With a smile Rose pulled the sheet up over her hip, then she rolled to her side and waited. She watched him walk to the bed, gorgeous and naked, nonplussed that she was staring.
With that smile lighting up his face, he climbed into the bed next to her, resting on his side to face her. His hand traces the edges of the tape holding the gauze to her chest. “Think we caused damage?” he asked softly.
She looked down where his hand was. “No. It’s mostly healed. It’s just … ugly now.”
He frowned, rising up onto one elbow and picking at the tape. “Show me.”
“No, Tank. You don’t want to see.”
He sighed. “Rose, honey. You know you’re beautiful to me. Let me see it.”
Her head was a tumble of arguments but none of them made any sense. It was illogical to forbid him from seeing her scars. But it was just like the grocery store; she was scared for no good reason. “Fine,” she sighed, rolling to her back. She didn’t help but she didn’t get in his way as he lifted one corner of gauze and pulled it back.
“English, this looks good, honey. Really good.”
“It does?” She looked down, too. “It’s healing well. The mineral oil they told me to put on it really helps.”
“That’s good.” He pulled the tape off, then picked the bandage off her face and arm too. “And I couldn’t help but notice the backs of your legs are back to their amazing, sexy selves.”
She giggled now. “Are they?”
“Absolutely. I’ll still try to be careful, though. Anything else you need to worry about?”
“They said to keep an Ace bandage on my arm. Harder to do on my face and chest, but the chest is supported by a bra.”
“That’s too bad.” He honestly looked sad. “I love knowing you’re flying free.”
She shook her head. “Let it go, Cowboy.”
“Yeah,” he said softly, hand sliding along her arm soft enough to make her close her eyes. “I ain’t letting you go, English.”
She smiled. She didn’t want to be let go of anymore.
Chapter Seventeen
“If you see this guy, put your knitted cap thing on,” Tank instructed, handing over the extra weed they were giving Piper for this stint. She could sell it for her own profit or smoke it herself, whatever her dark little heart desired.
Piper nodded, stuffing the baggie in a pocket of her purse. It had voodoo dolls sewn onto it.
“You got that blade on you, little girl?” Knuckles asked, pulling his cigarette out of his mouth to do it.
“Of course,” she snapped, and Knuckles gave his cocky grin, casting his eyes up and down their dealer.
Tank frowned, then jerked his chin at Piper. “How old are you, anyway?”
She tilted her head. “Old enough to know why you’re asking and young enough that he’s too fucking old.” The he was directed at Knuckles.
“Ouch!”
Tank shot Knuckles a glare, then turned back to Piper. “Thanks again for doing this.”
She shrugged. “No problem.”
“Let’s go, Granddad,” Tank suggested, grabbing Knuckles around the back of the neck. They were setting up in a black cargo van, parked in a dark corner of a convenience store parking lot. Once they were in place in the front seat, they watched Piper take her stop on a bus stop bench, stepping onto the seat and sitting on the back with her backpack between her feet.
They were silent for about five minutes into the surveillance. “She’s hot, isn’t she?”
“Sure.”
He could feel Knuckles staring at him. He tried to ignore the asshole, he really did. But when he looked to the side, the fucker was grinning.
“What?”
“Where you been these past few nights, big guy? Not in your dorm. Tessa keeps looking for you.”
Tank shrugged. “Tired of Tessa, to be honest.”
“Don’t worry, I took good care of her.”
“That’s mighty nice of you.” A sweet butt was hardly of interest to him at the moment.
“Just say it, man!”
“What are you talking about?”
Knuckles slapped both hands on the dash. “Don’t bullshit. You’ve been fucking Rose all this time. Haven’t you?”
Tank’s jaw cranked tight. “Just leave it alone, man.”
“It’s cool man. She’s fucking hot.”
Tank had grabbed the front of Knuckle’s hoodie and yanked him sideways before he knew he’d even moved. “Don’t talk about her.”
Knuckles’ grey eyes were wider, but his smile hadn’t faltered. “Shit, man. Not you too!”
