by M. Malone
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Back Cover
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
Excerpt from All I Need is You
Books by M. Malone
About the Author
Copyright
TANK (BLUE COLLAR BILLIONAIRES #1)
I used to think I had it all under control. Then a letter from the father I haven't seen in years changes everything. The only thing keeping my head above water is Emma. She's the one true and honest thing in my life. I don't need the money. I sure as hell don't need a father.
The only thing I need… is her.
Tank Marshall has thirty days to meet his deadbeat dad or forfeit his inheritance. His mom needs surgery and he’d do anything for her, even dance with the devil.
Emma Shaw just got the job of a lifetime, coaxing a rich client’s estranged son back into the fold. One meeting for $1 million. Easy money.
Until she’s lying to the only man who makes her feel safe.
CHAPTER ONE
TANK
Darkness hasn’t always been my friend. There was a time when I would have been at home asleep in my bed in the middle of the night. Instead I’m prowling the streets, restless and edgy, looking for an outlet for the anger roiling inside.
I glance to my left and right. I’m standing in an alcove that’s slightly hidden off the street. It’s easier this way. People tend to get nervous if I just hang out. No one stares outright. But there's always a tell. A glance. A step to the side when we pass so our bodies don't touch. Everyone has a “look” about them and mine apparently says trained killer.
A group of people spill out of the bar across the street, music and the sound of their voices carrying to where I stand in the shadows. This part of Virginia Beach is a mecca for local college kids looking to blow off steam on the weekends so I rarely have to go looking for trouble.
Trouble usually finds me.
I see the girl first. She has taken her shoes off and is walking barefoot on the concrete. She’s beautiful and dressed to score in a short black minidress that shows off long, tanned legs. It doesn’t take long for one of the guys in front of the bar to break off from his friends and follow her. I push away from the wall and follow them at a discreet distance. He hooks an arm around her neck. She looks up at him in confusion but grins blearily. He smiles back, with an expression like he just hit the lottery. My blood pressure spikes a notch.
Oh yes. Trouble you miserable bastard, you always find me.
I step out into the road to cross to their side of the street, pulling the hood of my jacket up and over my face.
A horn blares and a taxi screeches to a halt a few inches from me. The driver’s side door opens and the cabbie steps out. “What the hell! Look where you’re going!”
I glance at him and then back to the couple. Oblivious, they turn down a side street and out of sight. If I wait any longer, I’ll lose them. I haven’t slept in forty-eight hours and if I don’t make sure the girl is all right, then I won’t be able to sleep again tonight. Knowing, seeing, is the only thing that gives me some peace. I run across the street, leaving the cab driver gesturing and cursing behind me. By the time I turn the corner, the street is dark. Empty. Then I hear it.
Crying.
He has the girl pressed up against the wall behind a dumpster. She’s struggling, pushing at his shoulders while he’s working the dress up her legs. He has his other hand over her mouth. Her stiletto shoes are a few feet away from me, abandoned.
That’s all it takes for my veins to turn to ice. This is what happens to me right before. It’s like a red haze that settles over me, blanketing me with the righteous fury necessary to do what needs to be done.
I don’t speak; I just yank the guy off her. The first blow stuns him and all the color drains from his face as he doubles over clutching his gut. My mom’s words from earlier today ricochet through my mind, shredding my sanity as surely as bullets.
The cancer’s back, Tank.
He raises his arm to protect his face or maybe to strike back; I don’t know. I hit him with a rib shot, plowing my fists into him over and over. With every connection, I feel stronger.
I need surgery and I don’t have the money.
After a while, I don’t hear anything. I don’t see anything. There’s just me, some random dirtbag in an alley and the sensation of fists hitting flesh. All I can do is feel. Hatred. Power.
Purpose.
A whimper pulls me from my adrenaline frenzy. The girl is slumped against the wall, one hand on the grimy stone behind her as she watches me with horror in her eyes. Slowly, I remember where I am. My breath puffs in front of my face, a cloud of white in the frigid night air. The guy is slumped on the ground, his face a bruised, pulpy mass.
I hold out a hand to help her up and she cringes back. My knuckles are scraped and bruised and my hands are covered in blood. I look like something from a horror movie. I put my hands down and move back so she’s not crowded.
“It’s okay. He can’t hurt you anymore.”
She nods but continues to regard me with wide, watchful eyes. I’m not sure who she’s more afraid of, me or the would-be-rapist bleeding next to the dumpster.
Even more, I’m not sure I want to know.
“Go. Get out of here.”
She stumbles to her feet and leans down to grab her shoes. Then she turns back. “What about you? Are you okay?”
“Don’t worry about me.” She doesn’t move, just stands staring at me, her gaze dropping to my bloody hands, so I yell, “Get the hell out of here!”
She runs off this time and doesn’t look back. I’m glad because there’s nothing she can do for me. I’m beyond saving.
Then I turn back to the man slumped on the ground. “But the rest of you aren’t.”
