TANK: Lords of Carnage MC

by Daphne Loveling

  “Fuck you, Angel,” I spit out.

  My words suck all the air out of the room.

  “Jesus…” someone mutters from the back.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Beast take a step forward. The VP’s loyalty to Angel isn’t just out of obligation. It’s out of respect. He’s ready to take me down, and I know it.

  But Angel raises a hand to stop him. Nostrils flaring, his eyes never leaving mine, he bites out the words. “What the fuck is your problem, brother? You got a death wish?”

  My hand shakes, almost imperceptibly, as I lift my right arm.

  “I ain’t got a problem,” I say, ignoring the churning in the pit of my stomach. I hand him my cut. “I’m leaving the club. Effective immediately.”

  23

  Cady

  “Cady!”

  A tiny, frightened voice whimpers in my ear. Small hands pull at my arm.

  I try to lift myself, to open my eyes, but it feels like someone has brought a cinder block down on my head. Groaning, I curl into myself, trying to make the pain go away. A sharp slice of pain shoots through my shoulder, making me gasp.

  “Cady!” the little voice says again, ending in a sob.

  Wren.

  The jolt to my heart brings me fully awake in an instant. My eyes fly open, despite the hammer of pain in my temple. Wren is next to me, trying to curl herself into the crook of my arm. She’s shaking, whether from cold or fear, I don’t know. Probably both.

  Dizzily, I struggle to make sense of what’s happening. It’s dark, damp. The acrid smells of motor oil and something that might be alcohol or ammonia assault my nostrils.

  That’s when I remember.

  The man from the diner.

  Wren’s scream as they wrenched her from my bed.

  Fighting, struggling, with all my might to get to her. The searing agony of my arms being pulled behind me, muscles tearing.

  The sickly-sweet smell of the cloth pressed over my nose and mouth.

  “Sshhh,” I soothe, drawing Wren toward me with the arm that hurts less. “It’s okay, baby, don’t cry…” The words come naturally, even as a part of me seems to slide out of my body to look at the two of us, sitting here on a damp floor in a dank room. The part of me that knows I’m lying.

  Because it isn’t okay. Not at all.

  Wren keeps crying softly as I hold her and rock her. It’s almost a comfort to do it. It makes me feel like I’m doing something, while I try to make my brain assemble the pieces of everything that’s happened in the last few hours. Or however long I’ve been unconscious.

  Forcing myself to ignore the pain in my head, I blink rapidly a few times and look around me. The room we’re in is almost completely dark. But as my eyes start to adjust, I realize there is a tiny bit of light coming in, from what looks like a minuscule window toward the top of one wall. We’re in a basement, I think immediately. Somewhere in a basement.

  The light is so faint that it must still be nighttime. Which means, wherever we are, it can’t be all that far from Tanner Springs. Unless I’ve slept for a whole day and another part of a night, which doesn’t seem likely. Mentally, I check my body. I’m not hungry enough for that to be the case, and I don’t have to pee yet. So it’s probably only been a few hours since we were taken.

  Taken…

  For some reason, that’s the word that sets it off. The panic. The terror. The abject horror of what might be happening. What might be about to happen. I hold Wren tighter, try to stop the scream that starts in my throat. To still the shaking that threatens to start in my own body.

  You can’t. You have to be strong for her. Stop it. Now!

  My breathing has sped up with the panic, grown faster, more shallow, and I catch myself just as the spots start to form before my eyes. I make myself stop, then take a slow, deep inhale. Then let it out, just as slow. I rock Wren to the same rhythm: in, out. Back, forth. I focus on her warm little body. On the familiar, fresh smell of her hair.

  Okay. Okay. Think, now.

  I swallow. Let my breathing return to normal. Make myself try to remember everything I can about the men who took us.

  The one from the diner is the only one whose face I saw, though I think there were at least two others. It doesn’t make sense, though — why would he kidnap us? This can’t be about revenge for me slapping him, can it? Can he be that crazy?

