by Em Petrova
Patriot yanked his sleeve up all the way to show it off. “Thought I’d wear my pride on my skin and not only my back.”
Dixon chuckled. “Just don’t ever betray us or we’ll have to cut it out of ya.”
“That day will never come. My loyalty is to my brothers and my club. Speaking of club, what’s happening with the build? Is it still on for Sunday?”
“It is. You’re bringing the nail guns?” Dixon asked.
“Said I would,” Patriot answered.
“Rio, you got the saw covered, right?”
Rio saluted Dixon. “Got ya, Prez.”
“The rest of the supplies are already delivered to the garage. Prospects, you can make a beer run.”
The two men at the end of the table nodded in agreement.
“And I lined up some honeys to bring food,” Diesel added. The man had one of those honeys on his lap right now, her arm wrapped around his neck and her breasts spilling out in his face.
Tank glanced away but had to ask himself why. There were women on offer around him at all times, some freer than others with their bodies. But all he could see when he looked at another woman was Catarina. The other night she’d come to the shop wearing a high-necked top and jeans. Hell, none of her body showed to him, but goddamn if it didn’t make him want her that much more.
He’d damn near slipped up and kissed her twice that night. The first time when she sat on the garbage can, looking up at him with those big green eyes fringed with long lashes and every freckle on her face begging him to trail his lips over them, down her throat and around to her dainty ears.
Fuck. Now he was hard.
The second time he nearly gave in to his urges to taste her sweet lips, she just polished off her burrito from her favorite joint and gave him this smile… He couldn’t shake it from his mind.
Patriot elbowed him. “The fuck’s that dickhead glaring at you for?”
Tank’s muscles locked as he looked up to find Chad’s stare fixed on him again. “Damn if I know, but I’m about to make his eyes cross.” He stood. At his side, Patriot rose too.
Tank moved quickly. He closed his fingers in the front of Chad’s shirt, yanked him to his feet and forced him to meet his stare. “I already asked you once—what the fuck are you lookin’ at, asshole?”
He sneered, and Tank couldn’t hold off another second. All the times this motherfucker made Catarina cry, each time he said something to hurt her and send her running into Tank’s arms for comfort, descended with a vengeance.
Tank cocked his fist. When his knuckles struck flesh and bone, he’d never felt so satisfied in his life.
He released Chad, and the man slumped into his seat.
Behind him, he heard Patriot’s chuckle. The guys had grown silent for a moment, but as soon as Tank moved toward the bar to grab a second drink, talk resumed to building the clubhouse on Sunday as if nothing had happened.
When he sidled up to the bar, Fiona shook her head. “You can’t beat up my patrons, Tank.”
“He fucking had it comin’.”
“For what?”
“For bein’ alive, that’s what. Gimme a Crown, Fiona.”
She leveled a look at him.
“Please,” he added, tossing her a grin to smooth things over.
She rolled her eyes and stepped up to the wall of liquor.
Patriot appeared at Tank’s side. “I know why you punched that asshole,” he said quietly.
Tank swung his head to pierce his brother with a stare. “What do ya want me to say? I lost my shit, and the guy’s had it comin’ for months.”
“What I’m wondering”—Patriot chewed on a toothpick he always had stuck in the corner of his mouth—“is why you don’t just go get the girl.”
He heaved a sigh. “Not that easy.”
“Why the fuck not? You spend time together, right?”
“Yeah, as friends.”
Patriot made a scoffing noise. “Fuck friends. Pick her up, carry her to bed and tear off her clothes. It’s what she’s waiting for anyway.”
Fiona pushed the drink across the bar to him, and Tank curled his hand around it with a nod of thanks to her. He turned to Patriot, but no response came to mind.
Could Patriot be right? Tank thought about what he’d seen in Catarina’s eyes at the moment he leaned in to grab the tool off the cart beside her. The green depths had flickered with something—anticipation?
Hell, he didn’t know anymore.
“On second thought, I think I’m gonna hit the road. Take a long ride.” He handed Patriot his drink.
“I hate fuckin’ Crown.”
“Then give it to the prospect.” He headed to the exit.
“You want company?” Patriot asked, but Tank only held up a hand in farewell.
On the road with the steel he’d put back together with his own two hands, Tank’s mind drifted, unraveling bit by tense bit like the road that unfolded before him. The scent of pines and mountains filled his head, and he dragged in deep breaths of the life force.
He flexed his grip on the handlebar, feeling the effects of punching Chad in the fucking face. He deserved it, he reminded himself.
Why would the guy have beef with him anyway? Tank wasn’t the one fucking up his relationship with Catarina—he did that all himself by picking fights with her for no reason and accusing her of stepping out on him when she wasn’t. Hell, if anything, the woman’s loyalty was her biggest fault, because she put her faith in the wrong people.
Fucking friends. He’d like to show her how friendly his mouth could be—right on her pussy.
He groaned aloud and sped faster through the final curves leading out of Mersey and into the mountains. Shadows fell across the road, and he focused on his surroundings but what he really saw was Catarina. How she would look after he stripped off her clothes. How tender that freckled skin would feel under his callused fingers, his lips…his tongue.
