“It’s just …” she shrugged. “I have a say, too. And if I wasn’t interested, I would have bit you.”
There was a tense moment, then he burst into laughter. It was a good sound, a very good sound, and she found herself joining him.
“All right, English,” he said as a farewell, then headed back into the club.
That was the way of it between them. She never knew where they stood or what he was playing at, but she was still smiling as she climbed into her Camry and turned the key.
Chapter Three
“That was all you man, one more. C’mon Tank, push it.”
With a straining groan Tank willed his arms upward, lifting the bar overhead with the last ounce of his strength. Just when he thought his chest and arms were about to give out, Buck provided the slightest bit of assistance to set the weight on the stand for him.
Tank let his arms drop to his sides, knuckles hitting the ground on either side of the weight bench. He closed his eyes, willing his breathing and pulse to settle. “Shit,” he gasped. “I’m too old for this shit.”
“No you aren’t,” Buck assured him, tapping his shoulder and walking away.
Tank hefted himself upright, the burn in his chest and arms familiar and satisfying. He unwrapped his wrists and got to his feet, starting to un-rack the forty-five pound plates.
Not even a chest-burning workout got rid of the feeling of stupid he had. One or two beers tops at the strip club from now on. No shots. He couldn’t be trusted to behave himself.
The last thing he wanted to be seen as was the creepy, slimy boss hitting on his pretty employees. One, it was unnecessary since none of the club was hurting for choice when it came to women. Two, it wasn’t his style and he felt like shit that he’d dared touch Rose like that. He didn’t think the teasing was bad, she seemed to flirt back. But putting his damn mouth on her?
He was a fucking idiot.
“So what’s up?” Buck asked from the racked dumbbells, grabbing the set he wanted and running through a set of rapid bicep curls.
“What do you mean?”
Buck’s eyes hit his in the mirror on the wall in front of him. “You’re gonna make me say it?”
“No idea what you’re talking about,” Tank mumbled, circling to the opposite side to remove the weights. “Hey, how’s Gertie doing?” Chicken shit move, a lame deflection.
Buck grinned. “All right, fine. We won’t discuss it. But Gertie’s fine. Thanks for asking.”
A few silent moments passed. Tank was curious, he couldn’t help it. “Is she … okay with the close stuff yet?”
Ever since Gertie had come back into Buck’s life after a brief sabbatical, she had trouble with the intimate shit. And somehow Tank was the one Buck talked to about this stuff. Knuckles, thanks to his experience with substance abuse, had somewhat taken on the role of Gertie’s sponsor, which meant he wouldn’t talk about Gertie to Buck. Trust and all that shit. Buck seemed fine with it, which surprised Tank. Knuckles was a handsome and charming asshole; women loved him. But Buck trusted her and Knuckles.
But even a guy needed someone to talk to sometimes. He couldn’t go to Jayce either; the Prez’s marriage was in a hellish state of limbo and he wasn’t likely going to be forthcoming on the woman advice. Mickey was married, but his old lady, Jolene, was Gertie’s only real chick friend, and anything told to Mickey would undoubtedly make it to his woman. And then to Gertie.
Somehow, that left Tank. He was one of the older guys in the club, maybe that was why. Plus he didn’t mind. He liked Gertie plenty, hated to know how badly she had been dealing with all the shit that had come down on her.
In response to his question, Buck shrugged. “She’s getting there, yeah. Mainly the nightmares have stopped, which is awesome. Her waking up screaming scared the living shit out of me.”
Tank rubbed the back of his neck, even wondering where his own thoughts were coming from as he asked, “When you two first got together, were you ever worried about getting her hurt? Because of us and what we do?”
To his relief Buck just gave a dry laugh. “Never once. I gotta tell you, when a broad gets into your head and under your skin, reason goes out the door. In hindsight maybe I should have thought about that, but in all honesty … I’d do anything I could to make sure nothing touched her. Loving her made me indestructible.”
