Tank (Blue-Collar Billionaires #1)

by M. Malone

  “You did? When?”

  “Right after you sent me the information. I drove over to their shop and we hung out for a minute. I would have gone with you that day if you’d told me.”

  I shake my head. “I wasn’t sure if they’d be open to us. I was just feeling things out.”

  “They were cool. I have to admit it was weird to see that one that looks like you. Gabe.”

  I grunt in response. Finn narrows his eyes. “You’re not listening to anything I’m saying. Why are you really here?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Where’s Emma?”

  “Again. No idea. Why would I know that? I took her on one date. One awful date and a do-over where I had to share her with a college boy and a roomful of feral cats.”

  Finn snorts. “You enjoyed it. And you even like that ugly ass cat you adopted to impress her. She’s good for you.”

  “She’s not my girlfriend Finn. She’s not my anything.”

  “And therein lies the problem. You’ve been different lately. In a good way. I don’t care what dumb ass excuse you’re using not to be with her right now but just forget it. Call her up.”

  “She doesn’t want me. Not really.”

  Finn gives me a disbelieving look. “Try telling that to someone who didn’t see the way she watched you at dinner. I don’t know how you two originally hooked up but she feels something for you. I’m not sure what, but it’s something. And that’s all you need.”

  He scrubs his hands back and forth over his face. “I can tell you from experience that looking back and wondering if you did all that you could sucks. You know what happened with Rissa. I still wish I’d fought for her. Don’t do that to yourself. If things don’t work out between you, let it be her fault, not because you didn’t pursue it. At least then you’ll have the comfort of hating her.”

  I’m stunned into silence. Finn doesn’t talk about the past or what happened with his former fiancée. He blotted her out of his life so completely that it’s almost like she never existed. This is the most I’ve ever heard him speak about it.

  He raises bleak eyes to mine. “Call her.” Then he gets up and walks back to his room. I let myself out.

  I walk down the street leading away from Finn’s place. Taking a drive would make more sense but I need the physical exertion. I want the burn of the cold air in my lungs when I breathe in. After I’ve walked for a little while, the neighborhood changes drastically. Graffiti pops up on random buildings and everything looks older. A man shuffles along pushing a shopping cart filled with old magazines and books. As I pass, he says “Change? Any change?”

  I pat my pockets. “No, I honestly don’t. Sorry.”

  He shuffles along with a disgruntled expression. I think about all the money sitting in my bank account now. I’m a freaking millionaire but I don’t even have twenty-five cents in my pocket.

  I laugh out loud. There’s no one out here to see me laughing and talking to myself like a crazy person. Not that I should care. I have money. Isn’t that supposed to make me happy? It’s like I’m caught in a dream turned nightmare where on the surface I’ve been granted this amazing gift but it’s just a facade. Because beneath it all, I don’t have any of the things that really matter.

  I’m not even sure how my phone ends up in my hand but suddenly I’m dialing Emma’s number and holding on to the piece of metal like it’s the only thing tethering me to the earth. Seeing her, hearing her voice is all I can think of. She’s the one true and honest thing in my life. The only thing untainted by all the negative emotions I carry around like a suitcase.

  “Hello? Tank, are you there?” Her voice echoes in my ear. I close my eyes and absorb the sound of her voice, the tones flowing over me and through me.

  “I’m here.”

  She’s quiet but I know she’s still there. I can hear her breathing. “Are you okay?”

  I allow my head to hang loose on my neck. She’s one of the only people content to just let me be. Not a lot of questions, just the important ones.

  “Sorry. I know you said this isn’t possible for you right now. And shit, I know I’m a bad bet any given day of the week anyway. I just needed to hear your voice.”

  “Tank,” she breathes and that one syllable arouses me like she’s talking dirty to me or something.

  “I need you, Emma.”

  There’s a rustle on the other end of the line. “Where are you? I’m coming to you.”

  I give her the address and then hang up to wait. The homeless man has moved on a little further down the street and it’s just me and the concrete wall. I don’t even want to think about my admission on the phone.

  I need you.

  There’s usually a timeline of acceptable behavior in any relationship. You aren’t supposed to need a woman that you’ve known less than a month. I should like her and want to see her again but need her?

  I push off and decide to circle the block again. She won’t be here for another few minutes to pick me up. I haven’t been walking long when I notice the man behind me. When I speed up, he speeds up. I turn another corner just to see if he’ll stick with me. After a minute, he does.

  He’s following me.

  I turn to face him. I could easily evade him but I don’t want to run. I want the fight. I need it.

  He seems shocked that I’m not running but recovers quickly. He pulls out a knife, the blade glinting in the moonlight. “Give me your money.”