By the time I make it back to my car, I can already hear sirens in the distance. The girl probably called the police. They usually do. I’ve learned not to hang around any longer than necessary. A siren screams past just as I’m driving away.
It takes me about ten minutes to get home. There’s an open space right next to my motorcycle so I park and cut the engine. My breath forms white clouds in front of my face. Still I don’t move to get out yet. Once I’m inside, I’ll be alone with my thoughts again. So I sit in my car in the empty, dark parking lot, trying not to think about anything. Finally I push the door open and get out.
There’s no one to greet me when I enter my apartment. I live alone. No pets and I don’t even have any plants that need to be watered. That’s always been the way I liked it but things look different lately. My eyes fall on the letter on the counter. It’s still in the same place I left it before I went out tonight. I pick it up and read it again. It’s another letter from my father’s law firm. Another appeal for me to meet his terms. Another offer of money.
My life is a perfect storm lately, a confluence of every thing I fear the most all happening at once.
Two months ago my mom found out that her cancer is back but she just got around to telling me about it today. She told me that she needs surgery. Some rare, expensive surgery that insurance wouldn’t cover even if she’d had it. If that wasn’t bad enough, there’s the sudden reappearance of the father I haven’t seen since I was eigh
t. He’s supposedly seen the light and wants to establish a relationship with me and my younger brother, Finn. We were both offered huge sums of money if we agree to meet with him regularly. As long as the visits continue, the money will keep coming.
I turned down the first two offers immediately. But now I have a reason to negotiate. The money could help my mom so that’s reason enough to consider it. I work for a private security company and my boss has crazy connections. He recommended a lawyer so I’ve been meeting with him once a week. He’s trying to negotiate terms I can live with.
The terms I really want are for him to go back to whatever cave he’s been hiding in for the past twenty years. I don’t want to see him at all but for my mom, I’m willing to try. There’s not much else I can do for her now. I’m helpless and I hate that feeling.
I drop the letter. There’s a rust-colored smudge where my finger touched the white stationary. Blood. I hold up my hands, inspecting the damage. I cleaned the worst of it off with a wet wipe in my car but my hands are still filthy. I walk into my room and strip, dropping everything into a pile in the corner. I walk into the bathroom and turn on the water.
I step into the shower. Water rushes over me and then swirls in a dirty red-tinged pool around my feet. Thoughts of what I’m washing off threaten so I grab the bar of soap on the ledge and scrub all over.
The air in the bathroom is cold, sending a chill over my skin. I wrap the towel around my waist and then rub my hair with another one. I’m clean finally. Although I know the feeling won’t last. I can wash the outside but there’s nothing I can do for how I feel on the inside.
Some stains are permanent.
At least tomorrow I get to see her again. Everyone hates Mondays but lately they’re all that’s getting me through each week. Sleep, then I can see her. I comfort myself with the thought.
Tomorrow. Just get to tomorrow.
EMMA
I race around my room trying to figure out what I’m going to wear. I’m never a fashion plate but especially when I haven’t done laundry. The only clean clothes appear to be the ones I wear to wait tables at my second job. Nothing I wear there is appropriate for daylight hours. I toss aside a miniskirt and a glittery top. I need to find something respectable to wear in the next five minutes.
Rummaging through my closet produces a black skirt that’s only marginally creased and a striped button down shirt that I never wear because it’s too tight. A glance in the mirror on the back of the closet door proves what I already suspect to be true. I look like I’ve been digging around in trash bins for discarded clothes.
People are going to put change into my coffee cup if I go out looking like this.
I open the door and collide with my sister, Ivy. “Morning. Can I borrow something to wear?”
She eyes my striped shirt and then nods her head. “If that’s your alternative, then yes. Hold on.”
I follow her to her room but she holds up a hand. “Wait. I’m not alone. Jon stayed the night.”
Great. It’s a struggle to keep the annoyance off my face. Jon is a lawyer. We met him when he came to the law office where Ivy and I work on behalf of his client, Mr. Marshall.
How did I not hear them come in last night? I must have been dead to the world. Working two jobs has finally caught up with me. But if I’d known that he would be here, I would have gotten up early and left before now. Tired is better than annoyed and disgusted. I can’t say any of this to Ivy so I just settle for “Okay.”
The door to her room opens and Jon steps into the hall. His dark hair is rumpled and he’s got about three days’ worth of stubble going on. Ivy gazes up at him and if this were a cartoon, I’m sure there would be little animated stars dancing in her eyes.
“Morning baby.” She leans up to give him a kiss. He returns the caress, one hand snaking down to curve around her waist. As he does it, he holds my gaze the entire time.
I contemplate barfing right then and there.
“Never mind. I’ll just wear this. You’re still covering for me this morning right? I have my financial aid meeting at school.”
Ivy gives an exaggerated sigh. “I’ll be there. Calm down. I sincerely doubt Patrick cares who is up front answering phones as long as someone is there to do it.”
