Expose

by C. D. Breadner

  "Oh, I don't think so," her mother tittered. "I'm not a singer."

  "You always sang!" she cried out too emphatically as he took an asshole tactic and tickled her. "I mean, I remember you singing. You always sounded nice."

  "If it was a sing-along, I would. But like I said, everyone else is basically in a coma."

  She was giggling from her mother's comment and from Tank's fingers poking into her sides. "Stop it!" she hissed away from the mouthpiece, but he just grinned at her.

  "Rose, are you alone?"

  She closed her eyes, letting her head drop to the sofa cushion. "Um, no. No I'm not."

  "Is there a man there with you?"

  "I don't know. Sometimes I think he's a child," she answered dryly. With a scoff Tank grabbed the phone out of her unsuspecting hand.

  "Miz Clairborne?" he said into the handset as she tried to climb over him to take it back. "Yes ma'am, name's Trevor Williams. My friends call me Tank, though. Happy birthday, ma'am."

  When she got up to run around the furniture to grab the phone, he switched it to his other ear, grabbing one of her arms and pulling her onto his lap, holding her one arm across her body, plastered to his chest. The phone was behind her free arm, but it was an awkward angle to reach.

  All the while he kept chatting, pleasant as you please.

  "I am spending the night, ma'am. I'm sorry about that, but your daughter has needs."

  "Asshole!" Initially her panic was that he'd reveal something she didn't want her mother to know, even though she'd told him her mother was in dark about a lot of aspects of her life. Never in her wildest dreams did she think he'd be this brutally honest and inappropriate.

  He chuckled after a moment. "Of course, you know how old your daughter is. She's a smart woman, ma'am." Another pause while she fell still, smiling. "All right, June."

  Rose froze. She told him to call her June?

  "She really is. And she's funny, vivacious, and beautiful. I think she's the perfect woman, actually."

  She bit her lip as water rose in her eyes. Since she was no longer struggling, Tank cuddled her closer and kissed her shoulder.

  "I agree. I'd love to get her there for a visit soon. We'll see how we can make that happen. I think she really misses you."

  Closing her eyes, she just felt the deep voice rumbling out of him, killing her with every word. He was going to be the end of life as she knew it, without a doubt.

  "Absolutely! I'd love to meet you, too. Might take some arranging, but we should do that." Another beat, then he laughed again. "No ma'am, no lip service. I'm a man of my word. Never been to England. If y'all don't mind another American walking around, that is." Another deep chuckle. "Sorry, June. I meant to say June. My momma beat the good manners into me."

  Relaxing in his lap, she listened to him utterly charm her mother, smiling to herself. When he pressed the button to disconnect, she sat up, frowning. "Hey, she didn't want to talk to me?"

  "No, she told me to put you to sleep. She says you’re a cranky brat when you don't get your sleep."

  She could totally imagine her mother saying that.

  "I'm beat, English. Let's hit the hay, yeah?"

  She nodded and pulled him to his feet. "I'm not a cranky brat when I'm tired, for the record."

  "Are you implying June was lying to me?" he joked, turning her to the hallway by the shoulders.

  "She still thinks I'm thirteen."

  "No, English, she doesn't. She knows you’re a grown woman, and she's holding me personally responsible for your happiness. So don't get me in trouble with your mom. Just do as I say, woman."

  Great. Now he had an ally that she couldn't even argue with.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Tank checked the magazine for the Glock before tucking it back into his waistband. It was fully loaded, ready for this impromptu target practice session he'd arranged for Rose. He nodded his appreciation to Fritter for the sidearm, then headed out of the clubhouse and straight to his Fat Boy. With a chin nod to Jayce at the doors of the motel, he fired her up and roared out of the parking lot, making tracks to the dance studio.

  English didn't know he was coming. He was unfairly ambushing her with the idea; not just the shooting but riding on the bike. She still hadn't agreed to a ride, and while he didn't like letting things get to him too deeply, it was starting to bug him. She said she wanted him just as he was, and yet she wouldn't trust him enough to ride. The most basic thing a biker's woman had to do.

