Tanner's War

by Amber Morgan

  "Don't you want me?" she asked, voice breaking.

  Well shit. Of course he wanted her. Look at her. Sweet hips, hot tits, lush lips. Who wouldn't want her? But not like this, with her drunk and vulnerable.

  "I didn't mean it like that," he said, reaching for her. "I just mean, you're ... you know ... And I'm ... you know ..." Shit. What was it about her that made him so damn tongue-tied?

  "I don't know," she said, hugging herself again and turning away from him slightly. “Don’t do things like that if you don’t mean them.”

  “I did mean it. It just probably wasn’t very appropriate.”

  There was a touch of bitterness in Beth’s laugh that he didn’t like. “Do you always worry about what’s appropriate?”

  “No,” he admitted. Well, this was going really fucking badly, wasn’t it? He laced his fingers behind his head and kicked at the scuffed boards on the porch, wishing he could go join the fights he knew were happening not far from here. Nash had him on probation though. No getting back in the cage until his actual probation was over. Tanner had tried to persuade him otherwise, but he’d realized that all his arguments made him sound like a teenager screaming you’re not my real dad and gave up out of embarrassment.

  But fuck it, he needed to fight tonight. It was an itch under his skin that would just get hotter and hotter the more he ignored it. He was tuned up all wrong, what with finding Beth, laying out that creep at Mia’s, and now that kiss. It was either fight or fuck, and the only woman he wanted to fuck … He glanced at Beth. She looked torn between bolting and throwing herself at him. He could have her, he knew that. Their kiss told him that. She might be innocent and scared, but she was electric in his arms. It would be really fucking sick of him though, wouldn’t it? She’d been assaulted, sexually and physically, in the past twenty-four hours by men she’d known all her life. For Tanner to take her now, when she was hurting and vulnerable …Yeah. Not okay.

  “Maybe I should go back to bed,” Beth said, running her fingers through her hair. “That beer’s hitting me pretty hard.” She managed a weak smile.

  Tanner didn’t want her to go. He wanted her to stay out here, even if they did nothing, said nothing. He wanted to know she was right by his side, safe and … and his. He groaned. “Yeah,” he said, “please go to bed. If you stay out here, I’m going to do something really inappropriate.”

  He didn’t watch her go, certain he’d see hurt or shame on her face and equally certain he couldn’t take that. He’d grab her, kiss her rough and hard, and make her belong to him. And that would be no better than what the motherfucker back at the Church had wanted to do.

  He heard the mill door open and close, and then open again. He turned to tell her to go, only to find himself facing Wolf, the newest patch holder of the MC. The tip of Wolf’s cigarette glowed in the darkness, giving Tanner an instant craving. “Spare one?” he asked.

  Wolf offered him a roll-up. The old-rope scent of his tobacco wiped out the sweet smell of Beth, and Tanner felt a little of his tension slide away. Not enough, not nearly enough, but it helped.

  “You okay, man?” Wolf came to lean against the wall next to him. “Rattler said you had lady troubles.”

  “Fuck Rattler and his big fucking mouth. He doesn’t know a goddamn thing, as usual.” Tanner clenched his fists and wondered if Wolf would go a few rounds with him. The other guy was a mean fighter and he liked to brawl just for the hell of it. Didn’t have to be anything official, just two guys throwing down for fun. “You heading down to the cages tonight?” he asked him.

  Wolf shrugged. “Got no plans,” he said in his faded Cajun drawl. “Figured I’d just smoke a joint and call it a night, to be honest.”

  Tanner cracked his bloodied knuckles. “Wanna earn that smoke? Throw down a little first?”

  Wolf cocked his head to one side. “What’s on your mind, brother?”

  “Does there have to be anything? Just got some nervous energy to burn.” Tanner rolled his shoulders. “What’s up? Scared you’ll lose?”

  Wolf grinned slowly. He took a long drag on his cigarette and tossed it away. “All right. Let’s go.”

  Tanner threw his own smoke away and followed Wolf down the steps and onto the gravel. The bikes and trucks made a rough, natural ring for them, and there was enough light cast from the windows of the mill that he could see Wolf’s feral smile as they squared off.

