by Em Petrova
She looked down and then back to his gaze. “Well, you haven’t said it either.”
A pained expression crossed his face. “Darlin’, it’s only ever been you. I love you more than anything in this world.”
Her chest shook with emotion, and she tipped her forehead against his chest, feeling the solid thump of his heart. Slowly, he eased her head back to meet her eyes. “You’re my everything, Catarina.”
A noise broke from her. She went on tiptoe, slamming her lips over his. He issued a groan and lifted her against him. She hooked her thigh around his hip, rocking to ease some of the constant throb he raised in her.
As he plundered her mouth, he stripped off the light cotton dress she’d thrown on after work and her bra was off, her nipples in his mouth and under the tight, squeezing pressure of his fingers. She quivered for more, directing his hand to her panties.
When he slipped his fingers inside and cupped her pussy, their gazes held. She saw how much she affected him.
“Touch me,” she moaned out.
He slid a finger down her seam, dipped into her wet entrance for a split second, before dragging it up through her slickness to her hard nubbin. She tossed her head on a cry and succumbed to sensation.
He lay her down on the mattress and nudged her thighs apart with one denim-clad knee. As he hovered over her, driving his finger in and out of her pussy until she clamped down so hard and lost her breath to her scream of release, not once did she look away from his face.
She shook as waves struck her, over and over again, quivering as he pressed down on her clit with the perfect pressure of his thumb and curled his finger into her G-spot simultaneously.
As the final shudder left her, she yanked him in. He plunged his tongue into her mouth, swirling around and around and dragging new moans from her.
She went for his belt. He started to give her that smile that drove her crazy.
A loud burst that sounded like a gunshot times a thousand echoed through the building. He reared back. The room shook. No—the whole shop shook.
Then another huge explosion rocked the place.
Tank leaped to his feet, grabbed her up totally naked and threw her over his shoulder. He ran out of the shop into the cool night air as the sky lit up with a third blast.
“What’s happening?” she cried out.
He set her on her feet and shoved her dress into her hands. “Put this on. Quick!”
She yanked it over her head, not caring if it was inside out or not, and then ran barefoot in his wake. Shouts sounded from the Rothchilds’, and then she smelled the acrid, toxic smoke.
Confusion lit up her mind, and she looked everywhere, trying to see the source of the blasts. Rough gravel cut into her feet, and Tank picked her up and set her in the grass. “Go to the house. Stay with Dixon’s mom.”
She ran. Dew wet her bare feet and ankles as she crossed the yard in record time to stand beside Mrs. Rothchild, who still wore her nightgown. A moment later, Fiona landed on the porch next to them, and Catarina threw her arms around her.
“What’s happening?” she cried out.
Fiona trembled against her, hugging her back. “Something blew. The clubhouse is on fire.”
Chapter Seven
As Tank bolted around the front of the garage, heat blasted against his side. He threw up his arms, shielding himself, and continued running. Orange flickering lights told him there was a fire. But where?
Up ahead, he spotted Dixon, shirtless, running hell-bent for the clubhouse.
“Dix! What the fuck happened?”
“Somethin’ blew!”
“I know, but what?” He and Dixon converged in the parking lot, and Tank stared at the devastation. A few feet off, the box truck also blazed, a blackened shell of steel.
“The fire department is coming!” Fiona ran toward them. “Get away in case it blows again!”
“If the fire reaches the shop, we’re fucked.” Dixon and Tank traded a look and then ran for the garage. Thank God the concrete block exterior walls were holding off the fire raging in the new addition, and they had time to put the cars in neutral and push them out.
Tank braced his hands on the one Dixon had been working on earlier that night. With all his strength, he shoved, and the car rolled backward. He picked up speed, running it to a safe place. Then they did the same with Dixon’s mom’s car.
“Get the gas and oil, Dad!” Dixon yelled to his father. The three of them carried any gasoline cans and oil crates out of the garage. If the fire breached the garage before the firefighters came, then at least there wouldn’t be as much fuel to feed it.
