He did. Within seconds he was sliding into her and she was whimpering into his mouth yet again.
“Fuck, baby. You feel so fucking good, every time.”
His voice made her blood sing. He was raw, uncaring about being cool or a stud. That in itself was so fucking sexy he needed no dressing up.
“Oh Jesus, Tank.”
“Tell me, baby.”
“That’s it.”
“Yeah?”
“Uh huh.” To accentuate her point her nails dug into his bare shoulder, and her neck cranked back against the wall. She came hard with a bellow that was positively unladylike, but holding in sound didn’t feel as good as letting go.
“I wanna hear that again.”
“Then do that again,” she returned with a breathless laugh, gasping as his hips found a whole new rhythm that had her closing her eyes and moaning.
“You asked for it, you’re getting it,” he growled against the skin of her neck.
Her teeth bit into her lip and her toes curled tight.
“Jesus, English. Look at you.”
“Tank—”
“I could come just watching this.”
“Oh God.”
“I hope you’re close, baby.”
“Tank, please. Don’t stop!”
“Never, baby.”
So quickly she was climbing again, pressing her lips against him hard. He responded with his tongue, his hips picking up the pace until she was scratching at him viciously, her cries smothered by his mouth. And when he came he threw his head back, nearly howling at the ceiling, the muscles of his neck popped and tight. She scraped her teeth along his throat while he came down, relishing the tremors working through his solid, massive torso.
There was only loud panting for a moment, then he dropped his head back to hers and gave another quick kiss. “That’s better than dancing.”
She giggled, unwrapping her legs from his waist as he pulled free of her. “Yeah, it is,” she agreed while he gave her another quick kiss.
“Only one problem with this place,” he muttered, zipping his jeans back up.
Rose adjusted her underwear back into his proper place and went for their shirts. “What’s that?”
“Bathroom’s on the second level. Makes clean-up a pain in the ass.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“So, new development in town.” Jayce opened the meeting with that statement. “We all know Devon’s father, yes?”
There were mumbles around the table. Everyone liked that stoner, no one had any problems with him until he’d gotten beat up and hadn’t told anyone about it.
“Just found out that the sheriff position is up for election in six months. And for the first time in six years someone will be running against Downey.”
Tank frowned. That was bizarre; Downey was local, everyone loved her. And the club always threw their support behind her fully. She knew how the town and the MC operated best, and she’d supported it with professionalism since she’d gotten the gig.
“Who’s running?” Tank felt as confused as Fritter sounded.
“Devon’s dad. Good old Archie Turnbull.”
Tank and Fritter exchanged a look, since they were seated across the table from each other. “When did Sharon find this out?” Fritter asked. Tank’s frown deepened. Sharon? Since when was she Sharon to them?
Jayce didn’t catch that oddness. “She called today to give me a heads-up. Last week she got a very angry complaint lodged at her department over the fact that Turnbull’s son got beaten up selling our weed.”
Tank groaned and leaned back in his chair. “Fuck. Fuck! We so don’t need this.”
“We support Downey’s bid for reelection, no question,” Jayce told the table over the mumbled agreement with Tank’s outburst. “In the meantime we find out what the local feeling is towards a change in Sheriff.”
“Does Downey have any idea on her chance of being booted?” Buck asked.
Jayce shrugged. “She never really said. She seemed level, but it’s hard to tell. She’s tough, and she’s got the cop act down to an art. But let’s not forget Archie is a big, bloated fish in this town. He runs a successful business, and we do not need him getting other business owners on his side. Town council’s already full of business owners. I can only imagine what would happen if business got into law enforcement, too.”
“Any way to make it right with the old man?” Knuckles asked, but they all knew that was a no-go.
“Nah. He’s so full of his own importance we can’t even intimidate him. Nor would we want to.”
Irrationally, Tank worried about Rose and her new dance studio. “What about his wife? She in agreement with this?”