  I attack first, rushing him and taking him back against the side of the building. A grunt escapes his lips as he hits the bricks. I must have knocked the wind out of him because he doesn’t resist at first but then he headbutts me. He’s strong but not as big as I am.

  He’s also slow. My fist connects with his ribcage, his gut and then his jaw. That familiar chill settles over me and I unleash all my rage, my frustration and my pain into hurting him. With my fists, I can right a few wrongs even if everything else in my life is going to shit.

  “Tank, stop! You’re killing him. Please.” Emma’s voice filters through the rage and I come back down to see the man is completely unconscious. I stagger back and collapse on the sidewalk.

  “Oh my god, you’re bleeding.” Her hands come away from my arm smeared with blood. Until then I hadn’t even noticed the searing burn on my forearm. He must have sliced me before dropping the knife.

  “What were you doing?” she whispers. When I look up, she’s watching my face closely. “You weren’t even trying to get away.”

  I can’t answer that but she must see the truth in my eyes. I wasn’t trying to get away, I was engaging. I was participating.

  I was enjoying it.

  “We have to get out of here. You need to go to the hospital.” She helps me to my feet, looping my good arm around her neck.

  “No hospital. Just drive me home.”

  “But Tank, your arm—”

  “Please, Emma. I need you.”

  The words hang there between us again and they take on a whole new meaning now. Her hand around my waist tightens.”Okay, let’s go.”

  The mugger’s knife is on the concrete next to him. I kick it away and then pull away from her so I can lean down and rummage through his jacket. There’s a wad of cash tucked into the inner pocket. Probably all the money he’s stolen from other victims tonight.

  “Tank? What are you doing?”

  I grip the money in my right hand as she leads me away. As we pass by, I stuff the bills in the homeless man’s cup.

  “Donating to charity.”

  Emma’s hands are shaking as she grips the steering wheel. The look on her face back there in the alley. It was a kind of déjà vu. The horror and fear. Some of it directed at me. She’s seen the real me now. She’s seen the rage I can’t control.

  “Will you stay with me tonight?”

  She hesitates and then I’m sure the answer will be no. There are reasons, valid reasons that it’s a bad idea for us to get attached. She’s trying to get her educatio
n back on track and I’ve already got my hands full dealing with my family situation. If we could have picked a worse time to meet, I can’t think of when it would be. But none of that matters when I’m on the edge and all I want is to see her face.

  “Yes. I’ll stay with you.” She glances at me once and then turns her attention back to the road. Her expression tells me nothing. Maybe she’s staying with me because she’s worried about me. I don’t know and don’t care. I have her for tonight and that’s all that matters.

  One more night of peace.

  She pulls up in front of my building and parks. For a moment, I don’t move, just sit watching her. I take a deep breath. The terrifying panic that’s been riding me since I left the hotel recedes a little.

  “Have you ever done the wrong thing for the right reasons?”

  She’s watching me with those big gray eyes and it feels like she can see straight through me. I’ve held it together until now but with one look, she disarms me.

  “I would do anything for my mom, even make nice with my father, when I know he’s up to something. But what if it’s not enough?” My blurted words convey my deepest fear.

  My anger toward my father has fueled me over the years, carried me through all the hard times, the loneliness, the worry that my mother was working so hard to take care of us. Letting go of that, even for a good cause, threatens my whole foundation.

  If I don’t hate him, then who am I?

  My hatred has defined me for so long that I’m lost without it. Now I’m taking his money and allowing him back into my life.

  What if I’ve sold my soul to the devil and it still doesn’t save her?

  “Let’s go inside. I really want to look at your arm. I can at least clean the cut.”

  Once we’re inside, Emma pushes me to the table. It’s odd to submit myself to her care. She’s never been the forceful type but my injury seems to have triggered her mother hen instincts. I show her where the first aid kit is located then sit as still as a child while she fusses over me, swabbing the long slice on my arm with peroxide and then wrapping it with an Ace bandage.

  I could have done the bandage myself in less time and with a better result but it’s oddly comforting to have her leaning over me, so concerned. Her warm manner wraps around me and pervades the darkness that’s been in me since this afternoon.

  When I agreed to see my father, I couldn’t have anticipated the negative emotions it would dredge up for me. It’s been years and I thought it was behind me. But there’s no doubt that seeing him tonight has unleashed something in me. Something I’m not sure how to put back.

  “Come on. Let’s go to bed.”

  I don’t even have the heart to tease her or make a suggestive comment. She tugs on my other arm until I rise from the table. Then she pushes me down the hall and into the bedroom.