  She would today. He'd dropped her off in his pickup so she didn't have wheels of her own, and it was quite a hike back to her apartment. An asshole move, maybe. Definitely risking pissing her off.

  The Fat Boy rolled to a stop at the curb, and he swung off, leaving his helmet on the bars and walking to the front door. He could hear the music even from out here, and he had to grin. It was soft singing, and the only instrument he could pick up was a harmonica. Further down the hallway he could also hear the strumming of a guitar. When he rounded the corner of the studio door he paused, leaning on the jamb rather than announcing his arrival. She was dancing; not stripping, not teasing. Actually dancing, her long limbs moving with the halting rhythm of this pussy music. Some guy whining about his woman being like a cigarette, trying to make you believe he wasn't into her.

  Rose's eyes were closed as she moved, and he knew she'd memorized the size of the room. He'd bet she knew where she was in the room as she moved without having to peek. Long arms bent, straightened and curved over her head, but it was all in aid of those legs. On just one of those lithe stems, she could lift the other behind her head, then break into long strides before jackknifing in the air, tumbling to the floor as he caught his breath. She was fine, it was part of the routine, and she rolled back up to her feet as the music really picked up and the drums joined in.

  It wouldn't be a chore to watch her like this all day. He’d known she was talented and had great control of her body, but he’d had no idea she could move like this. Slow, careful motions were perfectly timed with the music, and turning on one foot before stopping with her head nearly on the ground, one leg straight up in the air, looked so bloody effortless when she did it.

  It was during a long, travelling series of jumps and strides that she did open her eyes, catching his reflection in the mirrors. She tripped a bit, caught her balance again and turned to him with a grin, hand on her chest. For all the grace he'd just witnessed she was panting, and he noticed the sweat on her skin. Yes, it had looked easy but it was work.

  "Sorry, English," he chuckled as she headed his way, wiping her forehead on an oversized sleeve. "Didn't mean to trip you up."

  She shook her head, planting her hands on his chest before giving him a quick kiss. "You didn't. Just in my own little world." He tried to pull her close, but she stepped back with a giggle. "I'm sweating like crazy, I probably stink."

  "Never," he assured her, pulling her in by one hand so he could hold her properly. "You smell good no matter what, English. I like watching you like that, too."

  She arched an eyebrow. "You did? I'm not even naked."

  With a feigned expression of injury, he tickled her ribs, squeezing her tighter. "You think you need to be naked for me to appreciate your skills? That hurts."

  "How long were you watching?"

  He shrugged. "Couple minutes." He tugged on a damp tangle of her hair. "You're really good, English."

  She ducked her head. "Not good enough to make a living at it."

  "I might not know much about dancing, but you're a thing of beauty when you're doing it."

  She smiled and peered up at him again, embarrassed, for some fucking reason. "You think?"

  "Absolutely." He kissed her forehead. "You're like a feather on the wind when you're dancing."

  Her grin was gorgeous, and as that same sappy song played, Tank kissed his woman deeply, tongue backing up all the praise he'd just given her, only stopping once she moaned and ran her hand up under his beater. With a chuckle, he st
opped her hand and pulled back keeping his grip on her. "Got plans for you this afternoon."

  "Plans?"

  "We got a little drama maybe headed our way," he said carefully, running her tight curls through his fingers. "Don't want to scare you, but I don't want you surprised by anything, either. I got something for you to carry, and I'm going to show you how to use it."

  Her forehead creased with concern. "Are you in trouble?"

  "Nah. No more than usual. But I know you've heard about what happened to Gertie and Trinny. I don't want you unable to protect yourself."

  Now it dawned on her what he was really saying. "Are you talking about a gun?"

  "Yeah."

  "You're going to show me how to use a gun?" Her hand crept under his shirt again, and he couldn't help but chuckle.

  "Yeah, I am. I got one for you to keep with you, but first I'm showing you how to use it." Her nails scratched over his stomach and he clamped his hand around her wrist. "Don't have unlimited time here, sweetie. Don't distract me."