“Didn’t you hear?” This from Tiny. “They split up about four months ago. She caught him getting a blow job from the receptionist at the dealership after hours.”
There were chuckles around the table, during which Knuckles tilted his head. “Wasn’t that how he met the wife, too?”
“Doesn’t want to go far for tail. He’s a lazy asshole.”
They all laughed at Fritter’s observation, but no one missed what this could mean. Comfort bred complacency, and Tank’s mind was mulling over any time the MC might have cost a local businessman some profit. There had to be stories out there that could hurt them.
“So now the question is, what do we do with the pot business?” Jayce brought it back to their own livelihoods. “I suggest we contract the dealing out. Nomads can take it, run it wherever they need to go, or we start selling directly ourselves. Send the prospects out, maybe. I don’t think they’d get jumped.”
Tank preferred the prospects solution. Kept their local customers happy. “I’d go with prospects. I don’t want people finding pot somewhere else. We should assume this will blow over, try to keep it business as usual.”
Jayce nodded then surveyed his brothers. “All in favor of Tim and Rusty being our new friendly, neighborhood pot dealers?”
It was unanimous. They’d maintain their own control of pot in Markham.
“And I think we should remind all members about the anniversary barbecue coming up,” Knuckles cut in before Jayce could end the meeting. “Fifty years since Jayce’s old man established the Red Rebels. That’s a pretty big fucking deal.”
Jayce was nodding, staring at the tabletop. Tank knew that Jayce’s relationship with his old man was strained and complicated. The senior McClune was a hard man, became a father late in life when he knocked up a younger woman. He had trouble with booze and couldn’t keep his dick in his pants. Plus the club was violent in a way that Jayce had no interest in continuing. They had been like the Gypsys, and Jayce had fought to get rid of the older members that wanted it to stay that way. It hadn’t been hard; he was a young president, and they kept stepping out of line, trying to get him killed. Being caught pulling that shit meant you were as good as dead. They had taken care of themselves, really.
Plus, this year the anniversary celebration would be organized without Trinny. She was attending, as far as Tank knew. But the planning and set up had fallen to Buck and Gertie, and that made the event feel strange. Not that they couldn’t handle it, it just felt lacking without knowing Trinny was on it and always would be.
“If the ladies need any help, you all best contribute,” Mickey piped up, eyes around the table meeting each man straight on. “I hear you’re giving my old lady trouble, and I’m taking you out.”
“Why did you look at me when you said that?” Fritter sounded offended.
“Because you’re a lazy ass that always disappears when the work begins,” Tiny muttered.
“Fuck you,” Fritter mumbled and there were a few tension-breaking chuckles around the table.
“Consider the barbecue issued raised and settled,” Jayce said, smiling. “So that just leaves me to request that we be extra cautious of any flack the cops might be getting from the public. If people are secretly harboring resentment, this might be the best way for them to let some
one else take the lead and knock us on our ass. Or at least get in our way. Which the Sachettis really won’t like.”
“Speaking of which, any idea when the next run is?” Tank asked.
“We can expect them to reach out in about a week, according to Guidinger. So enjoy some quiet time, but be vigilant, especially with those Mazari assholes out there.” With a rap of his knuckles on the table, the meeting was ended and Tank got to his feet with the rest of the men, scooping his phone up and tucking it back into his kutte. They filed out into the clubhouse, and he grinned to see his girl lounging on the sofa, talking and smiling with Gertie. Like she belonged there.
He watched her from a distance until she noticed him, and when she smiled at him he had no choice but to return it. He ignored Gertie, approaching his woman and pulling her to her feet so he could wrap her up and kiss her. He loved that he could do that: kiss someone he was crazy about, whenever he wanted.
“Well, all righty,” Gertie mumbled, passing by them. “Don’t forget the barbecue, Tank. Let her out for some air every now and then so she can help us with it?”