  Tanner didn’t think of himself as a violent man. You could justify anything to yourself if you really wanted to. He didn’t enjoy fighting because he liked pain and punishment; he liked the exercise and the competition. He wasn’t angry because his dad abandoned him and his mom couldn’t cope; he was just a live-wire kinda guy, full of … yeah … nervous energy. He didn’t like the crunch of his fist in someone else’s face because he was a bad guy; he liked righting wrongs, meting out justice. And he was always justified. There was always some reason it was okay to hit the other guy. At least with Wolf and in the cages, the reason was that they’d agreed to it.

  Wolf was fast and wiry, smaller than Tanner, but deceptively vicious. He didn’t give Tanner time to warm up or get the measure of him, no feints or testing jabs. He just spat in the dirt and launched himself, driving his fist into Tanner’s gut. Tanner staggered back and replied with an uppercut, aiming for Wolf’s jaw but catching him in the shoulder when Wolf dodged. Tanner immediately swung in with his other fist and slammed it into Wolf’s stomach. When Wolf doubled over, gasping for air, Tanner brought his elbow down on the top of his head.

  Wolf landed on his ass, but jumped up quickly, shaking it off. “Elbows are illegal, dude.”

  “You see a referee?” Tanner bounced on his heels, fists up to guard his face. “Come on, man, you’re slow tonight. Wore yourself out on some pussy?”

  Wolf laughed. “Wore some pussy out, more like. And once I’ve handed your ass to you, I’ll go start over on some fresh pussy while you cry in the mud.”

  Then the real fight started. No more quips or banter, just the grind and grit of fists smacking flesh, boots to ribs, fingers to eyes. Bloody, messy, and raw as hell. Tanner lost himself in the brutality of it, no longer seeing Wolf, his brother, but just a body to pound. And Wolf gave as good as he got. Every jab, every kick, every gouge, Wolf matched Tanner. It was like draining poisoned blood, Tanner always thought.

  He didn’t know how long they fought. Probably only ten, fifteen minutes really, but the time stretched out until he could feel every blow, every drop of blood and sweat right down in his bones. His stamina was good, but he was rusty and Wolf was wearing him down. When Wolf came in for a shot to his face, Tanner dodged and caught the other man’s fist, twisting his arm behind his back in a quick, sharp move that left Wolf trapped and tapping out.

  “Don’t break my fucking arm, man,” Wolf said through gritted teeth. “I am planning on getting in the cages sooner or later.”

  “Give?” Tanner gave his arm one good yank to make sure Wolf was really quitting. Wolf yelped and slapped Tanner’s thigh with his free hand.

  “I give.”

  Tanner released him. They were both panting for breath, shoulders heaving, and sweat dripping down their faces. Tanner’s lip was cut and he wiped the blood away as he dropped down on the porch. Adrenaline oozed out of him in a heavy surge, leaving him both tired and energized. It was a strange combination, one you only got from a good fuck or a good fight. Wolf sat down next to him, massaging his arm.

  “Feel better for that?” he asked.

  Tanner shrugged. He did, mostly, but nothing had changed while he was slugging Wolf. “Got that joint?”

  Wolf lit up and for a couple of minutes they smoked in silence, passing the joint back and forth. In the darkness, with the warmth and light of the mill behind him, Tanner felt something close to peaceful. The weed helped, but it was more than that. It was the same feeling he’d gotten when he first left prison and came home. It was just … home. His family at his back. He wondered if Beth had ever had that
feeling.

  “You’re not bad for being so out of practice,” Wolf said, breaking the silence. “When’s Nash letting you back in the cages?”

  “As soon as I prove I’m not looking to get put away again,” Tanner said, trying not to sound bitter.

  Wolf chuckled. “The big man’s playing father figure, is he?”

  “Not even that. More like moral panic facilitator.”

  “Big words.”

  Tanner socked him in the arm, not really trying to hurt him. “I know he’s all about keeping our noses clean and staying under the radar, but fuck me, I don't need a babysitter. He needs to chill about some things.”

  “Big man’s got some big skeletons,” Wolf said. He sound thoughtful, not a state Tanner usually associated him with. “Could be fun to go through his closet, huh?”

  Tanner shook his head. Everyone was entitled to their secrets. Whatever secrets Nash kept, Tanner wasn’t interested in unearthing them.

