TANK: Lords of Carnage MC

by Daphne Loveling

  I stare out at them all. I’m here for the money. But I can’t help notice the thick disgust pooling in the bottom of my stomach at this whole goddamn scene.

  Fuck these people.

  I turn away from them and face my adversary.

  The bell sounds. Striker’s words echo in my head.

  Jackhammer. Leads with his right. But after that he just pounds.

  I’m betting that the best way to get this guy off-balance is to not go for him right away. To let him come at me first. I crouch down a little, readying myself, but I don’t make a move. I stay back, give him a chance to get frustrated. Sure enough, he feints toward me, thinking I’ll take the bait, but I just give him a mocking grin that makes his face turn to stone. A second later, he lunges forward. I pretend to brace for impact, then dodge right, jerking my head back and twisting to hook him in the temple.

  Jackhammer stumbles off balance a step, and I try to get my foot under him to kick his legs out from under him, but I don’t move fast enough. His left fist comes at me, flailing, and catches me on the chin. It rattles me, but not enough. I move back quickly, putting some distance between us. But he’s mad now, so he comes right for me. I get ready, waiting for him to telegraph his move. He fakes a right jab, sloppy as shit, but then he follows up with a real one, and then a left uppercut to my chin before I can react to block it.

  I taste blood. I just manage to get out of the way of his next right jab, and duck to deliver a low punch deep in his kidney.

  It connects. Hard enough that I get another chance while he’s still doubled over and pound him hard in the temple again. He goes down on his knees, and that’s when it’s over for him. I roundhouse kick him to the other side of the head, sending him sprawling to the ground. I take a step back, panting, and watch the blood trickle from a cut near his eye. He’s out.

  I turn to the side and spit. I hear the bell, and then the cheers, and a few boos, come from the crowd. I didn’t give these motherfuckers enough entertainment for their dollar. Vaguely, I wonder how many of those pieces of shit lost money on Jackhammer tonight. I climb out of the ring, ignoring every last one of them.

  Striker greets me with a wide grin and a jab to the shoulder. “Nice work, brother. You didn’t give ‘em much of a show, though. ‘Except for lettin’ him rough up your pretty face a little. Guess I’m gonna have to be the real entertainment.”

  I look back tiredly at the ring, and the crowd. They’re already getting pumped for the next fight.

  “You gonna cat-and-mouse your guy?” I ask.

  Striker grins. “Gotta give the people what they want!”

  I snort and turn away, heading toward the far edge of the crowd. A couple people call my name, but I ignore them. In the back, I grab my shirt and jacket from where I tossed them, and pull the shirt back on. Glancing down, I see some blood stains on my pants. I don’t think they’re mine, but I can’t be sure.

  Thinking about what Striker just said about my face, I bring my hand up to feel for swelling. I wonder how bruised up I am. I don’t know how bad I look, but the left side of my face is tender enough that it might scare the kid a little. I wince at the idea of Wren and Cady seeing me like this.

  I can’t do this anymore now that I’ve got my daughter. I don’t want her to grow up seeing her dad coming home looking like a dog’s breakfast. The money for this fight was good, but it ain’t enough. I’ll find another way to make ends meet.

  Speaking of which, Rudy comes up and congratulates me. He slaps me on the back, then hands me an envelope. I take it.

  “You give Striker his cut of the purse?” I ask.

  Rudy grins, gold tooth glinting. “Yeah, he’ll get his. You ready to do this again next week?”

  “No can do. This is it for me.”

  “We’ll see.” Rudy’s smile gets wider, but there’s an edge to it now. “I know money’s tight for you Lords right now. You want something more regular, we can talk terms.”

  “No terms. I said I’m done.”

  Rudy starts to argue with me. I know why. It ain’t because he’s a fuckin’ humanitarian. He knows he can make bank off of us, so he’s giving me the hard sell. I’m about to tell him no again with my fist, when my cell rings. I pull it out of my pocket and see it’s a number I don’t recognize. Turning away from Rudy, I answer it, since it could be Cady calling from another phone for some reason.

