TANK: Lords of Carnage MC

by Daphne Loveling

  “What?”

  “I mean, think about if you’d had the kid. You’d be tied to him forever. This way, you can make a clean break.”

  Cady pulls out of my arms. When she sits up in bed and turns to face me, she’s white as a sheet.

  “Are you saying I’m lucky I miscarried?” she whispers.

  Oh. Fuck.

  “No. I mean, not exactly.” Slowly, it starts to dawn on me how Cady must have taken my words. “I’m just saying…”

  Cady’s voice is sharp enough to cut glass as she interrupts me. “Do you think it would be lucky that Wren never existed?” she asks, eyes cold and dark. “Because Jess isn’t a good person?”

  “No!” I protest. “Of course not. Cady, I…”

  But she’s already getting out of bed.

  “I need to go,” she rasps, reaching for her jeans.

  “Cady! Don’t leave. Come on.” I’m out of bed, too, and striding for her. But she puts out a hand to block me before I can get close enough to touch her.

  “Don’t!” she cries, and then shudders. She shakes her head, almost violently. “Just… don’t. Let me go.”

  Helplessly, I watch her as she gets dressed. I want to argue with her, but I’m not the kind of man who would ever try to keep a woman here against her will. I start to explain a couple more times, but she just shakes her head and begs me to stop talking.

  A few minutes later, I hear the front door close behind her.

  “Fuck!” I groan, slumping back down on the bed and clenching my empty hands into fists. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

  I punch the pillow next to me, but it doesn’t hurt enough to give me any relief.

  I know damn well I won’t be able to sleep tonight. So instead, I grab a pair of shorts and head down into the basement. To trade the pillow for a punching bag for a few hours.

  19

  Tank

  Three days later, my hands are still sore from the beating I gave that bag.

  I’ve sent fuck knows how many texts to Cady, asking to talk to her. Telling her again I didn’t mean what I said.

  She hasn’t answered a single one.

  I don’t know what the hell else to do. I know I screwed up.

  But Jesus, do I only get one strike here? Is that how this is gonna go?

  I’m sorry as hell. But I’m pissed, too.

  To make this shit sandwich just a little shittier, Wren has been asking for Cady pretty much constantly. She woke up the morning after Cady left, all excited to make breakfast with her. Instead, she got grumpy-as-fuck me, slack-jawed from fatigue and lack of sleep. I even kind of barked at Wren for jumping on the couch after breakfast. Which was stupid as hell, because I don’t even care about the damn couch.

  I’ve been trying to make it up to Wren, watching my tone and my temper so she doesn’t think there’s anything wrong. But it hasn’t been enough. Wren is a smart little girl. And even though I’m trying to keep her routines as unchanged as possible, she’s still clued-in enough to notice that Cady’s sudden absence from our lives isn’t normal. It’s starting to show in Wren’s behavior. She’s talking less. And she’s a lot more clingy, especially at night. Worst of all, last night she wet the bed — which is something that has never happened before.

  Fuck. My. Life.

  I gotta get Wren into pre-K or something. I’ve been draggin’ my feet on that for a while, but it’s time. She needs more than just me. And now it looks like she might not even have Cady anymore.

  For the thousandth time, my dumbass brain goes back to what I said to her that night. To the words I wish I could take back more than anything.

  Yeah, I fucked it up. But shit, Cady should have known I didn’t mean it that way. I just meant she was better off without her ex-husband. It’s a good goddamn thing her ex hasn’t followed her here to Tanner Springs or tried to get her back. If he did, I’d put a boot so far up his ass he’d be chewing on my goddamn shoe leather.

  But hell, I know I really hurt her when I made it sound like she was lucky she lost the baby. Thinking about what I said now, I feel sick to my stomach at how that must have felt for Cady.

  Fuck!

  Two months ago, I was single, with no one to answer to but my club prez and nothing to worry about but myself and my MC. Then Wren came along, and somehow I love that little girl like I didn’t even know it was possible to love.

  And now there’s Cady. I feel incomplete without her by my side.

