by Tillie Cole
I couldn’t take one more damn day of that life. Another day of the dresses, the sunless tanner . . . and my mamma’s fists.
Dread swarmed in my stomach when I heard my mamma’s voice getting closer. Then the deafening roar of a motorcycle cut through the air. I frantically waved my hand for the guy to stop. I didn’t think he would. Hope drained from me as I saw my mamma storming down the alley, her face like thunder and flushed with rage. It didn’t matter that I was a grown-ass woman—she was my kryptonite. One I’d wasted too many years trying please, trying to make love me.
She was the only person who struck fear in me.
In my panic, my feet fumbled, my damn high heels causing my ankle to give way. I stumbled on the curb of the road and lurched forward. My hands reached out for something to break my fall, when my hip suddenly hit something hard, the flash of pain making me cry out. It only took me a few seconds to realize it was a motorcycle—a motorcycle that was slowly rolling to a stop beside me. Two hands took hold of my arms, and my head snapped up, only for my eyes to crash into a pair so blue they almost didn’t look real. “Jesus! You almost ran me the fuck down!” I blurted, but my voice was barely above a whisper.
A huff of a laugh came from the lips of the blue-eyed biker. But his laugh faded when he looked over my shoulder and my mamma’s voice sounded again. “You getting on or what, beauty queen? Looked like you were trying to hitch a ride.”
I didn’t need to look back at my mamma to help make my decision. I didn’t even care that the guy was a unit with a shaved head, a massive red scar slicing down the side. I just saw my chance at freedom and damn well took it.
Climbing on the back of the Harley, I wrapped my arms around his waist and begged, “Please. Go!” We sped off. My heart slammed in my chest as the engine roared and the seat vibrated with power underneath me.
I glanced back, the venue fading from view. I tightened my arms around the guy’s waist, and the smell of oil and leather surrounded me.
It smelled of freedom.
We drove. We rode and rode until the sun started to drop in the sky. I knew I should be worried. Especially when I saw the tattoos this guy was covered in. They were white power. I’d seen plenty of them in my life. He could be taking me anywhere. Could be a murderer or some shit. A trafficker. Yet I kept on holding on. That’s how badly I needed away from my mamma.
I wasn’t sure how many hours we’d been on the road, but we were no longer in Austin, that was for sure. At that realization I could suddenly breathe, the weight in my chest lifting for the first time in my life.
The guy took a left and pulled into a motel. The red neon sign buzzed, telling us they had rooms free. My legs felt numb as he parked up. My fingers were rigid, as if they’d been soldered to his waist. As the engine died, he sat there for a few minutes. I didn’t move. Eventually, he looked at me. I had to swallow when those eyes met mine again. “You gonna move anytime today, beauty queen?”
I blinked, his slow drawl snapping me from my trance. I swung my leg from the saddle. As I stepped back, I really saw the guy for the first time. I swallowed on seeing the size of him, every inch of him covered in tattoos.
He was gorgeous.
His lip twitched as he looked at me. Then his gaze went to my head. It took me a minute to realize what he was laughing at. I ripped the crown from my head and threw it to the ground.
“Not a fan of crowns?”
“Fuck no,” I spat back. His face lit up with humor. I held out my hand. “Susan-Lee.”
He pushed his hand out and put it in mine. “Tank.”
“I can see why you’ve got that name, sugar.” I pulled my hand back. “Thanks for the rescue. It was much needed.”
Tank nodded, then got off his bike. He looked even more intimidating standing up. Fuck. He looked good. The guy’s face was beautiful. His eyes ran down my dress. “You ran from a pageant or some shit?”
I held out my arms. “Darlin’, you’re looking at the new Miss Central Texas.” His eyes widened. “Or not. I imagine my runaway stunt might mean I’ve officially abdicated from that title.”
“You got money?” My face blanched. Tank didn’t even let me reply that I hadn’t. I hadn’t thought of anything but fleeing that stage. A split-second decision. He reached into his leather jacket and handed me a wad of cash.
“I can’t take that!”
“You’re running. So the fuck am I. You’ll need cash. I have it.”
“Why are you running?” I blurted.