Tank looked around, searching for Catarina. She and Mrs. Rothchild stood on the porch, their arms around each other, offering what comfort they could as they watched the clubhouse burn and the garage endangered.
Sirens shrieked from a distance, and the wail grew louder as the trucks bore down on the property. The firetruck pulled in and one of the Dark Falcons, Ramsey, leaped out. His boots hit the ground, and he strode over to Dixon.
“What the fuck happened?”
“Somethin’ blew. Maybe that truck.” Dixon pointed to Chad’s vehicle.
Tank’s blood boiled as he swung his gaze to the burning truck.
Ramsey shouted orders, and in seconds, the firefighters had the long hose in hand and the water jets aimed at the flames. Tank and Dixon stood side by side, watching the flames shorten and then dowse altogether. The other fire crew put out the burning truck, and Tank saw the skeleton outlines of the barrels in the rear of it.
He clenched his fists as each minute ticked by and he started to piece together a crime in his mind. Maybe he was only placing blame, trying to reason through what happened here tonight—but he didn’t fucking think so.
That odd smile Chad had shot Tank’s way when he dropped off the vehicle filled Tank’s mind with red-hot fury.
He stalked over to Ramsey. “That truck—this was planned.”
Ramsey shoved his fire helmet up to pierce him in his gaze. “You sure, man?”
“Fucking positive. Chad dropped it off, and I’ll bet my motorcycle shop that if someone scopes out those barrels, they find explosives.”
“A fucking ticking bomb sitting here the whole time.” Ramsey clenched his jaw. “I’ll get the authorities in to investigate. Don’t do anything yet, Tank.”
He shook his head. “Can’t promise that, man.”
Ramsey blocked his path, forcing him to face him. “I mean it. Dixon won’t like us starting shit. Wait on the investigation and then if action needs to be taken…” He stared at Tank hard, “we all go.”
Grinding his teeth against any retort, Tank finally nodded. Ramsey returned it with a nod of his own and then ran off to join his crew again. Tank walked up to Dixon.
“Chad carried explosive in that truck. The engine never needed attention. We pulled it into the garage, and if it’d blown in there—”
Dixon looked at him sharply. “Then Fiona and I would be dead.”
He nodded.
“He’s trying to get at me. Don’t you see that?” Tank asked.
A cry sounded from behind him, and he turned to see Catarina standing there with both hands plastered over her mouth. “Chad did this?”
Tank reached her in one step. He gripped her upper arms, holding her in place. “I think so. Right now, the clubhouse is an empty shell. Fuck, there’s not even a kitchen fully installed. There’s nothing to blow—all new wiring and every code followed. There’s no way the fire started in the clubhouse. But the truck…”
They both looked toward the hollow shell. The metal had bene completely peeled away in the three explosions that had rocked it, leaving only the framework.
Catarina threw herself at him, and he caught her in his arms. Holding her tight as he brushed his lips over her hair. If Chad was capable of this, Tank didn’t even want to think about what he might have eventually done to hurt Catarina.
His chest burned, both from the smoke fogging the air
and raw fury. “C’mon. Let’s get you out of this smoke.” He pulled Catarina toward the house, some distance off and safe away from the fire, now under control.
After he settled her with Fiona and Mrs. Rothchild, he went back out to join Dixon, Ramsey and a bunch of other guys who’d heard the news and showed up. They all stood in the parking lot, staring at what was left of their newly built clubhouse.
Tank looked at Dixon. “If that asshole did this, he has to pay.”
Dixon gave a stiff nod. “If he did this, he will pay.”
“You’re sure you’re all right to work today, darlin’?” Tank leaned in through her car window. The concern etched around his eyes flooded Catarina with tenderness for her man.
She nodded. “There’s nothing I can do at the club to help. All I’d do is sit around feeling anxious. Work will keep my mind off the questions I have.”