Tank smiled. His mind was on English, or Rose, and while he meant what he’d said about not wanting to be the creep hitting on the women working for him, his other concern had been causing her harm. It didn’t take a psych degree to see that it was Trinny and Gertie that made him think that way. Women shouldn’t have to suffer for their men’s choices.
And yet Trinny had chosen Jayce, no matter what they were going through now, and Gertie was very much with Buck, even if things were strained from time to time. That trust was inspiring, actually.
And he liked Rose. He really, really did. The guys hassled him that in a room full of naked women she was the one he was staring at. And it was true. She was just so gorgeous, and while she would have stood out if the place wasn’t full of lily-white meat he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to her that made her interesting to him. She was mouthy, that was nice, but never rude. They had a nice vibe going, a flirtatious relationship.
And yet he’d give anything to go back and not kiss her.
“You all right, big guy?” Buck asked, giving him a strange look. Tank realized he’d been staring off into space since Buck had stopped talking.
“I’m fine,” Tank said quickly, shaking his head. “Sorry. Dozed off there.”
Buck smiled. “Why you really asking me all this?”
Tank shrugged, laughing now. “Just conversation, man.”
Buck cocked on eyebrow. “Okay. Don’t tell me. But I’ll figure it out.”
“Nothing to figure out,” Tank was assuring his friend as the weight room door swung open with a lot of force, quite suddenly.
Fritter’s eyes were wide, and he looked stoked beyond belief. “Got another one. Can you believe it? Tiny, Knuckles and me found him outside Bakersfield. His truck broke down. You believe this shit?” Then Fritter was gone, spinning back to the hall and running.
It wasn’t hard to tell what another one they were talking about. Another one of the pricks from the video on Gertie’s phone.
Buck was shrewd, calm as he turned back to Tank. “We can’t get anywhere near them for months and now they’re falling in our laps?”
Tank shrugged. “Looking a gift horse in the mouth?”
“No, more like being suspicious of good luck. We haven’t had any in a while.”
“Yeah we have,” Tank reminded him. “Trinny and Gertie lived, so did Jayce’s kids.”
“Sometimes I forget that was technically lucky,” Buck admitted, wiping sweat from his forehead with a towel and heading for the door.
Tank followed, already feeling weary from whatever was about to happen. Internally he was hoping Buck would ask Tiny or Knuckles to do the dirty work this time. It had hurt Tank’s heart to see what the last one had done to Buck.
In The Stall, a Mad Gypsy was already strung up by the wrists, and a plastic tarp was being spread out at his feet. This guy wasn’t nearly as cocky as the first one had been; he was already sputtering, pleading. They must have gotten him good and scared on the ride back.
“Come on, man. What’d I do? You gotta tell me why I’m here, why you …” The begging trailed off as he saw Buck enter the room. “Shit.”
“That’s right, shit,” Knuckles replied, standing now that he was happy with the layout of the tarp. “You forget when you pull bullshit like raping women? You do that a lot?”
“N-no, man. I swear.” He sniffled. Christ, the guy was crying already. “I’m sorry. I mean it.”
Tank placed this guy, too. He had a memory for faces. This one had taken the second turn, then he’d been the one to hold her down for the Prez to have his way with Gertie. Buck knew he would reco
gnize him. He turned to Tank. “Which one was he?”
“He held her for Thor. He was the second one.”
Buck nodded, heading towards the guy. He stood in front of him, silent, and the man was reduced to sobbing under that stare. “I’m sorry,” he sputtered. “I’m fucking sorry. I swear it.”
The smell of urine permeated the air, and Tank winced. He wasn’t going to be able to watch this one, he knew it.
“I’m going to kill you,” Buck promised, low and cold. “But first, Knuckles here is going to have fun.”
Knuckles head jerked up, the smile slow like he thought Buck might be kidding. “Really?”
“Yeah. Please.”
Knuckles grin broke wide open, cackling as he headed to his tool box.
“Wait, wait!” the guy was screaming. Knuckles’ reputation was preceding him here. “Just kill me. Fuck, please, just kill me.”