His face frosted over. He thrust the cash at me and forced it into my hand. “Take care, beauty queen.” He turned and walked into the office. I followed. When I got inside, he was getting a key. He passed me with a nod and disappeared into one of the rooms outside.
“You want a room, sweetie?”
I looked at the woman behind the desk. “Yeah. Thanks.”
Ten minutes later, I was looking at myself in the bathroom mirror. My hair was in such a state that if my mamma were here she would lose her ever-loving shit. I closed my eyes, feeling her phantom fist slam into my ribs at my lack of perfection.
When I opened my eyes again, I thrust my hands through my hair until every strand stuck up on end . . .
. . . and I laughed.
*****
I couldn’t deny I liked the way the leather pants clung to my legs. Hell, I couldn’t deny that they looked fucking good on me, period. The black tank clung to me like a second skin. Red lips and my hair down and straight finished the look off well. My new heels clicked on the sidewalk as I made my way to the bar at the side of the road. Country music spilled from the wooden walls, and neon signs for different brands of beer took up most of the windows.
I swung the door open and walked inside. It was half full, dark corners hiding most of the occupants. It wasn’t my usual scene, but this mamma needed a damn drink, and here in the middle of nowhere, this was as good as I was gonna get.
I ignored the stares and the few wolf whistles that came my way. Tapping the bar, I said to the bartender, “Wine cooler if you have one, sugar.”
“We got beer and whiskey, blondie.”
I frowned. “Then a whiskey on the rocks.” I hated whiskey. But right now I’d drink gasoline if I thought it would help me get wasted.
I slipped onto the stool as I waited for my drink. When it came I sipped at it, trying not to wince when it hit my tongue. I was one for a sweeter kind of liquor.
I felt someone sit beside me. Then a hand landed on my ass. I slowly placed my drink down then turned to face him. The guy was big and overweight and had a mustache. One sure-as-hell way to make a guy look like a creepy-ass fool—a fucking mustache.
Give me full stubble or a full beard any day. I couldn’t deny how good that shit felt between my thighs.
His skin was covered in sweat. It nearly made me retch.
“You might wanna remove that hand from my ass, darlin’,” I warned.
He smiled, and I wanted to spit in his face. “Kinda like where it’s at.”
I pushed his wrist, and his arm fell away. “Get. The. Fuck. Off.”
I was turning back to my drink when his hand slapped my ass again. Harder this time. The impact made me spill my whiskey. The asshole wanted to hurt me, and I was about to lose my shit.
I swung, ready to rip this prick a new asshole, when an arm rested on the bar between me and him. “Get the fuck off her ass or I’ll break your motherfucking jaw.”
My eyes widened when I saw the familiar shaved head and scar.
“Fuck off, Nazi,” the creep spat and tried to come at me again.
Tank didn’t hesitate. He didn’t speak again, just sent his fist into the creep’s face, and the asshole hit the floor. But my stomach fell when a few other guys got to their feet. The creep clearly had friends. They charged at Tank. He just grinned and let fly with his huge fists. He made it look almost easy. Laughable. Until one of them grabbed a nearby bottle. Before I could do or say a damn thing, he smashed it over Tan
k’s head. My heart thumped as I saw the blood sprout. My stomach fell and fear spread over my skin. Fear for Tank and what I’d gotten him into.
I shouldn’t have started this shit.
Tank’s punches were relentless. And even with blood trickling into his eyes, Tank fought the guys off until they were on the floor, groaning and covered in blood. When none of them made to get up again, he grabbed my hand and pulled me from the bar. I didn’t look back; I was too busy fighting the funny sensation in my chest at the feel of Tank’s roughened hand in mine. He took me to his bike. “Get on, beauty queen.”
We pulled out from the bar and down the road to the motel. When we parked up, Tank looked back at me and sighed. “Why do I get the feeling you’re trouble?”
I smiled and winked. Because I fucking was.
I slid from the motorcycle and tapped Tank’s shoulder. “Come on, big boy. Gotta get you cleaned up.”