  ****

  The night was winding down. Someone had dropped the volume on the music, leaving it as a dull background throb instead of an overwhelming roar. The club’s bar was almost empty, with most of the brothers heading home or upstairs to get laid or crash out, or both. Judge sat at the same table he’d occupied all night, one arm around Roxy, fingers under her shirt and casually stroking the soft stretch of skin between her bra and her jeans. With his free hand, he toyed with a playing card. Roxy was dozing off against him, and as always he found that damn near irresistible. He nuzzled her hair, inhaling her smoky vanilla perfume and wondering, as he did every day, what he’d done to deserve her.

  Just as he was thinking it was time for them to head to their own bed, Nash slid into one of the empty chairs, beer in hand. He took the playing card from Judge and set it back on the deck. “Been thinking,” he announced.

  Judge stroked his beard to hide his smile. “Yeah? About our little house guest? She’s sweet. You shoulda stuck around and talked to her.”

  Nash frowned. “I know you think I’m being too hard on Tanner.”

  “Not my place to say,” Judge said as Roxy stirred, straightening up next to him.

  “Well, I think you’re being too hard on him,” she said, glaring at Nash. “He served his time and he’s trying to do something good here with that girl.”

  “Last time he did something good for a girl, he ended up serving time. That’s my point.” Nash jabbed the table, frustration clear on his face.

  “Cullen,” Roxy said, more gently. “He’s not you.”

  Judge held his breath. Roxy got away with a lot of shit. She was his old lady and he was the VP, and Nash’s closest friend. She took liberties other women wouldn’t have, and Nash let it go. But you could only push the big man so far, Judge knew that. And Roxy had just slammed her fist down on one of his hot buttons.

  Nash’s face darkened, his gray eyes turning stormy. He curled his hands into fists and Judge could almost see the wave of rage and regret rise in him. But Nash crushed it down again, and whatever storm boiled inside him, he kept it inside. He shot Roxy a stony look, but said nothing.

  Judge gave Roxy’s shoulder a warning squeeze. “You said you’d been thinking?” he asked Nash, redirecting the conversation.

  “Yeah.” Nash took a deep chug of his beer. “I went and read up on that child-bride shit you mentioned from a couple years back."

  Judge squeezed Roxy's shoulder again, this time just for the need to touch her. Their daughter had been fifteen or sixteen at the time of that news story —it was why Judge remembered it. The thought of some sick creep putting their hands on his Elena ... It had made him sick and angry in turn. "You get a lot of that shit with these cults."

  "Yeah, well, maybe not with this one," Nash said, "but the news reports hinted at a lot of other nasty stuff." He picked up the playing cards and shuffled them idly. "Nothing you could legally do anything about, but we all know about smoke and fire, right?"

  Roxy straightened up, fluffing out her hair. "What's your point?"

  Nash sighed heavily, as if it cost him to say the next words. "I think I am being too hard on Tanner with this. If he wants to help the girl out ..."

  "How much help are we talking?" Judge asked. "If her people come round here looking for her, or this guy he clocked wants to press charges ... where do we draw the line?"

  Nash smiled grimly. "Tanner's Wild Blood. That means we go to the end of the line if we have to."

  Chapter Eight

  It was dawn and the only sound in the Church was Nathaniel’s labored breathing. He knelt before the altar, stripped to the waist and swaying slightly, trying to suppress the whimpers of pain bubbling in his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut to hold back the tears of pain. He clasped his hands together before him to hide the shaking. But he had already bared his heart to Abram, so the rest didn’t really matter. His father knew his weakness, his failure. The sweat and blood dripping down his naked back was testament to that truth.

  Abram set the whip down on the altar. “Look at me, my son.”

  Nathaniel sucked in a deep breath, as if to cleanse himself, and opened his eyes. Abram’s severe face was drawn with lines of pain, but his lips were thin and stern.

  “’The eye that mocks a father and scorns to obey a mother will be picked out by the ravens of the valley and eaten by the vultures,’” Abram said. “Is it not so?”

  “Yes, father.” Nathaniel’s voice was strained, but he was pleased it didn’t break.