Tank let him go and shoved him back into his seat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Look at you! I knew you were sweet on her. But shit, man, you’re gone.”
“No idea what the fuck you’re talking about.”
“Bullshit. You’ve been there the last three nights, man.”
He wasn’t having this conversation. Yeah, he’d been with Rose the past few nights. And yeah, it was because there wasn’t anywhere else he’d rather be. But he was starting to get worried about her, too.
She never wanted to leave her apartment. And not in the “let’s not get out of bed today” way. She never left, even when he had to go out to the clubhouse or come out on an errand like this. She was holed up in that place all the time.
He had a suspicion this was directly related to her attack. She was herself in all ways until he suggested going out for a bite to eat or to take a ride. She was terrified of being outside in the world, and he had no idea how to deal with that.
“You can’t bullshit me.” The guy just wouldn’t shut up. “Man, everyone’s chicking up and handing their balls over. I don’t even recognize this club anymore.” His tone was teasing, and Tank had to shake his head.
“She’s different,” he said, then immediately cringed at how fucking stupid that sounded.
“Sure she is. That’s why you steer clear of different. It’s a fucking trap.”
Tank chuckled, somewhat placated that Knuckles saw a relationship here. It validated this … whatever they had going on. So that meant he wasn’t imagining things.
“Okay, who we got here?” Knuckles mumbled, tone changing from teasing to unfiltered curiosity.
Tank drew upright in his seat, leaning on the steering wheel, alert. Three guys were approaching Piper. She was pretending she couldn’t see them, but the knitted cap came out and she pulled it on, her feet tapping out a rhythm on the bus bench.
Knuckles carefully opened his door, and Tank did the same. The inside light was disconnected, so they also didn’t bother closing the doors tightly. So it was completely silent when they heard Piper shriek.
“Motherfuckers,” Knuckles was shouting before Tank could even track what had happened, and then the guy was gone.
As his boots hit the blacktop of the street, he realized that the three guys had grabbed Piper. One was going through her bag, and another was holding her in place to his chest. He saw the third guy deliver a fist to her gut, and he only saw red.
Knuckles spun the dude with the happy fists around and before the guy knew what was coming he’d dropped to one knee, his nose open and gushing blood. The dude with his hands tightly clamped to the little goth’s arms tossed her to the side and she stumbled, catching herself on the bus bench before she could fall. Tank noted that her nose was bleeding, so he’d missed one of these assholes actually hitting her in the face, too.
The one with her bag tossed it down and rushed him, but he was ready. He wasn’t nearly as wiry and quick as Knuckles, but when he landed a hit it tended to make a mark. This prick tried to duck, but that only meant Tank’s fist plowed into his forehead. It hurt like a sonovabitch but his adrenalin was already hot, so he shook it off.
Dude with the nosebleed got to his feet as Knuckles took the other attacker into the side of the bowling alley behind them. The guy’s head hit the concrete wall, and it seemed to stun him while Knuckles
delivered a devastating blow to his jaw. He hit the ground hard, but before Tank could shout “Behind you,” the first guy was on Knuckle’s back, his arm wrapped around Knuckle’s throat.
Tank was reaching for him to pull him off, but the dude he’d just dented in the head was suddenly on him, raining sissy blows into his ribs. They actually stung instead of throbbed, so with a grunt Tank yanked hard on his arm, causing the guy to swoop over his shoulder and hit the concrete on his back. Something fell out of his hand, but before Tank could worry about it he dropped one knee to the center of the guy’s chest and started feeding him some heavy rights. Once the guy was out, he pushed to standing again, surveying the fight.
Tank had at least seventy-five pounds on Knuckles, but the scrawny bastard had taken out two in the time it took Tank to get his one under control. All three were unconscious on the ground now.
“I’m going to go get the van,” Knuckles said, hand out. Tank handed over the keys and then headed right to Piper, who was staring at him with wide eyes, her sleeve pulled up over her hand so she could dab at her nose with it.