Knuckles was a virtuoso when it came to hurting people. As level and calm as the guy was the rest of the time, seeing him hit a frenzy pitch when the stink of blood was in the air was fucking scary. He sliced everything off; fingers, knuckle by knuckle, not all at once. Then toes, the same thing. He always did that first; it was how he’d gotten his nickname.
Buck stayed out of the way of the blood splatter, but he was making himself stay put. Tank could tell. When Knuckles cut off the guy’s ears, the poor sap lost consciousness from pain.
“Shit!” Knuckles shouted, panting hard with blood running down his chest looking like a fucking psycho. “Get the smelling salts.”
“No,” Buck spoke up, hand out. “That’s enough. I’ll do him now.”
“You sure?” Knuckles asked it but he was handing over his knife.
“Yeah. He felt it. I know he did.”
One solid swing and the blade sunk into the guy’s chest to the hilt. Buck left it there and walked away.
They all let him go. Once the door was shut Knuckles and Fritter set to wrapping the corpse for disposal. Tank stared at the concrete, re-examining events that had brought them to this point. Jesus, what a mess. If they didn’t take a moment, pause, and breathe for a bit, things could really spiral out of control here.
He’d never forsake Buck the chance to avenge what had happened to his girl. And he certainly wouldn’t deny Jayce the right to take out the assholes that put a hit on his family, the same pricks that killed his unborn daughter.
But shit. If they kept blindly striking out at everything that came their way they were going to make a misstep, he could feel it.
Mad Gypsys were quiet for the moment. That made him nervous, but he was hoping they had their own reasons. If the Gypsys had an undercover cop of some kind in their ranks, which Tank was sure they did, it would be a while before they concerned themselves with revenge over a few missing members.
The Red Rebels had to be ready, though. They weren’t taking out hangers-on and prospects here. They were eliminating patched members. That couldn’t stand.
Tank sighed, then looked over to the work in progress. Knuckles was sopping up the blood from his chest and abdomen. He and Fritter were talking, laughing like they’d just finished a transmission tune-up or something.
Fritter caught him looking and shot him a genial grin. “All right, birthday boy! Let’s get the party on for ya, big guy!”
Tank groaned. He’d hoped they would forget about his birthday with all the excitement, but it didn’t appear he was getting off that easily.
“I don’t know, guys,” he started, suddenly feeling it. “I’m not sure I’m up to it. I might just wanna head home.”
“Fuck that!” Knuckles chirped, tossing the rag he’d been using to clean up into the trash bin. “I’m taking a shower, then we’re heading over to the club. My treat, big guy.”
Fuck. The club. They wanted to take him to Rebel Circus?
“We got something special booked just for you, handsome,” Fritter drawled, slapping Tank’s shoulder heavily.
Tank’s feet weren’t taking him along fast enough for Fritter, who shoved him along. His reluctance was, of course, because of English. Rose. This awkwardness was precisely the reason he wanted to stay the hell away from her.
“We’ll get you shit-faced and laid, big guy,” Knuckles was promising, pulling a shirt on over his naked and now clean chest. “You’re that much closer to being dead, after all.”
Tank chuckled at that, scratching his brow. “Yeah, thanks a lot, asshole.”
Chapter Four
Rose tucked the last of her tight, curly black hair under the skull cap. She pulled the candy-pink bobbed wig on over the top, grinning at her reflection in the mirror. She looked ridiculous, but it brought her back to her theater school days, so she was also loving the dress-up process this time.
The denim skirt was short, with pink-and-white gingham ruffles spilling out the bottom. The two-piece on underneath was also pink-and-white gingham. The sleeveless denim top was tied in a knot under her breasts, stomach exposed. The white cowboy boots were borrowed; she had never in her life worn cowboy boots.
When Knuckles had booked her for a private dance she’d thought it was for himself, which made her a bit reluctant. Then he told her about Tank’s birthday, and while she could see why coming up with a reason to beg out of it would have been smart, she didn’t. Plus, she didn’t want to arouse any suspicion about whatever the hell it was going on between them.