  "You're telling me you're going to show me how to handle a gun. How can I not get a little worked up?"

  "Rose—" he growled.

  "Are you gonna stand behind me, show me how to hold and aim?"

  He kissed her again, letting her climb him so those amazing legs wrapped around his waist. He kicked the door shut then turned to press her against it, making her give a little "Ooof," before her hand ran down his chest and stomach between them.

  "You sneaky little bitch," he growled, hands sliding over her damp skin under her shirt to stroke at her nipples.

  "It's not my fault," she whimpered, legs twitching around him. "You're talking about guns. I've always wanted to try shooting one."

  Her hand pulled him free of his jeans and she was trying to position him when he gasped out, "Condom, English."

  With a grunt of annoyance she leaned back, shoulders to the door. He eased her to her feet, then reached into his kutte for a rubber. He never thought that once he had a woman of his own he'd need to be carrying constantly, but his English Rose was a horny thing.

  She wriggled out of her panties and let them hit the ground before pulling her skirt up. He stepped back into place, yanking one leg up to his side before lowering his hips and thrusting up, taking her with him. Her nails bit into his back under his kutte, and she bellowed out "Tank!" against his neck, but he knew he hadn't hurt her.

  It was a quick and rough clinch, but it did the job. Rose brought him over the edge with her, like usual, and he was hollering out over the music while she was crying out so prettily like always.

  Well, at least we'll be relaxed for target practice. The thought made him chuckle as he slipped free of her.

  "We have to shower," she whispered, eyes closed as her skirt fell back into place. "I was all sweaty before you attacked me."

  "You got a hazy memory there, English."

  There was a shower on the second floor but it was another hour before they finally got out of the building. Now he was out of condoms, so they'd have to stay on task, anyway.

  And here was the first disagreement of the day.

  "No, I'm not riding on that."

  Tank sighed, scratching his head. "C'mon, Rose."

  She crossed her arms, all playfulness gone now. "Go get your truck."

  He stood in front of her, holding her hands. "This is part of me, babe. This is my family, what I do. And I want my woman on my bike behind me, trusting me to keep her safe. I've built my life on a bike and want you on it with me."

  "But—"

  "I'd never ask you to give up something you love. Like me showing you how to shoot as opposed to locking you up at the clubhouse. It's a compromise, Rose. I wouldn't ask you to stop coming by the studio to dance." A chicken shit argument, but it made her expression soften. "It's fun, English. You'll love it. C'mon, let me take you for a ride, baby."

  She was giving in, and he was grinning like a twit. "Don't go too fast."

  "I never speed, English."

  "And I better be a crack shot by the time we're done with our lesson."

  "I'll do everything I can."

  "And don't do anything to scare me on purpose."

  He headed to his bike, then turned back holding out his helmet.

  “What are you using?” she asked as he helped her adjust the chinstrap.

  “Don’t worry. I got a hard head.” He was beaming at her

  She had to smile, too, shaking her head. "You're really excited about this."

  "I really am. I don't ride with broads, English. But I've been wanting you on my bike for a long time."

  He was tightening his chinstrap while swinging a leg over the Fat Boy. His bitch seat was just a padded square on the fender, no sissy bar. She'd have to hold on tight. Tank held her hand while she easily swung a leg over the back fender, and his cock actually got hard again. Jesus, she was elegant with those long legs. And the discomfort worsened as she snugged up close to his back, hands clasping on his stomach.

  Yep, even better than he'd been expecting.

  True to his word, Tank drove the limit and took it easy on the corners. He knew she wouldn't fight him, but he didn't want to freak her out, either. It took about three blocks before her grip loosened.

  The old scrap yard looked like it hadn't seen human life in about twenty years, but Tank knew the owner still sold parts by appointment only. He also didn't mind people using the back forty as a firing range in exchange for a forty of Wild Turkey.

  Tank pulled the bottle from his saddlebag, shaking it as Rose raised both eyebrows. "Don't worry, English. Not trying to get you drunk. This is the price of admission."