“You okay?”
She nodded, pulling her hand down. She looked, impossibly, paler than normal, and her eyes were a bit wild. “I’m okay. They just … surprised me.”
The van pulled up to the curb, and Tank checked the sidewalk. No one around. It was early-dark, but people tended to stay the hell out of this part of town unless they were the type to look the other way when a beat-down was delivered.
“Go on home,” Tank said, wincing as he picked up her backpack and handed it over. Shit, the little prick must have done more damage to his ribs than he thought. “Lock your doors. Anything seems strange, give us a call. I’ll have the patrols go by your building from time to time, okay?”
She must have been shaken because she didn’t give him any lip. Instead, Piper grabbed her bag and took off down the sidewalk at a brisk trot.
Knuckles and Tank got one guy loaded no problem. The one that had hit his head on the building was bigger, and when they strained to lift him the extra eight inches to get his ass in the back of the van Tank nearly dropped the guy, his breath gushing out in a blinding white light. He pulled through, but Knuckles was eyeing him up.
“What’s wrong there, Big Guy?”
Tank waved him off. “One more. Let’s get them to the clubhouse.”
Knuckles said nothing, just striding to the guy Tank had laid out. Something clattered as he kicked it.
Tank headed for the prick’s shoulders just as Knuckles was bending over. He straightened up, eyebrow cocked as he faced Tank. “Dude, you bleeding?”
“What are you talking about?”
Knuckles held up a small pocketknife, only about four inches long, and it was red.
Instinctively, Tank’s hand went to his ribs, just feeling the wet now. He pulled his hand away, and it sure as shit was red. “Fuck!”
Knuckles closed up the blade and reached for his phone. “I’ll call someone else to help lift this guy.”
“Fuck that,” Tank snapped. “We can’t sit here another ten minutes with this guy bleeding on the ground and two more in the back of the fucking van. I’m fine.”
Somehow, as sweat was breaking out on his forehead and his vision was swimming a little, Tank helped out enough to get the third attacker in the van. He shut Knuckles in the back without a word as Knuckles started zip-tying their captives. Tank headed for the driver’s side, his hand providing pressure to the spot that was starting to really, really hurt.
During the drive to the clubhouse Knuckles returned to the passenger seat and pulled out his phone. Through one half of the following conversation, Tank gathered that Knuckles had called Jeremy Fox, a doctor who from time to time could be counted on to keep his mouth shut for a few bucks under the table.
“Thanks, man,” Tank mumbled as Knuckles snapped his phone shut.
“Just stay conscious until we’re there.”
Tank backed the van up to the loading door that was the direct access to The Stall. Without any signal the garage door slowly groaned and clanked its way open to show Jayce was waiting next to Tiny. Both were smoking cigarettes.
“You bring us something interesting?” Jayce asked with a squint into the van as Knuckles yanked the rear double doors open.
“They were ready to jump Piper,” Tank huffed out, trying to catch his breath. “We got there in time. They bloodied her nose.”
“Assholes,” Tiny muttered, tossing his cigarette down.
Tank took a moment to examine the three bodies in the van. Two had close-cropped hair, just enough to show that it was dark and thick. Their skin tones were quite a few shades darker than Irish, to be blunt. All three looked like they could be related to Ramul of the acid-throwing stunt.
“They’re trying to hurt our other sources of income,” he pointed out unnecessarily. Then he squinted at Tiny. “Who’s on patrol?”
“Uh, Fritter and Rusty.”
“Can you text them? Tell them to run past Piper’s place a few times, make sure she’s okay?”
Tiny was nodding and pulling out his burner before Tank finished.
“You all right?” Jayce asked, eyeing Tank up and down. “You’re sweating like a pig.”
“He got stuck,” Knuckles chimed in. “One of them had a knife.”
“Fuck. Go sit down!”
Tank was nodding at the shouted instruction from his president. “I am, I am!”