  Two months ago, I thought I had everything I needed in my life.

  Then, two people I didn’t even know existed turned my world upside down.

  And now, my world doesn’t mean shit without Wren and Cady in it.

  I just don’t know how to erase the last three days and get Cady to come back to me.

  “Uncle Striker!”

  At Wren’s squeal of pleasure, I look up from the lawn mower blade I’m replacing, to see my brother striding across my back lawn toward us. Wren’s playing on the cedar play set I bought and assembled for her this morning. It’s got a couple swings, a ladder up to a platform, a slide, and even a sandbox. She loves it so much, I think I even managed to get her distracted from thinking about Cady for a few hours.

  Wren leaves Snoopy in the sandbox and runs over to Striker. For as long as it took her to stop being scared of me, she took to Strike right away. God knows why; his mug is uglier than mine by a long shot.

  “Hey, Bird, how you doin’?”

  “Daddy made me a sand box!” she chirps back, pointing proudly.

  “I can see that. Good job, Tank. How many guys did you have to hire to help you with that?”

  I give him a glare, and he smirks at me, knowing I won’t curse him out with Wren right there. “What are you doin’ here?” I demand, “other than makin’ yourself a burr up my butt?”

  “I got a business proposition for ya.”

  “Yeah?” I stand up and wipe the sweat from my brow. It’s almost Christmas, winter feels like it ain’t even on the horizon yet. Today feels like Indian summer, and the sun is baking me in this black T-shirt. “What’s that?”

  Striker cuts a glance at Wren. He doesn’t need to say anything more.

  “Wren, baby, go play with Snoopy some more, okay?”

  Wren runs off, and I motion Tank toward a couple of lawn chairs sitting beside the deck. “You want a beer?” I ask him. He nods. “Keep an eye on Wren, will ya?”

  I go inside, pulling off my T-shirt as I go and using it to wipe my face and under my pits. I grab a clean one from my bedroom dresser and then make my way to the kitchen, where I pull out two cold bottles from the fridge. Back outside, I hand one to Striker and ease down into the chair next to him.

  “She’s a cutie,” he deadpans. “Lucky for her she doesn’t take after you.”

  “You come here just to bust my balls?” I ask as I twist open my beer. “Or you got a real reason?”

  “Yeah, I got a real reason,” he grins. “I got a fight for you.”

  I blink, then stare at him. It takes me a second to figure out what he’s saying.

  Striker and I used to fight together in the underground scene. We both came up together, if you could call it that. It was a way to make some money on shit we were already doing — getting in fights out on the street, sometimes out of necessity, sometimes out of drunken foolishness. Those early fights were mostly about proving ourselves, making chump change in filthy underground places that traded in brute strength and bad judgment.

  Both Strike and I were pretty good at it. Good enough that we eventually graduated to bigger fights, with bigger stakes. But the ones with the truly big payouts had the highest stakes of all. A man who wanted the biggest rewards had to take the biggest risks. Including the risk that losing might not just mean getting injured, even badly. It might mean you never got back up again. Ever.

  I decided to pull out of the scene when Rudy, one of the shadiest fight organizers, tried to book me into a fight for a purse that could have paid my living expens
es for more than a year. I knew that “living expenses” was a relative term when the cost might be my life itself. It wasn’t worth it. So I walked. Striker walked with me.

  But it looks like he’s thinking about getting back in.

  “I don’t do that anymore,” I tell him now, as I stare across the yard at my daughter sliding down the slide.

  “You haven’t for a while,” he nods. “But I figured I could convince you to come out of retirement for this one, when you hear what the payout is.”

  “You’ve been back in the ring,” I say. It’s not a question.

  “Yeah.” He shrugs. “Gotta pay the rent. With the MC not doing our shipments, I ain’t got enough coming in to cover the bills. This is what I know how to do. It beats the fuck out of Uber.” He pauses. “And I know you’re feelin’ the pinch, too, brother.” He lifts his chin toward Wren. “Especially with the little one, now.”