  An echo of a memory comes to me. He mentioned “the biker” right before he put the cloth over my face that made me pass out. Called me the biker’s girlfriend. Can this be about Tank? About something having to do with him, or his club?

  I have no idea. I just know that whoever the man is that took Wren and me, this wasn’t random.

  I remember the hatred in his voice. The glee I saw his eyes, I don’t doubt he wants to hurt me.

  I just pray he has enough humanity to leave Wren alone.

  Eventually, the little girl in my arms quiets. I keep rocking her, whispering what I hope are soothing words. I sing her a lullaby, the only one I know, and soon she falls into an exhausted sleep. Knowing she’s calm for now gives my mind the chance to try to focus on how to get us out of here. I squint into the darkness, and try scan the room we’re in. It’s not large — only about eight feet by ten feet, if my eyes aren’t playing tricks on me. There are no stairs, just a door. So we’re in a room of a basement, not the whole basement itself. There’s nothing in here as far as I can tell, other than us. No mattress, no chair, no table.

  Nothing to use as a weapon. Nothing to use to help us escape.

  I know without even trying the door that it will be locked from the outside. But I resolve to try it anyway, once Wren is awake.

  Somehow, I doze. I don’t know how long. But when I wake up, the sliver of light coming through the window above tells me morning is breaking.

  A fresh slice of fear cuts through me as I realize the night is no longer here to protect us.

  Tank must have gone back to my apartment by now. He must know we’re gone. If he’s been there, he’ll see my car is in the lot. He’ll know I’m not answering my phone.

  Please find us, Tank. Please. Before…

  A sob rips from my throat, but I swallow it. I shake my head, violently, willing myself not to start crying. Biting my lips together, I gaze down at Wren, who is still asleep, her head resting on my thigh.

  The man from the diner said last night that he was going to enjoy what he was about to do to us.

  I fight the urge to throw up.

  Whatever happens, I have to protect Wren. Whatever he could do to me, the things he could do to her are a million times worse.

  Carefully, I pull off the hoodie I’m wearing, and fold it into a pillow. I gently lift Wren’s head and slide the hoodie under it as I slide out from under her.

  Pushing slowly to my feet, I ignore the sudden painful head rush and tiptoe as quietly as I can to the door. I put my ear to it: silence on the other side.

  I try the knob. Just as I expected, it’s locked.

  “Cady?”

  I turn. Wren is sitting up, staring at me.

  “Hey, baby. You sleep okay?”

  I do my best to give her a reassuring smile.

  “I’m hungwy.”

  Despite everything, I smile at her sleepy pronunciation.

  “I bet. It’s almost time for breakfast.” I go back over to Wren, heart pounding despite my calm exterior. I know that right now, the most important thing is to keep her reassured. I sit down next to her, back against the cold wall. She moves next to me. As I put my arm around her, her hand lifts to her face, her thumb sliding into her mouth.

  “Pretty soon someone will come and give us something to eat,” I say, wondering if it’s the right thing to tell her. I have no idea how to know. All I can think to do is to give her as many minutes as possible of comfort. Before…

  Before…

  “Wheh ah we?” Wren whines quietly.

  “We’re in a basement.”

  “I wanna go ho
me.”

  “Me too, baby. Me, too. But we will pretty soon.”

  “When?”

  “Soon.”

  “I miss Snoopy.”

  “I know, sweetheart. But he’s right there on my bed where we left him, so you’ll see him soon.”

  “Is Daddy gonna come get us?”

  “Yep, he is.”

  Thankfully, Wren seems to accept this answer, even though I’m desperately afraid I’ve just told her the biggest lie she’ll ever hear in her young life. I give her a tight hug, then slip away from her again for a second and go over to the wall that has the tiny window near the ceiling.

  Craning my neck, I stare up at it. It’s so small that even Wren would have a hard time fitting through it. And that’s if we could get it open.