The hallway out of The Stall led through the industrial kitchen and into the clubhouse. It was a quieter night, not being a Friday or a Saturday. Richey and Red were playing pool with a couple of sweet butts, and the other prospect, Tims Gatlin, was stocking the bar for something to do.
Tank knew alcohol just made a guy bleed faster, but fuck it. He needed it. He asked for a healthy dose of Jack, then carried his glass to a fake-leather armchair. No need to bleed on the upholstered one.
“You feeling okay, Tank?”
He closed his eyes, head going back. “I’m good, Tessa. Thanks honey.”
“You need me for anything?”
He sighed and cracked one eye open. “Nah, I’m good.”
Tessa was a sight. Curvy and blonde, so unlike Rose he was understanding now why he’d tended to go for her while the flirtation with Rose had been going on. Now she nodded, smiling. “Okay. You change your mind, let me know.”
He smiled back. He knew she wouldn’t make a big deal about any of this; she knew the score of this place. And Tank knew he was one of the few that let a girl stay in his bed for the night. He just couldn’t bring himself to tell them to get out when he was done.
They all thought he was cute. They told him so repeatedly.
“Anyone call for a doctor?” a voice shouted from the doorway.
With a humorless chuckle, Tank raised his hand while downing the whiskey. This was likely going to really fucking hurt.
Chapter Eighteen
Rose heard her apartment door open, and she heard the footsteps as they crossed the living room, padded down the hall to her room and crept into the room. She was also hovering in a state of near-sleep, so she didn’t move, too comfortable where she was to worry about this person in her apartment.
She knew who it was. The only other person who had a key.
The bed creaked as weight was added to the edge, and she listened as two boots hit the ground. There was the rustling of clothing, then the mattress shuddered as the body next to her turned to lift his legs onto the bed.
He hissed in a breath, that was the weird part. That woke her up.
With a flicker of eyelids she was awake, rolling to her back to smile at the sight of Tank lowering himself into bed. The smile vanished as she first noticed the white bandaging wrapped around his ribs. Then she noted that it was bright out, which meant it was technically the next day. He’d been out all night, and he’d been hurt.
Rose jolted up and put a hand on his arm as he lay down. “What happened? Oh my God, are
you all right?”
“Got stabbed a couple times in the ribs. Nothing got through, blade was too short and dull. But it cut me up pretty good.”
“Holy shit, Tank.” She scooted closer to his side, taking the hand he held up for her. “What happened?”
“Stepped in on a couple guys trying to rob a dealer,” he said simply, closing his eyes and sighing. It seemed as though he was relieved to be here.
“You saw someone about this, I hope?”
His chuckle was still deep and sexy, so that was a relief. “I got stitched up by a real doctor, yes. I’m just really tired, English. Come here.”
She snuggled into his side, careful of the wrap. “God, Tank. Now I’m going to worry every time you leave.”
“That’s sweet, English.”
“It’s not sweet. It scares me.”
She felt him kiss the top of her head. “Don’t worry about me. Too tough and stupid to get really hurt.”
She shook her head, hand playing into the hair above the bandage. “Don’t joke. That just scares me more.”
He was quiet, letting the palm of one hand skim up and down her shoulder. Rose’s eyes dropped closed, loving how that touch calmed her. “You worked in clubs owned by MCs before, right?”
“Yeah.”
“So … you know a bit more than most civilians. That’s why I told you about who had attacked you. And these guys tonight were the same crew. They’re going after our cash flow. We need to stop that shit before it can fester and take root.”
She stayed quiet. He was right; this was a familiar anthem that she normally heard as hearsay from other dancers.
“And we don’t want to be seen as a soft touch, either. We’re not a big club in the scheme of the world. We have this corner and that’s really it. Markham is it for us. So defending it is our only option. And these guys …” He took a deep breath, and that worried her. “These guys are the worst kind of scum. We hoped these types would never notice us, but they have.”
“How did they find out about this place, then?”
“Can’t tell you that.”
Rose knew at some point that would have to be his answer. She was okay not knowing everything. That was likely better. “How bad are these guys?”
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