He chuckled into Rose’s mouth, then pulled back to look in her gorgeous dark eyes. “She told you about the barbecue, I take it?”
Rose nodded, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Mm hmm. Sounds like a big deal.”
It was. It was the anniversary of the Red Rebels charter coming into existence, and every year they marked the occasion with a rowdy get-together. The lot was full of the MC and their families; hang-arounds and the Nomads and Banshees sent their well wishes and a few representatives as well.
"It's a pretty big deal," he agreed with a smile. "They recruited you to help?" He liked that. It meant they were all accepting her as part of the group.
"Yeah. I'm in charge of non-food products. Plates, napkins, plastic cups, table cloths, cutlery, and garbage bags. Oh, and condiments. So I guess it's not entirely non-food."
"Should we go do that right now?" he suggested. "I got the truck. We'll run by Budget Warehouse." The barbecue was still four days away, but there was no reason to let it sit.
Rose frowned. "Gertie made it seem like the menfolk prefer not to help."
He had to grin. "That's her lazy-ass man. I'd be happy to help, English."
"Are there really going to be a hundred-and-fifty people here?"
"Probably. Us, families, hang-arounds, the girls will likely all come, and some of our road friends."
"Does it get rowdy?"
"Once all the kids go home, yeah." He kissed her then took her by the hand, pulling her to the door. "We'll be gone by then, too, though."
"We will?"
"Yeah. I only let you out of bed for so many hours, English."
"Barf," Knuckles shouted from this perch on the barstool as they passed. "Rose, what are you thinking with this guy? He's practically a girl."
Rose's grin at Knuckles was downright wicked. "Trust me, Knuckles. He's a man."
Knuckles laughed at that, shaking his head. But Tank was concentrating on pulling her out of the clubhouse into the sunshine of the lot. Before she could say anything, he had her in his arms, kissing her deep and hard. There was an exclamation of surprise but she kissed him back, arms going around his neck.
"What was that for?" she whispered when he raised his head.
"Standing up for me."
"I didn't stand up for you. I just shut him down."
Tank grinned. "You were standing up for me, cute and sexy like that. Sassy. I liked it."
One of her eyebrows arched. "That's all I need do? Get smart with your mates?"
He nodded. "If the mood strikes you. I like that you're not scared of them."
She stepped out of his hold and grasped his hand. "They're your friends. Why would I be scared of them? Now, are you taking me shopping, then home to bed again or not?"
With a growl he snatched her up, throwing her over his shoulder and slapping her ass. She shrieked at that, and he had to laugh. "We'll see if we make it to the shopping part. No promises."
Chapter Twenty-Six
With Tank snoring like a buzz saw, Rose carefully climbed over him and out of her bed. The big bear didn't so much as move; he was exhausted, and she had to grin. She'd done that.
She eased the bedroom door closed while wrapping her robe around herself. She carried the cordless phone to the living room and sat on the couch while placing her long-distance call. 2:30am here, 10:30am in London, where her mother was probably celebrating her birthday with the other care home wards.
The phone rang twice before the desk put her through to her mother's room. Having a phone in her room was another twenty pounds a month, but her mother was more comfortable in her room than anywhere else. Sure enough, she picked up on the second ring.
"Rose?"
She grinned and felt her eyes tear up a bit. "Hey, Mum. Happy birthday."
"Oh Rosie, these phone calls must be expensive. Why do you waste so much money on me?"
Rose ducked her head, still smiling. "I'm not wasting anything. I wanted to wish you a happy birthday. Are you enjoying the day?"
"Pancakes for breakfast. And that one orderly came by with my special medication already today."
Rose's smile faded. "You were having a bad day today?"
"Not as bad as they can get, but not great."
The orderly she spoke of was a fellow that Rose wired cash to directly for pot. It helped her mother when she was seizing, relaxed her muscles and her ability to breathe. It was known that marijuana could be used in this way but never prescribed, although the facility turned a blind eye as long as it was regulated to the outdoors and never during visiting hours.