“Nah, I’ll do it—”
I swung to face him, hands on my hips. “Now I ain’t gonna take no for an answer, darlin’. Get your hulking muscles off that bike and follow me.” I ducked into the reception on the way. A young kid was behind the desk. Maybe sixteen. I leaned on the desk. His eyes immediately went to my tits. Always happened when you had a rack this size. Goddamn beacons on my chest. “You got a first aid kit I can borrow, sweetie?” The kid scrambled beneath the desk and put one on the top. “Thanks, darlin’.”
Tank huffed a laugh behind me. “You’ll be the one he jerks off to tonight,” he muttered under his breath as I passed him.
I laughed, and saw something spark in Tank’s blue eyes when I said, “Hope he ain’t the only one.”
He laughed louder. There went that damn light feeling in my chest again.
The blood on Tank’s face made him look like something from a horror movie. I tapped his chest. “Let’s get that blood off your face before you give the kid nightmares.”
I walked to my room. Tank followed. I could see the hesitation on his face when I looked back. He clearly didn’t want to come with me.
Tough shit. He was coming.
As we entered my room, I pointed to the end of the bed. “Sit down. Shirt and jacket off.”
Tank stalled. His jaw clenched. I was opening the first aid kit when I noticed. His eyes bored into the threadbare red carpet. I walked over and made him face me. “I’ve already seen the white power and Nazi tattoos, darlin’. So get the shirt and jacket off and show me those muscles. Those tats don’t scare me. You don’t scare me.”
“I should.”
I moved to the kit, ignoring his muttered words. It was a couple of minutes before I heard Tank sigh and start to shuck off his clothes. When I lifted my head, I was met with a wide chest littered with tattoo after tattoo. Scars were everywhere. White and red raised slashes, slicing through his black tattoos, making his skin look like a faded road map. No part of me thought Tank had had an easy life.
“You still in?” I asked as I guided him back to the bed. My hand barely covered even a quarter of his bicep. He was tall enough that his face was almost in line with mine when he sat down. He shook his head. I let out a quiet sigh of relief. He was out of the Klan.
We were quiet as I started wiping the blood from his head. There was a large gash on one side. On the opposite side to the shank scar. This close I could smell him again. He was like a walking extension of his bike—oil and leather and so damn good. The guy made my pussy clench. I was a sucker for the shaved-head, tattooed, muscled god look.
“You’ve been around the Klan?” Tank finally asked, his voice husky. His words snapped me out of my head.
“Family,” I said. “Cousins and shit. I went to a few parties at their place in Waco as a teen.” I shrugged. “Mamma and Papa were close to some Klansmen too. They weren’t members on paper, of course, but they sure as shit would have killed me if I’d come home with a black or Mexican boyfriend.” I looked down at Tank. “Papa died years ago, but Mamma probably would have approved of you.”
“Good to know.”
I poured some peroxide onto a cotton ball. “This will sting.” I pressed the cotton ball to his cut. Tank didn’t even flinch. But I did when his hands came to my waist. His thumbs ran over my hips. I could talk for Texas, but the touch of this guy took my voice the hell away.
Eventually I asked, “You get this scar with the Klan?”
Tank looked up at me. His hands stayed on my hips. “Prison.”
I nodded. “You been out long?”
“Two days.”
My eyes widened. “And you’ve already left the Klan?”
“Yesterday.”
“Ah.” Things were starting to make more sense. “You in prison long?”
“Three years.”
I stepped back, moving to the cut on his cheek and lip. He’d taken a few punches to the face. “You want a drink?” I didn’t even wait, just got the vodka from the mini fridge. I’d bought some supplies with some of the money Tank had given me. Well, I’d bought clothes and liquor.
Tank unscrewed the top and drank a few mouthfuls. He held the bottle out to me. “Shots? Always up for getting wasted, darlin’.”
I followed suit, taking a few huge mouthfuls, then handed it back to him so I could work on his cuts. I could feel Tank’s eyes on me the entire time. “There,” I said and took another few swigs of vodka. I lifted my hand and stroked the shank scar.
“Prison fight?”
“More a Klan goodbye.” My eyes widened. “Should’ve helped in a prison killing. I didn’t. This was my reward.”