He nodded and pulled her door open so she could climb out. He’d insisted on following her to the station and refused to take no for an answer, no matter how many times she assured him she was safe.
The morning drizzle didn’t help the despondent mood that settled over her. Finally, in the wee hours of morning, Tank took her home and tucked her in bed, but she only slept a few hours before her alarm sounded for her morning shift.
He clutched her fingers in his rough ones and stared into her eyes. “Sure you’re all right?”
“Yes.” She brushed a curl out of her eyes. “I’ll get through my shift. Text me if you hear anything about the investigation, okay?”
He nodded, but something in his dark stare told her that he’d only tell her what he felt she should hear in order to protect her. She was already blaming herself. If Chad really was responsible…
She cupped Tank’s jaw. “Please keep me in the loop.”
“I will. Call me when you’re back at the station and I’ll check out your car before you drive it. All right?”
This morning, while she was getting ready for work, he watched her put on her uniform and told her what the plan of action would be—that he would be watching over her every move for a while—and she didn’t fight him. She had to admit she was a bit afraid too.
Thank God nobody had been hurt, but if Chad really was responsible, he’d kicked Tank where it hurt most—in his club. His brotherhood was everything to him.
He pulled her in, buried his face in her hair and then kissed her between the brows. “I love you. Promise me you won’t be taking any calls to his house even if he says he’s on death’s door.”
She nodded. “I won’t fall for another trick like that. Please take care of yourself, Rob.” She clutched his leather vest and shook him a little.
He offered her the slightest hint of a crooked smile—but it was enough to remind her that together, they could overcome anything.
When she drew away from him and crossed the parking lot to the unit where Nicole already waited for her, she threw a look at Tank. He leaned against her car, watching her. He lifted a hand, and she waved too.
As soon as she slid into the passenger seat of the rescue vehicle, she met Nicole’s shocked gaze and almost lost it.
She held off the tears burning behind her eyes and the salty lump in her throat.
“Girl, you need what Charles left for me this morning. Check the bag on the floor.”
She picked up the bag containing fresh-made donuts. “They’re still warm.”
Nicole smiled, though her eyes still gleamed with worry. “Charles knows the donut shop owner, and he grabbed those just out of the fryer.”
Catarina didn’t think she could eat even though the luscious smells had her stomach twisting. “I’ll have one later. Do you want yours now?”
“In a minute.” Nicole didn’t immediately start the engine. She turned to face Catarina. “Are you okay?”
She dragged in a shaky breath. “I think so. It was a long night.”
She nodded. “People are saying it was arson.”
“It could be.” She bit her lower lip.
“There’s more—I can see it on your face.”
In a rush, she spilled everything to Nicole, telling her about how Chad had dropped his truck off earlier that evening, claiming there was a knocking sound in the engine. How Tank parked it outside in front of the clubhouse addition on the shop. And then how while she and Tank were indisposed, they heard the explosions.
“Holy shit.” Nicole usually didn’t swear, so the cuss coming from her lips alarmed Catarina almost more than anything had yet.
“I’m so worried about what Rob will do.” Saying that aloud caused her throat to close up.
Nicole set her hand over hers. Her big brown eyes calmed her. “He’s no dummy, that Tank. He won’t do anything stupid.”
“Even for revenge? Even if it means protecting me and his brothers?” She couldn’t feel more helpless. She looked in the side mirror and saw that he’d hopped on his bike and ridden away.
Nicole patted her. “Let’s focus on right now. We have hours ahead of us on our shift. And we’ve got fresh, warm donuts.” She smiled.
Feeling slightly better, Catarina nodded. “You’re right. Stay in the moment. Everything else will work out.”
She glanced in the mirror again at the empty spot of gravel where Rob had been just minutes before. No matter what, he would take care of what he considered his, and damn the consequences.
She only hoped the guys could keep him from doing something rash.