  The glass on the window itself is so dirty it’s almost opaque. I can’t see outside at all. There’s no table or anything else to stand on to get a closer look. But there is a small ledge that I might be able to use to lift myself up enough to see. I look at the uneven wall below the sill, and notice there’s a couple of places where I might be able to get the tiniest foothold.

  Stretching up on my tiptoes, I reach high with my fingertips, until I get just enough purchase on the sill to try it. I lift one sneakered foot and work it into my semblance of a toehold. If I ever get out of this, I’m going to learn how to do pull-ups.

  Then, taking a deep breath, I lift with all my might, pushing with my leg muscles.

  It doesn’t get me all the way up, but it gets me close enough to see out at an angle from below. And what I see through the filthy glass makes my heart sink.

  On the other side is a rusty metal lattice covering the entire exterior of the window.

  “What’cha doin’, Cady?”

  I kick back from the wall and hop down. Turning to Wren, I work to rearrange my face into a neutral expression.

  “I’m just…”

  Heavy steps resound outside the door, then come closer. Wren leaps up and cowers against my leg. I brace myself for whatever is to come.

  The slide of what sounds like a large deadbolt.

  The metallic click of a key in the lock.

  The door scrapes open.

  The man who stands in the doorway is not the one from the diner. He’s large, solid and over six feet tall, with stringy ginger-colored hair, and a burn scar on one side of his face.

  For a split-second, I think about rushing him, but I haven’t got a plan, and I don’t know anything about what would await me beyond the door.

  The man doesn’t say anything, just scrutinizes me and Wren. His silence is unnerving.

  “What do you want with us?”

  No reply.

  “We’re hungry. And thirsty,” I push.

  The man shrugs.

  Wren nudges me.

  “And we have to go to the bathroom.”

  His lip curls. The burnt, scarred skin on his face stretches taut with the movement.

  “Choose a corner,” he grunts.

  He pivots on his heel. In desperation, I call out to him. “Why are you keeping us here?”

  The man swivels his head to look at me.

  “Does it matter?”

  Then he’s gone, the door locking and bolting behind him.

  It’s in the silence that follows his retreating footsteps that the truth comes to me — so awful that I have to clench my jaw so I don’t break down in front of Wren.

  They’re not going to feed us. They’re not going to give us water.

  They don’t care about keeping us alive.

  24

  Tank

  “You don’t fuckin’ threaten to leave this club without an explanation,” Angel growls at me, jabbing a finger in my face. “You took a goddamn oath, brother.”

  We’re standing in the chapel, the three of us: Beast, Angel, and me. My cut is lying on the mahogany table. The same table I’ve sat at with my club for years. It occurs to me this is the last time I’ll see it.

  “It ain’t a threat,” I shoot back. “I know I took an oath. That’s why I’m quitting the club. I can’t uphold that oath anymore.”

  “You need to explain yourself right the fuck now,” Beast snarls, standing to Angel’s right. “This cut ain’t something you put on and take off on a whim, Tank.”

  “You remember Dragon. Prez of the Outlaw Sons.”

  “I remember him.” In spite of the thick tension in the room, Angel’s eye glints with pleasure at the memory of ending the man.

  “His brother has my daughter. And my old lady.”

  Old lady. I realize the words are true as soon as I say them.

  “He’s out for vengeance. He wants to destroy the Lords of Carnage. He took Wren and Cady because he wants me to betray the Lords.” I rake a hand roughly through my hair. “He wants me to help him take down the club. He’ll kill…”

  I choke on the word, eyes stinging. Clearing my throat, I try again.

  “He’ll kill them both if I don’t help him to do it,” I finish.

  My words hang in the air. No one speaks. Beast and Angel look at each other, communicating silently.

  “So, you’re leaving the club why?” Beast finally asks in a low voice.

  “Because he’s gonna call me tomorrow. And once he tells me what he wants me to do…”

  I’m afraid I’ll do it, I try to say. But the words won’t come out.

  “I’m giving you a warning,” I rasp instead. “You have to unpatch me.”

  Angel squares his shoulders. He takes a deep breath and lets it out.