"I'm sorry to hear this, Mom. That sucks for your birthday."
"I had my smoke before pancakes, Rosie. It was lovely, actually. So how's work going?"
Rose's smile completely dropped. She would have loved to have shared her hardships; the hassle that strippers had to face, the acid, the fear that came after it. But her mother thought she was in a touring dance troupe, somehow getting a high enough wage that she could foot the bill for the care home. But telling her the truth now would be detrimental to the woman's health.
"Starting to feel old, Mom," she mumbled, bringing her feet up to the edge of the sofa and hugging her legs to her chest. "Thinking of trying something else."
"Oh? Really? Like what?" The disappointment was in her voice. This was the woman that had done all she could to put Rose in dance class and buy her the ridiculously overpriced dance costumes for each recital.
"Not sure. Moving around all the time is hard on me. I feel like I need to stay in one place for a while. Settle down."
There was a pause while Rose held her breath. "You can always come home, Rosie. I miss you so much. It's been so long. I love our talks, but I miss seeing you."
It had been eight years since she'd seen her mother. Since before that asshole boyfriend and implants and physical attacks. There'd be a lot to come clean about if she were to go home now, and most of it might kill her mother.
"I miss you too, Mom. Plane tickets are expensive, you know that. I'd rather use the money to make sure you're okay."
There was a tutting sound. "I've told you I don't mind going somewhere else. Even Edith would take care of me. She keeps offering. She says this place is like legalized robbery."
Rose scratched her head, sighing. "I know, Mom. But Edith isn't a nurse. What if something serious happened and she couldn't get to the hospital fast enough?"
"Psh. Even an NHS home would be better. It's less than half the price of this place. If you need to leave that group do it, Rosie. Working just to keep me in this place isn't a good way to spend your life. You're too young for this."
Rose laughed at that. "Mom, you were twenty when you had me. You gave up your twenties just raising me. It's the least I can do to the return the favor."
"No, I'm telling you as a voice of experience that this isn't good for you. If you were enjoying the dancing
I'd say nothing, but if you need to start on something else you should. I want you to be happy, and me sitting in this place shouldn't keep you from that." There was another pause before she added softly, "I'd rather have you here than doing something you don't like just to pay my bills."
Chewing on one thumbnail, Rose mulled that over. Not the going to England part, just more thoughts about how hard it would be to pay for this care now. She had two months paid up at the moment but her savings were all but gone and this apartment would be due for rent in a couple weeks, money she didn't have.
"I've got to think it all over, Mom. I need to find something else first, see how employable I am. Dancing isn't a skill that transfers."
"You could always teach. You're good enough for that."
Rose shook her head, feeling her heart warm. She wasn't that good, but to her own mother she was, of course, the greatest dancer that ever lived. "You need accreditation. Although, I suppose I could try to get it. But it might be too late. I'm almost 30."
"No excuse."
Rose looked up as Tank entered the living room wearing only his jeans. He was smiling sleepily, scratching his chest and rubbing his eyes. As he sank into the sofa next to her, Rose considered asking him for some privacy, but that seemed unnecessarily rude.
"I'll think it over, Mom." At the last word Tank's eyebrows went up and he turned her way, arm on the back of the sofa behind her head. "What else do you have planned for your birthday?" Now he was grinning again, and she had to grin back. Jesus, he was such a teddy bear.
"There's a piano player coming in this afternoon to sing for all the catatonics."
Rose burst out laughing at that. "Oh, Mom."
"What? I'm sorry, but these people are never very good. It's not like anyone can complain around here."
"Let me talk to her," Tank was whispering and trying to reach for the phone.
That was a majestically terrible idea and she mouthed No while leaning back and saying "You should sing, too. Show them how it's done."
His hands were on her leg, pulling her closer to grab the phone, and she lurched to the side, keeping as much distance between him and the handset as she could.
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