Ivy and I both work for Patrick Stevens, an old friend of the family. I work the front desk while she helps him part-time with bookkeeping and other administrative tasks. After our parents died, he was the one who helped us settle the estate. I’m not sure what we would have done without his help.
Actually I do know. We probably would have lost the house. After all the creditors were tallied and the life insurance was paid, there was nothing left. We were lucky to be able to stay in the house we grew up in at all.
I don’t agree with her assumption that he won’t care who’s up front but I don’t have time to argue. The finance office at the local college only accepts appointments at certain times. A year ago, I was in school studying biology. I was planning to go to veterinary school after I finished my undergraduate degree. After our parents were killed, I was too unfocused to continue. Tears still threaten when I think about that day. I blow out a breath and push the ugly memories away.
I had to drop out but I’m finally ready to go back. I’ve been waiting for weeks to find out whether I’ve been approved for financial aid for the next school year. I can’t miss this meeting.
“Great. Thanks. I’ll come straight there when I’m done. I wanted to go check on Mr. Marshall but it can wait.”
She makes a face. “Better you than me. I don’t have the patience to sit around talking about nothing. That’s all old people want to do. I don’t know how you do it.”
“Maybe she’s hoping to be wife number five.” Jon smirks when he sees my confused look. “Hell, you’re not much younger than the last one.”
I have to physically hold myself back from rolling my eyes. He is so sleazy. It’s a mystery to me how that sweet old man deals with Jon’s slick persona. Then again, he must be used to dealing with arrogant spoiled men.
My face heats thinking about Tank Marshall. He is exactly the kind of guy that I’ve always avoided. Tall and muscled with the smug aloofness of the naturally beautiful. He’s got that same “I’m the center of the universe” arrogance going on that Jon does. It’s a shame that one of the first men I feel raw physical chemistry with is exactly the kind of guy I need to stay far away from. I’ve seen violence, real violence, before so there is nothing about a bad boy that I find appealing.
Ivy claps her hands. “It’s gross but that would be awesome. Marry the billionaire Em and all our problems are over.”
“It’s not like that between us. He’s a nice old man. We’re friends.” Not that Ivy would understand the idea of being friends with a man. Sometimes I think my sister only sees two things when she looks at a guy: his dick and his wallet. Friendship is a foreign concept.
She scoffs. “Only you would consider an old geezer your BFF.”
I tuck my shirt into my skirt and hustle into the kitchen. I need coffee and something to eat. I have two pieces of bread in the toaster and the coffee percolating when Jon appears in the doorway to the kitchen. I suppress a groan. I see him at work and now he’s invading my home.
It feels like I can’t escape him sometimes.
“Why didn’t you tell me you needed money for school, Emma? I’m sure we can work something out.” His eyes roam over my bare legs. It disgusts me that he does this, sometimes right in front of Ivy.
The thing is, he’s not even attracted to me.
My sister is gorgeous. She’s got dark wavy hair and big dramatic brown eyes. I have wispy blond hair and plain gray eyes. She’s all smoldering screen siren while I look like the plain country mouse next to her. He’s not hitting on me because he’s overcome with lust. He’s doing it because he’s a pig. I’ve tried to tell Ivy but she doesn’t want to hear it. She thinks that he’s just flirtatious and doesn’t mean anything by it. Love is
blind and all that, I guess.
“I’ve got some loans lined up. I’ll be fine.”
He leans against the counter and I have to stop so I don’t bump into him. He’s wearing pajama bottoms but no shirt. If I want my coffee, he’s going to make me press up against him to get it.
Not happening.
“Forget it. I’ll get coffee on the way.” I grab my bag and run out of the house. Ivy calls out to me as the door closes but I don’t turn around. There’s only so much you can do when someone doesn’t want to see the truth.
I smooth my black skirt over my knees and try not to fidget. Across the desk, Mr. Christopher Higgans holds my academic future in his hands. He’s been working with me for the past few months to make sure that I can start school again in the fall with a full schedule. I’ve been applying for every grant that I can for the following school year so that I can finish my bachelor’s degree. Loans are always available but I don’t want to graduate with a huge cloud of debt hanging over me. I’m hoping that I’m eligible for some scholarships or something.
“Miss Shaw, I’ve been over your application. There are quite a few loans that we can set up for you. Also you qualify for the Pell Grant.”
I lean forward to review the documents he’s pushed across the desk toward me. The numbers are far lower than what I was hoping for.
“So, this is all I can get?”
“This is a great package. The Pell Grant doesn’t have to be repaid.”
“But the rest of it does? That’s a lot of debt.”
I’ll only be able to take a full semester of classes if I stop working at the law office. My parents left money for me to use for college but I’ve worked so hard not to touch it. But if I go to school full-time, even with the loans, I’ll need to use some of that money to live on. I had considered taking some weekend classes but if I can only do one or two classes a semester, it’ll take me forever to finish. I really hate the idea of touching my emergency fund. Once it’s gone, I’ll have nothing to fall back on.