  I set my jaw and reach for my pack of smokes before I remember I quit. Swearing under my breath, I raise the bottle to my lips instead. Striker ain’t wrong. Cash has been short since Angel shut down our part of the pipeline. That swing set I just put together? Yeah, that came out of next month’s truck payment. I just needed Wren to have someplace to play outside here in the yard. And watching her chatter at Snoopy as she pushes him on the swing, I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

  So yeah. I need the money, no doubt about that. And shit, three months ago, I might have jumped at what Striker’s handing me. But fighting means something different now. I have to careful because of Wren. With Jessica AWOL, I’m the only parent she has.

  Striker seems to be reading my thoughts. “Rudy told me he’s got a fight all ready for you, Tank. You can take this guy. He’s no match for you.”

  “Maybe when I was training.” I take another swig of my beer, then flex my fist.

  “Oh, come on, brother. Trust me. You got this fight sewn up. And I know you need the cash.”

  “Why do you care?”

  Striker pauses, like he’s trying to figure out how much to tell me. “I told Rudy I’d talk to you. He upped the purse if I could get you there, and he’ll give me a finder’s fee for bringin’ you back in.”

  “I wouldn’t be back in,” I growl, realizing as I do that I’m considering it. “If I did this, it would only be for one fight.”

  Striker smirks. “Sure.”

  “I’m goddamn serious.” I shift in my chair and glare at him. “This is not me gettin’ back in. And I swear to Christ, if you’re fuckin’ with me on this, that little girl is the one who’s gonna pay.”

  Striker’s grin fades. “You know I wouldn’t bullshit you, brother. This fight ain’t no big deal. You go in, you knock that motherfucker out, you walk out with a stack of bills in your back pocket.” He stands up, drains his beer, and clinks it against mine. “Tomorrow night. You in?”

  I think about Wren, and how she might react if I come back with my face beat up.

  And then I think about what it would be like to her if I can’t make rent next month. Or the month after that.

  “I’m in,” I say.

  Later that night, I take out my cell phone to call one of the old ladies in the club, to see if they’ll take Wren while Striker and I are out at the fights.

  But then I remember how Wren asked for Cady yet again tonight as I was putting her to bed.

  I decide to give texting Cady one more shot, wondering if she’ll respond if it’s about Wren, instead of us.

  Hey. This might be inappropriate. But wondering if you can take Wren tomorrow night. She’s been asking about you. I know she really wants to see you. If it’s no, I can find someone else.

  I feel like a shit heel that I used that excuse. I hope she doesn’t think I’m trying to manipulate her.

  A few seconds later I see three bouncing dots. I wait for Cady to rip me a new one.

  Finally, her response comes through.

  I can take Wren. You’ll need to bring her to my place.

  I release a breath, my shoulders relaxing for the first time in days. I let myself have a second of hope that maybe Wren will thaw Cady out a little. And then maybe I can talk to her about the other night once I come back from the fight.

  I thank Cady, and tell her what time I’ll be there tomorrow to drop Wren off.

  Then, I lie back on the couch and close my eyes. It’s time to put all that shit out of my head for now.

  And focus on the fight to come.

  20

  Cady

  When Tank pulls up with Wren, I’m careful to keep my face composed in a careful mask of indifference. Any talking we do about what happened last time we were together, I don’t want it to happen in front of that little girl.

  And frankly, I don’t have any idea what I want to say to him anyway.

  Wren is ecstatic to see me. She jumps into my arms from the car seat, almost knocking me over. She yells my name, basically into my ear, which hurts, but I only wince and hug her tighter.

  Because the fact is, I’m pretty darn ecstatic to see her, too.

  “Sorry, this is gonna be an all-day thing,” Tank says as he shuts the back door of his truck behind Wren. “I, uh…” He looks like he wants to continue, but glances at the back of his daughter’s head. Taking the cue, I set her down.

  “Wrenny, can you carry your backpack upstairs? You remember which door is mine, right?”

  “The one with the heart wreath on it!” she answers immediately. Scampering off, she climbs up the stairs and goes inside.