  Instead, it’s a voice I haven’t heard in years. But even so, I know who it is instantly.

  “Hello, Tank,” she says quietly. “It’s Jess.”

  My stomach drops with the low-level dread I’ve felt for weeks. I’ve been worried deep in my gut that she’d eventually get in touch, to say she wants to take Wren back.

  “Jess?” I bark into the phone, trying not to let any emotion show in my voice. “What the hell do you want?”

  “They have her, Tank,” she says tiredly.

  “What?”

  “Just so’s you know, they’re not kidding around. This is real.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “They have Wren.”

  Bile rises in my throat. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  Oh my God. Somebody’s taken Wren.

  “Where are you, Jess?” I demand. “What’s happening? Who’s got you?”

  Where’s Cady?

  “If you want her back, you’re gonna have to do what they say, Tank,” she slurs. “It’s the only way.”

  Frantically, I rack my brain trying to think of a way to get Jess to give me some sort of clue who has her and where they are. But then it hits me.

  Jess doesn’t sound scared. She doesn’t sound anything at all, except… high.

  She’s not being held by these guys, whoever they are. She’s with them.

  “Jesus Christ, Jess! What the fuck have you done?” I shout into the phone.

  I want to kill her. I want to reach through the phone and throttle everyone, do anything to get Wren back.

  Jess pauses, then says something that makes no sense.

  “We all have our vices, Tank,” she murmurs slowly. “You can judge me all you want. You have that old Mustang of yours. I have my needs, too. Maybe you think I’m weak, but I just do what I have to to get by.”

  The old Mustang? Jesus, she must be higher than I thought, babbling like that. The old car I used to restore was a Dodge Charger. What’s more, she knows that. I know she does. It was how she first started flirting with me, telling me her dad drove a Charger just like it when she was growing up. She always wanted me to let her drive it.

  But then the second part of what she just said sinks in. About vices, and doing what you have to to get by. And then, it dawns on me what she’s telling me.

  Jess is helping whoever has Wren. She’s sold our goddamn daughter for her fucking drug habit.

  “You evil fucking bitch!” I scream. My heart starts to race, my vision tunneling in front of me. The hand that’s holding my phone starts to shake. “Tell me where she is! Answer me, goddamnit!”

  But Jess doesn’t reply. Instead, I hear a muffled noise, like the phone’s being handed over to someone else.

  The next voice on the phone isn’t Jess’s. It’s a male, someone I don’t recognize.

  And what he says next makes my blood turn to ice.

  “Jess was right about you,” the voice chuckles. “It was easy as hell to lure you in. And it’s gonna be easier still to make you do exactly what we want. She isn’t kidding, you know. We do have your daughter.

  “Oh, and also, your girlfriend.”

  22

  Tank

  I clench the phone in my hand, certain I’m going to puke.

  “Who the fuck are you?” I choke out.

  “I’m Jess’s man.” The raspy voice chuckles darkly. “And your worst fuckin’ nightmare.”

  If I could reach through this goddamn phone and choke this motherfucker to death, he’d already have left this world.

  “Why don’t you
stop talkin’ in action movie clichés,” I spit, “and tell me what the fuck you want.”

  “I think the more important question is what you want. You’ve been played, my friend. And now you’re in a trap there’s only one way out of. For you, and your kid, and that tight little piece of ass waitress girlfriend.”

  My stomach roils. He’s not bluffing, I’m sure of it. I just don’t know what the fuck is going on.

  “Why don’t you stop wasting both of our time and get to the goddamn point?” I demand, noting my voice has gone hoarse.

  “So, here’s the thing,” he continues conversationally. “Jess here, she told me about you when we first got together. How she used to be with this Lord of Carnage dude. How you didn’t treat her right.” He tsks mockingly. “She didn’t like that.”

  My blood is fucking boiling by now. “Is that why she left her fuckin’ kid on my doorstep, like the goddamn mother of the year she apparently isn’t?”