He was hard as a steel rod now and couldn’t do a damn thing to ease the ache.
That slight flare of her eyes as he leaned in to retrieve the tool…
His mind crashed with reality—she wanted him too. She just couldn’t admit it. All that talk about being her best friend might be a cover for what she really felt for him.
There was only one way to find out if his theory was right, but how to get her to admit to it?
He rode on for a couple more hours, until darkness had fallen and he navigated with only his headlights. When he rode past the station the paramedics were based out of, he saw Catarina’s car parked there.
She was out here somewhere, helping to save people’s lives. The fucking woman didn’t know how incredible she was, and she wasted her time with men like Chad.
What she really needed was a real man to show her how it felt to be loved.
Tank finished hammering the top onto the new workbench he just built for the motorcycle shop. He swung the hammer down to his side and stood back to inspect his progress. Nice and level. Serviceable. What else can he ask for?
From the open door of the new metal building that had been erected in no time at all came nonstop hammering as the Dark Falcons worked on the clubhouse not far off. Dixon gave him a pass this morning, though he’d argued about needing to be there to help. But in the end, he was glad to have time to set up the shop to his liking. Now all he needed were a few orders and the business would be underway.
He set the hammer in its place on the pegboard and grabbed the wide push broom. After chasing some dust around the floor for a bit, he shoved it out the back door. He stood looking out across the yard a moment, taking in the lush green of Tennessee and thinking of someday owning a plot of land for himself.
For some reason, he pictured kids running around there. And one little girl had unmistakable curls and freckles exactly like her mother’s.
“Damn,” he said softly.
“You okay?” The feminine voice coming from the open shop door made him turn. Fiona stood there, worry on her pre
tty face. No wonder Dixon was head over heels for the woman. Sweet and gorgeous—a deadly combination to any man’s heart.
He thought of his own where Catarina was concerned.
He came inside and closed the door, stowing the broom in the corner once more. “Yeah, I’m fine. What’s up?”
“I came to tell you food is served.” She looked around the space. “You really got this place in good shape. Ready for opening day?”
“I’d be more ready with a few orders to start me off.”
She waved a hand. “They’ll come. I’ve put out the word with at least four guys who come into the Painted Pig.”
“Appreciate it.” He crossed the room to her.
She tipped her head up to look at him. “Tank, are you really okay?”
He issued a sigh.
“Is this about Catarina?” she asked.
Hell. The last thing he wanted was to confide to Fiona, maybe because she was half his size and twice as scary. At least when it came to someone who was good at probing men’s feelings.
She wagged her fingers at him. “Out with it, Tank.”
“Aww, Fi. Don’t make me.” He scuffed his boot on the floor.
“I know you’re crazy about that woman. What’s holding you back?”
He leveled a look at the petite blonde. “Direct much?”
“I own a bar and my boyfriend’s the president of the club. I don’t know how to be anything other than direct. So what’s your answer?”
A long sigh trickled out of him, leaving him feeling deflated. “She keeps going back to her ex. Every time I think I can make a move, I see her with him. Don’t ask me why she keeps going back, either. He’s such a douche to her, and she always ends up at my place, talking about us being friends and shit.”
Fiona nodded sympathetically. “You definitely have been a friend to her. But now it’s time to let her know you think of her as more.”
“Not sure I’m her type.”
“Sounds as if she doesn’t know her type either. If she keeps going back to a man who treats her like crap, all she knows is what she thinks she deserves.”
“She deserves a hell of a lot more than that,” he burst out.
Fiona smiled. “I know that and you know that. But does she?”
“Are you saying she’s settling for this bum because she thinks she deserves him?”
“Maybe. Lots of people do it. We go back again and again. I almost didn’t give Dixon a shot because of my own issues with attracting gearheads on power trips.”
Tank grinned at her. “He does tick the gearhead box. And he does his share of fighting.”
“But always for the right reasons. There’s a difference.”
“Yeah.” He thought about Catarina and how he could possibly get her to see that she could move on from that douchebag and seated on the back of Tank’s bike.
“You’re a great guy, Tank. Any girl would be lucky to have you. And I know how you’d shower Catarina with everything a woman could ever want. You’re a softy when it comes to some things.”
He groaned. “Why does everyone keep referring to me as soft?”
She patted his chest. “Teddy bears can have claws too. And big teeth.” She tipped her head toward the door. “Come get something to eat.”
He followed her out and found a full-blown party happening in the parking lot. Someone had brought coolers filled with soda and water, and a keg had been tapped off to the side. Sawhorses were set up with sheets of plywood as a makeshift buffet table, and people milled around, even some who weren’t in the club.
One guy approached him, shirtless, tattooed, with a hammer hanging from his belt. “You’re Tank.”
He arched a brow. “Who’s askin’?”
The guy didn’t take offense and held out a hand. “I work for Patriot on his construction team. He roped me into siding the clubhouse. He told me you started up a bike shop and build custom.”
“That’s right. You ride?”
“I have an old Harley that could use some work. Wondered if you’d be interested in taking a look? It’s got some aftermarket parts on it that I don’t like, and I want something more authentic, ya know?”