She’d also never danced to a country song before, but there was a first time for everything. Coco had suggested the tune, but it seemed a bit slow to Rose. No matter; it had a sashaying beat that allowed for hip swaying.
A quick layer of scented lotion made her skin glow, and she wanted to smell good, anyway. After that she was ready to go, her stomach a little fluttery when Coco came to get her.
The little slip of spitfire was grinning, a knowing twinkle in her eye. “He’s in a room,” she said, sing-song. “He has no idea.”
Rose smiled, heading for the hallway and the room they’d booked for the birthday boy. She took a deep breath, hand on the knob, before pushing inside.
At the sight of Tank, looking exactly like Tank right down to the cowboy hat, she felt some reluctance. Maybe he’d be weird with her after the kiss? Or he’d be completely uninterested in the dance to begin with. But the doubt fled when he put up a hand, quirky smile in place. “You don’t have to do this,” he said straight off, hand going back in his pocket. “They don’t have to know—”
“Shut up and sit down,” she quipped, crossing to her stereo and starting the track.
He only half-listened, buttoning his lip but staying on his feet as Joe Nichols started. He recognized the music and grinned, running his other hand down his chin and shaking his head. “Shit, Rose.”
She pushed him into the plush armchair with a smile, plucking the hat off his head and putting it on herself. “They paid for touching,” she told him, putting one of his hands on her hip. The girls were allowed to touch, but customers were only allowed if they paid the touch fee, and even then it was limited.
He licked his bottom lip, eyes up to hers while that grin died out a bit. His gaze flared with heat, and she felt her own smile slide wider. She stood straddling one of his legs, lowering down so the front of the shirt gaped open. As if designed to do it, his eyes fell right where she intended them to. Straightening up again she rolled her hips, his hand staying where she’d put it, and she unknotted the denim shirt just as the singer first declared tequila makes her clothes fall off.
A private dance was, of course, very different from a spotlight routine in front of a room of people. Having Tank being the only one watching her dance was even more close and intimate, somehow. Perhaps it should have felt strange. But as the slips of clothing came off, she was actually more and more comfortable from how intensely he was looking at her. He didn’t paw at her, though. If his hand was on her at any point it was because she’d put it there, and it seemed he was almost scared to remove it once it was in place.
>
In her career she’d had a few performances that were … well, erotic. Sometimes the guy was just good-looking and well-behaved and she couldn’t help but get a bit turned on. For some reason, this happening with Tank was another layer that made her excited. And comfortable. It was a bizarre contradiction.
When the top came off, he licked his lips again, and when she tore the skirt off before sitting in his lap, she was plenty aware he was breathing through parted lips. That’s the only time his hands moved on their own, circling her hips and squeezing tightly front and back. Rose’s heart skipped, and she rolled her hips into him, grinding over his crotch, feeling his erection.
“Rose,” he growled, the last of the song dying out.
She stood, turned, and then climbed onto his lap again, knees planted on the outside of his thighs. Without pausing to consider her stupidity, Rose slid both hands along his thick neck and pressed her lips to his.
She was breathing hard, he was breathing hard, but if he was worried about making an inappropriate move it didn’t show. His tongue was darting out to meet hers immediately, his hands sliding over her bare back dry and hot. The room was noticeably silent once the music was gone, but they didn’t care.
Lips and teeth mashed, tongues stroked each other frantically. She clutched at his hair with both fists, holding tight as though she feared he’d push her off again. Step away. Pull back. But he didn’t.
When he pulled his mouth from hers it was to kiss her neck, nipping at her skin, then along her collarbone. “Tank,” she gasped out, eyes falling closed.
“Shit, English,” he snarled, hands sliding up her ribs now, stopping just below her breasts. Christ, she wanted him to touch her there. “You smell so good. You feel so fucking good.”
“I want you,” she admitted, mouth close to his ear so she only had to whisper it. “Please don’t turn me away again.”
“Are you sure?”
She had to grin. That certainly wasn’t a no. “I’m sure. I’m so sure.”
“Not here,” he insisted, hands now on her ass, kneading the muscles roughly. “That’s too scuzzy, even for me.”
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