  I don’t know what response I’m expecting. But it’s not the outburst of laughter I get.

  “Oh, man, you are a fuckin’ comedian! Like I said, you’ve been played, my friend. Jess told me you were a pussy who’d give his left nut to protect someone vulnerable. Like this helpless little girl here. Jess said all it would take was for you to find out the kid was yours, and you’d be right where we need you.”

  “And where in the fuck is that?” I snarl.

  “In the palm of my motherfuckin’ hand.” He laughs again, the sound grating on my ears so bad I want to fucking flay him alive. “And turns out, I got a two for one deal. That waitress was a bonus. A little insurance, to make sure you’re gonna do exactly what I fuckin’ tell you to. Or they both die.”

  I stand there, frozen to the spot. There are spots in front of my eyes. A roar like the far-off ocean pulses in my ears.

  “What do you want?” I hear myself say.

  “Your fucking club killed my brother. He was the president of the Outlaw Sons. He ain’t around anymore to get payback. But I am.”

  “Your brother…” I rack my brain to remember his name. “Your brother was Dragon?”

  “That’s fucking right,” he hisses. “The Lords of Carnage think they got away with annihilating another club. They’re gonna learn they’re dead wrong. Your prez Angel had Dragon killed inside Youngstown prison.” The man on the other end of the line is breathing hard now, lungs exhaling fury with every breath. “He’s gonna pay for that with his life.”

  Jesus Christ. That’s true. Angel had a guy inside Youngstown take Dragon out. For good fucking reason. Our club found out that Dragon and the Outlaw Sons had a human trafficking ring running in Tanner Springs. Beast’s old lady was the one who figured it out. She used to be a fed, an FBI agent. She uncovered the ring, and found out that the former mayor of our town was involved — as well as the former president of our own MC.

  The discovery rocked our club to the core. The fallout blew the doors off everything. By the time the dust cleared, the mayor was in prison, and our former prez, Rock, was stripped of his patch and given the ultimate club justice, by Angel himself — his first act as the new president.

  The Outlaw Sons MC were annihilated, just like this motherfucker says. And Dragon was murdered in prison by Angel’s proxy. We thought that was the end of it. We thought we’d got them all.

  “You’re the ones who ambushed our men out near West Hayes,” I guess, putting two and two together.

  “You’re fuckin’ right we are. And took your stockpile of weapons.”

  “One of our men died.”

  “Oh, is that so?” His voice morphs into a mocking simper. “Oh, that’s too bad.”

  The rage flooding me is like a drug. “And you torched the Death Devils clubhouse,” I murmur in a daze. “It was all you.”

  It was a long time coming,” he hisses, with unmistakable loathing. “And now we’re coming for the Lords. And you’re gonna give me everything I need to do it. Or I kill your woman, slowly and painfully, while your kid watches. And then, I kill her too. And believe me when I tell you, both of them will die knowing you’re the reason for all of it. Both of them will die with your name on their lips.”

  It all makes sense, what he’s saying. A horrible, terrible sense. They need someone on the inside of the Lords, to give them what they need to take the club down.

  And Jess just gave them the key.

  A tremor runs through me. In desperation, I say the only thing I can think of.

  “Jess ain’t gonna let you kill her own kid.”

  It’s more of a hope, a prayer, than anything. But the man on the end just sniggers.

  “Fuck, man, Jess don’t give a shit. She needs her sugar. I’m her sugar daddy. She never even wanted that kid. This was her idea, friend.”

  That Jess could sell her own daughter for a fuckin’ fix… it’s too much. What she said to me on the phone just now echoes in my head again.

  “They have her, Tank. Just so’s you know, they’re not kidding around. This is real.”

  But it’s not the words themselves that make my blood run cold as I realize what she’s done. It’s how she sounded.

  Not scared. Tired. But more than that.

  Indifferent.

  My head is pounding so hard I feel like it’s gonna explode. My mind flashes on the note Wren was carrying with her in that little pumpkin on Halloween night. The note that I read exactly the way Jess knew I would.

