably better off where she is, come to think of it. But I think she should be near to us if we get married."
Rose smiled and held his face in both hands. "You are unbearably sweet."
"No, I'm not."
"Yes, you are."
"It would mean coming clean about how you've been making your way," he pointed out. "You think you're up to that?"
She took a deep breath. "Maybe?"
"We don't need to decide anything right now. Just wanted to offer that. She's the only family you've got, and if we start a family ..." he let that trail off. "As long as you still want that."
"I do," she rushed in, wrapping both arms around his neck. "I want th
at so much, Tank."
"You think she'll like me?"
"She already does, remember?" Rose joked. "You charmed her on the phone."
"It's different in person." He actually looked worried, and she kissed the end of his nose.
“Tank, she'll love you. You make me happy, and she'll see that. The only one who should worry is me. I've lied to her for a long time."
"She's your mother. She'll love you no matter what. The only hard part might be that you didn't tell her what you were doing. She's going to feel bad because it was all for her."
"I know."
"If she doesn't approve of me, I don't know what I'll do."
"She'll love you," Rose insisted. "Please don't worry about that. I know she'll like you."
"Okay," he relented, rolling them so she was settled on his wide chest. "Now let me get some rest before you wear me out again."
Chapter Forty-Six
Heading into the boardroom Tank wasn't sure if he'd be thanked or thumped on. He'd made a lot of calls without letting Jayce and the guys in on his decisions, and while it had been a success, he wasn't sure how much it was appreciated. Buck and Mickey had thanked him for protecting their old ladies, but that was personal gratitude. The club opinion could be very different.
As he took his seat next to his President, he tried to get a temperature by seeking out eye contact, but they were all avoiding him. His stomach got a bit tight, but he sat up straight as Jayce called them to order.
"All right. First, update on the last run," Jayce began, clearing his throat and rubbing his scruffy chin. He wasn't meeting Tank's gaze. His unease deepened. "Everything went perfect. Fifty grand for another load of automatics. Loading went well, Tiny?"
"Perfect," their driver confirmed. "I like the crews they use. They're quiet and fast. Paid to stay quiet, like us."
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