“I’ll definitely take a look and give you my opinion.” Inwardly, Tank felt a burst of excitement at the prospect that he really would have this job as a way of life. Once he got his name out among the people of Mersey and to some of the other MCs from outlying areas, he hoped more orders would roll in and keep him busy.
They set up a time for the guy to drop off the bike. Tank grabbed a plate of food and a water and sat with his spine against a tree trunk, away from the party. He had a lot to think about. Between the shop, the clubhouse and what Fiona said to him, a lot of changes were happening.
At last, things were looking up.
“Unit 3, what is your position?”
Catarina grabbed the CB radio, throwing Nicole a look. “One mile outside city limits.”
“We’ve got a twenty-eight-year-old man claiming difficulty breathing at 168 Maple.”
“We’re on it.” Catarina said the words without even registering the address.
Then it hit her. She sucked in a deep gasp and whipped in the seat toward Nicole. “It’s Chad!”
Nicole’s eyes flew wide. “You’re sure?”
“That’s his address and his age. Step on the gas, Nicole!” She grabbed her phone and dialed Chad’s number. He didn’t answer, which fueled her fears.
In minutes they pulled up to the house on Maple. “He’s not even supposed to be home. He must be ill and didn’t go to work today.” She grabbed her bag and ran to the front door with Nicole right behind her.
The minute she knocked, he opened it. He stood there looking as healthy as ever, wearing shorts and a muscle tee, like he’d just gone for a run, in fact.
She examined him from head to foot. “What’s going on? You called in for breathing difficulties?”
He stepped up to her and cupped her cheek. “I can’t even breathe without you in my life, baby.”
“Oh Lord,” she heard Nicole mutter from behind.
She threw a look over her shoulder to see Nicole turn back for the unit.
Anger hit her. “You can get into a lot of trouble for false calls, you know.” Catarina moved inside and closed the door.
Then she really saw the bruise he sported around his eye that she somehow missed during her first glance. “What happened to you?” She started to touch his eye and then retracted her hand.
“You wanna kiss it and make it better?” Chad sidled closer, until their bodies were almost touching.
Tank’s face leaped into her mind, hovering there like a ghost shaking his finger at her. Why did she suddenly feel that being in Chad’s presence betrayed Tank? That’s ridiculous.
She reached for the door handle again. “I actually am on the job, and I don’t appreciate your little trick.”
“Aww, baby, I’m sorry. It’s just that you’ve been ignoring my calls and texts.”
She had to talk to him. What she would say, she had no idea, because she wasn’t altogether sure how she felt about him anymore.
“Okay, I’ll let you get to work, and I’m sorry for calling you over here. At least meet me at your favorite restaurant for dinner tonight.”
She thought of the last time she’d been out for burritos—with Tank. How intense his eyes had been each time he looked her direction and the fluttering in her belly that resulted.
She shook her head. “Not the burrito place.” It felt too weird now. “Italian.”
Chad smiled. “See you there, baby.”
Huffing with irritation, she returned to the unit and slammed the passenger door. Nicole started to speak, and Catarina threw up a hand to stop her. “Don’t say a word. I know.”
Wordlessly, Nicole pulled away from the curb, and they finished their day, picking up a few more calls for various injuries or illnesses. The day seemed to drag now, though, and Catarina’s dread grew when her
shift came to an end.
When she and Nicole walked to their vehicles together, her friend threw her a pointed glance. “I don’t know what that was all about with Chad, but please tell me you’ll be careful, Cat.”
“You know I will.”
She contemplated her. “That’s just it—I don’t know that you will. You’ve been in and out of a relationship with him for how long now? What you need’s a man like my Charles. Someone who wants to take care of you. Who’s there for you through thick and thin and at the end of the day, you step into his arms and all your worries fade away.”
And he feeds you burritos and has your favorite movies at the ready.
Tank.
Her heart gave a little flip.
She nodded and embraced Nicole. “I’ll see you tomorrow and fill you in on everything. Okay?”
“All right. If you need me, you know how to find me.”
“Thanks.” Catarina offered her a smile and then drove home to change out of her uniform into street clothes. The prospect of sitting at the same table with Chad felt increasingly wrong, now that she knew which direction her feelings swayed.
She needed to see him, though—to end things for good.
When she pulled into the parking lot of the Italian restaurant, Chad was already waiting for her. He crossed the gravel to meet her, a smile on his face. She stared at him. Yes, he was still just as handsome. Still her type.
Or was he?
He wasn’t that manly, come to think of it. Not nearly tall enough or rugged in all the ways she’d come to find attractive.
An ear-splitting roar filled the air, and she spun around to see a motorcycle gunning it past the restaurant.
And the expression on Tank’s face as he passed.
She watched him for a moment and then turned to Chad. Oh my God, this is so wrong.
“I’ve gotta go,” she rushed out.
He caught her arm as she started to walk away. “We haven’t had dinner. What’s going on?”
“I…We’ve been through this so many times, Chad. I think we both know it’s over. It hasn’t worked out in all these months, and we’re fighting for nothing. I hope you can move on with your life.”