  “I sent you to bring back my bride and you returned empty-handed. Was it too hard a job? Did I send the wrong son? Any of your brothers might have done better.” Abram moved behind the altar, lifting a heavy wicker basket onto it. Angry hisses rattled out of the basket.

  Nathaniel opened his mouth to argue, then thought better of it. Abram had given him six lashes. He’d been merciful. It would be best not to provoke him. “You know how sorry I am, father. Bethany—”

  “Save your excuses.” Abram opened the basket lid and smiled down at the snakes writhing within. Nathaniel couldn’t see them, but he knew what they were anyway. One king snake, banded in blood red and inky black, harmless. And one coral snake, banded in the same hues, but with sunny yellow too. Venomous. Not deadly with the right antivenin on hand … But who knew if Abram had it to hand?

  Despite his best efforts to control himself, Nathaniel quaked.

  “God is good,” Abram said, gripping the basket. “He wants me to show you mercy. He wants you to prove you can do better. Will you take His offer, my son? Will you prove to Him and me that you are more than a worm crawling at His feet?”

  Nathaniel swallowed. “Sir, I live to serve the Lord and His chosen one.”

  Abram gestured for him to rise. “’They shall take up serpents; and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them.’ Show me your worth, Nathaniel. Show me the Lord still favors you, and I will favor you the same.”

  Nathaniel stood, his back screaming in pain as he did. For a second the room spun, the dusty floorboards blurring with the cracked roof beams. He prayed and the moment passed. He prayed again and approached the basket, keeping his eyes fixed on his father. If he looked down and saw the snakes, coiling together in a sinuous mass, he would be sick. Besides, what test was it if you saw them and knew which one to take up?

  Fingers trembling, he reached into the basket. Cool, smooth bodies writhed under his hands. He eased his hands under one of those bodies, praying the reaction would be constriction. Coral snakes didn’t constrict as a rule, but king snakes always did. Of course, they bit as well, but he would survive a king snake’s bite with nothing more than a bruise to show for it.

  He lifted the heavy reptile, waiting, waiting … When the snake struggled against him, his heart fluttered. When it wrapped its muscular body around his forearm, he couldn’t help but weep. He dared to look down at last, seeing the bands of black and red scales that meant God had blessed him. The king snake curled around his arm and wrist, squeezing har
d, but it didn’t seem agitated. Dizzy with relief, Nathaniel met his father’s gaze with more strength.

  “God forgives me my failures,” he said.

  Abram nodded, his expression revealing nothing. If he was pleased or disappointed, Nathaniel would never know. “Then don’t waste His forgiveness. Take two of your brothers and go back to this diner. The harlot there obviously knew the sinner who stole Bethany. Find out where he took her.”

  Nathaniel set the king snake back in the basket. “If she won’t talk …”

  Now Abram smiled, and it was cruel. “She will talk. You will find ways to persuade her.” He shut the basket firmly. “Bethany is my bride by divine right. If you fail me again, my son, my wrath will be swift and righteous. Do you understand?”

  Nathaniel nodded. “I won’t let you down, father.” He hurried from the Church before Abram say anything else, but he heard his father’s chuckle echoing around the old building as he left, and it chilled him.

  ****

  Beth had gone back to bed after The Kiss, mostly because there hadn’t been any other choice. She’d slept restlessly, mind churning with the memory of Tanner’s arms around her, his lips on hers. He’d been rough, needy, as if she was some vital elixir. And she’d responded like a flower opening to the sun, greedily soaking him in. It was her first kiss. It was The Kiss, an event that surely deserved reverence and excitement … And then he’d turned away. Confusion and hurt had replaced her joy, and going to bed to sleep, to forget it had happened, had seemed the only thing to do.

  But there was no escaping him. Her body ached, longing for things she’d never known and she fumbled with herself, unsure how to ease the aching. She thought of the girls she’d seen downstairs, casually sexual and comfortable revealing their bodies, their desires. That was the kind of woman Tanner was used to, not virgins without the first clue of what to do with a man. She’d twisted in frustration, the slip and slide of the cotton sheets over her skin adding to her torment. She wanted hands, his hands. She wanted him and now he’d turned away, she had no idea how to get him. Women didn’t chase men. It was unseemly, even whorish. Women waited. Women accepted.