Chapter Eight
Tank gripped a blackened, scorched board and ripped it off the clubhouse. The whole burned-out structure crawled with guys in the process of a demo. The minute the insurance adjuster gave the nod of approval, the Dark Falcons descended on the club to rebuild.
Start over.
He clenched his jaw and reached for another board to add to the growing pile. Luckily, the fire had been stopped before it broke through the wall of the garage. The existing wall might require some reinforcement after the high temps exposed to it, but the Rothchilds’ garage was still intact.
At least Tank wouldn’t feel responsible for more than he already did.
Around him, the guys talked and bantered, making every occasion into a party. Even Dixon, who should be more upset than anyone, laughed at what they said.
But Tank didn’t join in.
He huffed out a sigh to try to expel some of the tension he couldn’t shake since the moment he heard that first blast. He looked up, through the open clubhouse walls to where the truck had been. Earlier, the fire chief and the sheriff had hauled it off the property to investigate and run tests.
“You good, man?” Patriot stopped tearing apart what was left of a wall to stare at him.
“Yeah. Great.”
Patriot brought a hand down on his shoulder. “Look, we all feel what you’re feeling. But until we know for certain, we can’t make a move.”
Dropping his stare to the ash covering the concrete pad he stood on, he gave a nod. “Don’t worry—I won’t act. Yet.”
Dixon dropped what he was doing and sauntered over. The look he gave the others sent them moving to another portion of the clubhouse demo, leaving him alone with Tank.
Tank shook his head. “You know me, Dixon. I’m not going to sit on this long.”
He nodded. “I know. But for the sake of the Dark Falcons, you gotta hold on. We can’t be one of those clubs that crosses over into the world of crime. We don’t stand for that.”
“I know. I built the club from the ground up with you. Just like I’ll rebuild the club—alone, with my own two hands.”
Dixon stopped him from grabbing another board. “The fuck you talkin’ about, brother?”
“I mean, this is on me. It’s my fault this happened.”
Dixon blinked. “Fuck that. We’re brothers. It happens to one of us, it happens to all. We stick together, no matter what. Remember?”
He rounded on Dixon, blood hammering in his ears. “You can’t fucking think that I’d drag any of
you into a fight with that motherfucker, do you?”
A huff of laughter escaped Dixon. “Like to see you keep us away. If you’re going after him, I’ve got your back. If we have to set a guard on your old lady, we’ll do it.”
Worry slammed into him. “I already told her I’m checking her car when she gets off shift and I’m following her home.”
“And the brothers will go with you. Got it?” Dixon squeezed his shoulder.
Tank paused a moment, reeling from the words that, deep down, he already knew. He leaned in and pounded his brother on the shoulder. “United.”
“Damn straight.”
Some of the women who hung around the guys arrived with food and drinks. Everyone stopped work to kick back for a while and recharge after the long morning. Tank dropped to a lawn chair and took a sip of cold water, listening to the plans being made around him.
As soon as the insurance check was in Dixon’s hands, new lumber would be delivered to the site. They’d rebuild the clubhouse even better. And Patriot already had a dozen men organized to start as soon as they got the nod of approval from their president.
Across the yard, Patriot had one of the honeys cozied up against his side. She looked up at him as if he was the most important and interesting person on the planet, and Tank shook his head at the sight. Patriot knew better—he hardly gave her a glance in return. But people either loved the club and wanted to be part of it all—or they made themselves into enemies, like Chad.
The rest of the afternoon rolled on, with his mind working over the possibilities of burying a man without anyone finding out. But in the end, he realized that for Catarina’s sake, he would never commit such a crime. Now if the man laid a hand on her directly, then he wouldn’t blink at breaking his fucking neck.
The sound of an engine drew his head up, and he and Dixon dropped everything to greet the sheriff climbing from his car.
The lawman waved a hand toward the clubhouse, now reduced to only a few boards and ashes to be swept away. “You’ve made a lot of progress.”
“Many hands make quick work,” Tank said.