  Terry Fauntino responded to Tank ringing the bell next to his gate. He was a squat, permanently sunburned man who squinted out of one eye from under his greasy John Deere ball cap. His whole body perked up as Tank handed over the Wild Turkey, and he waved them into the lot enthusiastically.

  Rose stuck to Tank's elbow like a tick. He could understand her nervousness. The junkyard dogs numbered in the dozens, or so it seemed, but he wasn't sure if he should tell her that running was the only thing that provoked them.

  "So Terry, anything new out here in the sticks?" he asked, strictly for conversation.

  "Meh. Damn city council's trying to tell me my yard is an eyesore. Fuck 'em. I provide a service here, and none of those pricks ever come out here, anyway. I'm on the wrong side of Markham for them."

  "Which councilor is giving you grief?" He had a feeling he already knew.

  "That pompous Reed asshole. No coincidence he sells brand new auto parts and he's giving me shit."

  "Sorry to hear that, Terry. Maybe we can have a word."

  Terry squinted up at him and nodded. "That'd be appreciated, actually."

  Tank just nodded as Terry stopped to grab a box of empty beer bottles, handing them to Rose with barely a look. Tank moved to take them, but she shook her head. "I got it," she assured him with a smile.

  Terry gave her a nod of approval, then continued circling around his huge tin workshop, heading up a sandy bluff to where his unofficial "range" was. Two sawhorses were set out about two hundred yards from the top of the bluff, nothing but wide open scrub land behind as far as the eye could see. Terry's family had been on this property for three generations, selling auto parts and fixing small motors for whoever couldn't afford brand new parts and dealership shop rates. There were forty acres here that was all theirs, and he'd never been tempted to sell off any of it.

  "Come to think of it," Terry said, stopping at the crest of the bluff and rubbing his ear. "You know where the property line is out west, right?"

  "The edge of your property?"

  "Yeah, not quite at the highway. Where the trailer park starts."

  "Yeah, I know where that is."

  He rubbed his nose, eyes going to Rose nervously before he swiped at his nose.

  "It's okay, Terry. You can talk in front of her. She's with me," Tank assured him in his best budd
y tone.

  "One of those double-wide trailers was bought recently, and the couple who were there first were only there a couple days. Someone else moved in and ..." Terry frowned, rubbing the back of his neck. "Something's going on in that trailer, Tank. I go out for my walks, and I see people coming and going and they ain't ... they ain't from around here."

  Now the hair on the back of his neck stood up. "What does that mean?"

  "I mean they don't speak English. They're barking at each other in that sand people talk. I don't know what the fuck they are, but they got darker skin. Not as dark as, well ..." he gestured to Rose and Tank felt his back go straighter. Terry saw it, too. "I mean, I'm sorry. But they're Indian or Pakistani or something."

  Rose waved her hand, then rested it on Tank's arm to smooth him out. "It's fine. I know what you mean."

  "They're darker than us, Tank. Short dark hair, dark eyes. You need me to fill in all the blanks?"

  Holy shit. "You sure about this?"

  Terry was nodding now. "I went out there the other night after dark. The place was all lit up, and while I was out there, this cargo van pulls up. New one, one of those funny-looking Ram ProMasters. A white one. You know the ones?"

  "Yeah yeah, the angled flat front?"

  "Yeah. It stopped at the trailer, and they started unloading people."

  Tank frowned. "What kind of people? What do you mean people?"

  Terry swallowed, brow all creased up. "I don't want trouble."

  "I know Terry, neither do I. What did you see?"

  Terry's face was suddenly open and concerned. "They was kids, Tank. Maybe twelve, thirteen years old. They were unloading kids from that van."

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  She watched Tank's face respond to what Terry was saying, and Rose could honestly say she'd never seen him so stunned he couldn't talk.

  "Tank?" she eventually had to ask, and he shook himself to the present again.

  "I gotta take this to Jayce."

  The scruffy man called Terry actually looked relieved. "Yeah yeah, of course. Good. Thanks. You still gonna get some practice in?"