  Tank follows her up with his eyes, then turns to me. “I’ll be back later tonight. So I put her PJs in the bag. I don’t know exactly how late. Sorry.”

  I shrug. “It’s okay.”

  “Look, when I come back, I might look a little…” he hesitates. “Beat up. So if I do, can you help me with Wren? Act like it’s no big deal. I’ve noticed she takes her cues from adults when she can’t figure out how to react to something.”

  “Beat up?” I cock my head quizzically. “Why?”

  “It’s nothing. I’ve just got a thing to go to. Like a boxing match, sort of. So there’s a chance I could, you know… wind up with a black eye, or something.”

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him why he’s putting himself in danger like that, but then I clamp my mouth shut. He’s in an MC. This is probably the tamest thing he ever gets up to.

  “Before you say anything,” he growls, eyes flashing, “this ain’t a regular thing. I mean, it used to be. But it ain’t anymore. This is just something Striker talked me into. And it’s the last fight I’m doing.”

  I raise my hands. “I didn’t say anything.”

  He squints at me. “Okay. But it’s still true.”

  I want to believe him. But I also tell myself it’s not something I should consider my business one way or another. Tank and I aren’t anything formal or official right now, so I’m not going to let myself believe I have a say in his decisions.

  “Okay, so, I’ll see you when I see you, I guess,” I mutter.

  I start to turn away, but Tank grabs my arm.

  “Cady,” he murmurs. “Look at me.”

  Reluctantly, I do as he says. His eyes, dark and serious, flash in the sunlight.

  “I’m sorry about the other night,” he continues. “I was a jackass. I didn’t think. Come on. Don’t shut me out.”

  I mean to pull away, but somehow the warmth of his touch — and the fact that it’s gentler than I expect, melts my resolve just a little.

  “We can talk about it later,” I concede, hating myself a little bit for saying it.

  Tank looks disappointed, but nods gruffly and let’s go of my arm. “Sure.” He looks like he’s going to say something else. But instead, he leans forward and kisses me on the forehead. “I’ll see you later, babe. I hope my two girls have a good day.”

  He leaves me with those words, as I stand, half-stunned, and watch him get in his truck and pull away. His girls. Should I be angry at that assumption?
Or touched? Or what?

  It’s a testament to how mixed up I am that I have no idea.

  One thing is certain, though. I’ve missed Wren so much more than I even realized. And she’s so obviously thrilled to see me that it makes my heart ache. She carries on a near-constant monologue of every single thing that she’s done since last time I saw her — including a new swing set that apparently Tank built for her in the back yard. Wren seems older than last time I saw her, somehow — which is impossible, isn’t it, since it’s only been a few days?

  Another big change is that she’s calling Tank Daddy now, with an ease and naturalness that brings tears to my eyes. She loves her Daddy so much. It’s a beautiful thing to see. Especially because I know how much Tank loves her, too. The two of them are a family now. A package deal.

  And as mad as I still am at Tank… I miss the whole package.

  “‘Member when we went to the zoo and saw the doggies?” Wren is chirping at me now as I grab her one of the juice boxes I stocked in the fridge for her. “’Member when Daddy said maybe I could have one? Do you think they’re ready yet?”

  I suppress a smile, because I definitely remember Tank said no such thing. “Not for a while yet, honey.” I don’t argue with her about whether Tank promised her a puppy. Let him handle that one.

  “Did you ever have a doggy?”

  “Nope. But I always wanted one.”

  “Why don’t you have one now?”

  “Because there’s not enough room in this tiny apartment for one.”

  “But you could get, like, a tiny dog!” She squeezes her hands together to indicate the size of a Chihuahua.

  I laugh. “Yes, I suppose I could.” I stick the straw in the juice box and hand it to her. She accepts it and wanders off to make the rounds of my apartment. Thankfully, she seems to let the dog question die for now.

  Wren, sucking on her apple juice, goes straight to the painting of Cassie with the origami bird. I shouldn’t be surprised, since she’s been fascinated with it before. But given my late-night conversation with Tank from a few nights ago, it still jabs at me.