  Her name is Wren. She’s yours.

  You can protect her. I can’t.

  Jess and I were together for a hot second. I barely remember what she looks like. But somehow, she knew — or guessed — the one thing that could be used against me. Somehow, she knew the one thing that would make me weak.

  If I don’t give him what he wants, he’ll kill Cady and Wren.

  “Prove to me you have them both,” I bark, fighting the nausea that’s rising in me like a wave. “I want to talk to Cady. I need to hear their voices.”

  It’s a desperation move. It doesn’t work.

  “You don’t fuckin’ call the shots here,” he shoots back. “Jess already told you they’re here. You fuckin’ know she ain’t lyin’.”

  And the terrible, gut-wrenching thing is, I do.

  “I’m givin’ you until tomorrow to think about what will happen if you don’t do exactly what I say.” He pauses. “And to think about what a very, very bad night your cunt girlfriend and your daughter are about to have.”

  “NO—”

  The line goes dead.

  My legs almost go out from under me. The ocean sound of my heartbeat crashing in my own ears gets louder.

  “What’s up, brother?”

  In a haze, I turn to see Striker striding toward me. He’s beat up but grinning. Dully, I realize I’m still here at the fights, in the under-construction high rise. Striker’s fight must be over.

  Striker’s smile fades when he sees my face.

  “Jesus, man, what the hell’s wrong?” he blurts out. “Something happen?”

  “Jesus fuck, Strike,” I moan. “I’m in it. I’m in it deep.”

  Dropping the phone to the ground, I fist both my hands in my hair and pull, like I could yank everything I just heard out by the roots and make it all go the fuck away.

  “In what?” Strike shakes his head, alarmed. “Fuck, brother, what is it?”

  But I don’t answer him. I don’t have the words.

  How can I tell him what I’m facing? How can I tell him I’m even considering betraying the MC?

  The choice I have to make is an impossible one.

  My club. Or my daughter and the woman I’m in love with.

  Wren, my quiet little girl turned feisty hellion. The daughter I never knew I had, who’s become my world.

  Cady, with her long hair and her dark eyes. Cady, who feels like a dream come true when she lies in my arms.

  The choice is impossible. But it has to be made. I have no time to waste.

  Striker picks my ph
one up off the ground and hands it to me. I stare at his hand as I take it from him.

  “You gotta come to the clubhouse with me,” I tell him. “Right now. We gotta find Angel.”

  Striker opens his mouth to ask me again what’s going on, but I brush past him without a word. I take the stairs two at a time instead of the elevator as he calls after me, because I can’t stand the idea of being still for one fucking second. Down on the first floor, I burst out the back door, almost knocking over one of the guards as I fly by. They shout angrily after me. I ignore them, not slowing down until I get to my truck.

  Fifteen minutes later, I kick open the clubhouse door. Striker’s followed me on his bike, and I hear his engine cut out as the door closes behind me.

  “Where’s Angel?” I shout, striding into the middle of the room.

  A half a dozen of the Lords are hanging out, playing pool, drinking, enjoying the attentions of the club girls. They all look up at me, confused by my tone.

  “Goddamnit, where the fuck is he?” I yell again.

  “I’m here.”

  I spin around wildly.

  Angel moves out of a shadow next to the hallway, where he’s been standing with a couple of the other Lords. I stride toward him. Striker is two steps behind me. He still has no idea what’s going on.

  Angel looks down at what I’m carrying in my fist, then back up at me.

  “What’s up, Tank?” he asks, in a voice that’s both quiet and stern. I know I’m out of control. I know it but I just don’t fuckin’ care.

  “You have to strip me of my patch, Angel. And you need to do it now.”

  “I don’t need to do any such fuckin’ thing.” In his eyes, there’s a warning I’ve never seen before. “You watch yourself, Tank. Don’t forget this is your president you’re talking to.”

  It goes against everything I agreed to uphold when I swore my oath to this club. It goes against the love and loyalty I feel for every single one of my brothers, my prez included. But I don’t have a choice.