  “So, you’re sayin’… you’re leaving the club so you can’t betray us?”

  Yes.

  I clear my throat again. “I’m leaving the club because my loyalty is in question.”

  Angel narrows his eyes at me.

  The punch comes out of nowhere.

  Next thing I know, I’m on the ground.

  For the second time tonight, I’ve taken a hard hit to the jaw. Shaking my head to clear it, I look up.

  Angel is standing over me, flexing the fist that just laid me out. There’s thunder in his eyes.

  “You’re a Lord, Tank,” he bites out. “You don’t betray us, goddamnit, and we don’t betray you.” He grabs my cut off the table and tosses it at me. “Now, put this back on. And let’s get your family back.”

  Angel calls Tweak to the clubhouse. I tell him everything I can about Dragon’s brother, which is not very fuckin’ much.

  “I’ll find him,” Tweak tells us, looking across the mahogany table at Beast, Angel, and me. “This is his actual brother? Like, blood related?”

  “That’s what I gather.”

  “I’ll get what I can about him and the rest of the family, who he associates with, shit like that. You have a name?”

  “Nah. He didn’t tell me.”

  Tweak nods. “No worries. I got this. You said he’s gonna call you tomorrow?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That gives me time. Go home and get some sleep.” Tweak stands. “We’re gonna deal with this.”

  Angel and Beast stand as Tweak heads out the door of the chapel, presumably to his computer command center in the clubhouse. “I’m gonna go get some shut-eye myself,” Angel says.

  Beast nods. “Yeah, good plan.”

  Angel claps me on the back and gives me a long, penetrating look. “Don’t you go getting any ideas about goin’ rogue and tryin’ to take care of this by yourself. Best chance we have of gettin’ your girl and your daughter back is if we do it as a club.”

  I exhale and nod. I know he’s right.

  “Also… old lady?” In spite of the tension, Angel gives me an amused smirk. “That new?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Can’t wait to meet her.”

  Beast and Angel file out. I follow them, and head out of the clubhouse toward my truck. Once I’m inside, I turn the engine on, but instead of pointing the vehicle toward my place, I head over to Cady’s apartment.

 
; The door’s unlocked when I get there. No sign of forced entry. She must have let them in.

  Because she thought they were you. She was waiting for you to come back from the fight.

  I step inside. The studio looks almost like she and Wren will be back any minute. The lamp near the couch is on. The kitchenette light is still glowing. There are freshly-washed dishes in the drying rack.

  Feeling sick, I notice Wren’s little backpack sitting over by the screen that separates Cady’s bed from the rest of the room. I walk around the screen. The bedcovers are on the floor, along with Snoopy. There’s a small Wren-sized indentation on the mattress.

  My St. Gerard medallion glints on the nightstand.

  That’s what does it. That’s what breaks me.

  I slump down on the bed. Fingers shaking, I reach for the medallion. The leather thong that Cady adjusted to fit Wren is too small to fit around my neck, so I put it in my pocket instead.

  “I’ll find you, Wren,” I say to the empty room. “I swear to God I’ll save you.”

  Then, head in my hands, the flood of grief I’ve been holding back overtakes me.

  I snap awake to the sound of my cell phone. Eyes darting around the room, I realize I’ve slept for hours. The sun is already high in the sky.

  “What?” I bark into the receiver.

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk,” the hated voice says. “Sounds like you had a bad night, Tank. But I bet it’s nothing compared to how bad your kid and your girlfriend’s night was.”

  “Enough talk.” My worry and pain come out as anger. “Tell me what I need to do to get them back.”

  “I want,” he answers, “for you to get all of the Lords in one place. Together. Your clubhouse. And then you’re gonna tell me when they’re there.”

  I let his words sink in. The meaning is clear. He wants to destroy all the Lords, all at once. And he wants me to make it easy for him.

  “How the hell am I gonna do that?”

  “That ain’t my problem. It’s yours.”

  “I’m not the prez. I don’t have that kinda authority.”