“Shit, hon.” I shook my head and sat down beside him. “So? The Klan after you now or something? Is that why you ran?”
“No. I have a buddy who helped me leave. My best friend. He got them all off my back. Didn’t expect it.” He took the vodka again and slugged it back. The room was starting to spin . . . I loved this feeling.
It made me horny as fuck.
I lay back on the bed. Tank looked at me and leaned back too, resting on his elbow. He had questions in his eyes. “You going back?”
“Fuck no,” I said, and smiled when Tank immediately handed me back the bottle. I must have had a desperate-for-alcohol tone in my voice. I sipped at the good stuff and shuffled closer to Tank. I stared at a huge SS sign in the center of his chest. I reached out and traced the black lettering with my finger. His skin bumped under my touch. When I looked up at his face, he ran his tongue along his lower lip. I liked it. So I kept circling the letters. “My mamma is a psycho. She always has been. But it got worse when my papa died.” I lifted my tank and showed him my stomach. Tank’s eyes hooded at the sight of my body, and I saw his dick harden in his jeans . . . until I lifted it high enough for him to see. He froze when he saw the purple bruising. “It’s amazing what makeup can cover these days.” I licked my thumb and ran it down the side of my eye. I knew the makeup would’ve given way to that bruise too. Just as I was about to lower my top, Tank ran his fingers over the skin on my ribs. I bit my lip, but not at the pain. It was at how much my pussy throbbed under his touch.
Those fingers, the vodka, and the sight of his muscles and tattoos were fucking turning me on. I was a girl with a healthy appetite. Liked to get my pussy stroked and filled. And right now, I was getting real messed-up thoughts about Tank.
“Why did you stay?”
I shrugged. “I didn’t want her to be alone after Papa. His death destroyed her. She had a shitty life growing up. Wasn’t much better as an adult. I wanted to make it better for her. She wanted me to be Miss America so bad. So I went along with it all to make her happy. Devoted my life to it, hoping she’d just love me, treat me better.” But that sympathy I’d once felt for her no longer existed. “Now I’m done giving a shit. That bitch can rot in hell. There are only so many chances someone can have before they deserve nothing else.” Tank’s fingers started moving across my stomach . . . and lower. My breathing hitched. “You going somewhere with that finger there, darlin’?”
I took hold of his hand and sat up. Tank watched every movement I made. The guy had been locked up for three years. He got out two days ago. He must have been bursting for a fuck.
I kissed each finger, then, when his mouth was just an inch from mine, pushed his hand to the crotch of my jeans and said, “I like having my stomach stroked as much as the next girl, darlin’, but I’d rather feel those fingers all up in my pussy.”
Tank paused, his mouth parting at my words. Then he did exactly as I said. He ran his fingers over my jeans, cupping my pussy through the denim, the feel of his fingers between my legs sending shivers all over my body. I hooked my hand around the back of his neck, and our mouths crashed together. I tasted the slight tinniness of blood on my tongue, but it disappeared, taken over by tobacco and liquor. Tank didn’t give me the control for long. He rolled me onto my back and smothered me with his huge muscles. I wrapped my legs around his waist, arms clasped around his neck. Tank’s tongue fought against mine, our breathing heavy.
The alcohol sailed through my veins. Breaking from his mouth, I moved to straddle him. He smiled as I sat on his waist and looked down. “How old are you, darlin’?”
Tank smirked. “You think I’m jailbait?”
I crawled over his naked torso. Tank groaned and gritted his teeth at the sight. “Twenty-three.”
I smiled. “Then I hope you like older women.”
Tank grabbed my waist and flipped me onto my back again. “Fucking love ’em.” Then he kissed me. Tank’s lips were soft against mine. It surprised me how soft. He was so big and rough, with that deep graveled voice. He tasted of mint and liquor.
I was instantly addicted.
Tank broke away from my mouth, leaving me desperate to have him back. He smirked, clearly seeing my need for his taste back in my mouth. But he didn’t kiss me again; instead, he pulled my tank over my head to reveal the black bra that barely held my tits. “Fuck,” he groaned. He cupped one breast with his hand, then reached between them to unhook the front fastening.