  She leans down and pushes her shoes under the bed. Then she takes off her earrings and opens the bedside drawer to drop them in. All the color drains from her face. She stands and backs away until she hits the opposite wall. Her breathing quickens, shallow breaths that sound like gasping.

  “Emma, what—”

  “I can’t. I just can’t.” Then she bursts into tears.

  My mouth falls open. The nightstand still hangs open so I walk over and peer in. My Glock 19 sits squarely in the middle of the drawer.

  Emma turns to face the wall, still taking those rapid breaths. If she keeps sucking in oxygen like that, she’ll probably pass out. I approach her slowly. My last girlfriend wasn’t fond of seeing all my hardware either but she never reacted like this.

  I want to hold her but I’m not sure if she would appreciate that right now. So I just lean on the wall a few feet away. “Take a deep breath. Slowly. In and out.”

  She looks at me briefly. “I’m okay. I just wasn’t expecting it.”

  “I know. Just breathe, buttercup.”

  Her breath whooshes out all at once, and then she takes a deep inhale. Her eyes stay on my face. We stand like that for a few minutes, breathing quietly. When the color comes back to her face, I move away.

  “I am so sorry. I’ll move it.” I lead her to the bed and she sits, woodenly. I block her view of the nightstand with my body as I retrieve the gun. There’s a gun locker in my closet where I keep my Heckler & Koch and a few of my semi-automatic rifles. I walk into the closet and put the Glock in the case. When I come out, I sit on the edge of the bed.

  “Emma? When your parents were killed … you were there, weren’t you?”

  Her fingers clench in the blanket and then her head bobs up and down. Yes.

  Emotion wells inside me. She’s here, helping me, even though watching violence of any kind has to be traumatizing for her. The scene she witnessed in the alley tonight suddenly takes on new meaning. She waded into that for me.

  She’s dealing with things that obviously scare the shit out of her, for me.

  “You don’t have to stay. I understand if you want to go home.” Even I’m not selfish enough to make her sleep here if she’s freaked out. Nothing is going to help me at this point but I can help her. I’ll probably be up all night anyway but she needs to sleep. And she needs to feel safe enough to do that.

  She turns sad eyes to me. “I’m staying, Tank. I told you I would. I’m not going to leave you.”

  I’m not touching that statement so I grab a T-shirt from my dresser and hand it to her. She pulls it over her head and then pushes her jeans down. After she folds them and puts them on the end of the bed, she pats the space next to her. “Come on. I’m tired.”

  I don’t believe that I’ll actually get any sleep. When my emotions run high like this, sometimes I’m up for days on end. But the sheets are crisp and cool and Emma curls up next to me, warm and soft. Her bottom is pressed up against me and I’d have to be dead not to react to that but instead of it being purely sexual, it feels like she’s an extension of me. Like she’s supposed to be there. For the first time all day, I let out a breath and relax.

  Then slip quietly into dreaming.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  EMMA

  This time when I roll over, I’m prepared for it. Tank is awake and watching me again.

  “What is it with you watching me sleep? It’s creepy.”

  He grins and pulls me closer. His morning erection pokes me in the belly. “Is that creepy, too?”

  I rub up against him. “That part I don’t mind.”

  He buries his face in my neck and inhales. It should be the weirdest thing in the world, curled up in bed with a man who is smelling me, but instead I feel safe. Protected.

  “I’m starting to see what all the fuss is about having a girlfriend.”

  “Now I know you’re making stuff up. There’s no way you’ve never had a girlfriend.”

  “Well, yeah. Of course. But I went in the Army straight out of high school. Most of my relationships were casual. It’s hard to keep a girl happy if you’re never around.”

  I’m fascinated by this side of him. Based on his behavior and well, just looking at him, I’d assumed he’d have had a string of girlfriends. Although I doubt he’s been alone. He may not have had a steady relationship but I seriously doubt he’s been living like a monk all this time.

  “What about after you got out? You didn’t meet anyone then?”

  He sits up, dragging the blankets with him. “I met someone but after only a few months, she called it off. Said I was too much to deal with. In hindsight I don’t blame her. You saw me last night. That’s a lot to deal with.”

  “Do you do that a lot? Get into fights?”

  He stretches his arms overhead, the muscles in his arms and back flexing. Looking at him like this, he’s just overwhelming. He’s like some kind of ancient warrior.

  God, he’s magnificent.

  “Come on. We need to get up. You need time to stop at home for fresh clothes otherwise you’ll be late to work.”

  I can tell he doesn’t want to talk about it but this is too impo
rtant. I won’t let him sidetrack me. So I keep silent and wait.

  He glances at me once more and then rubs a hand over his face. “When I was younger, I used to fight all the time at school. I was on the verge of being expelled when my mom got cancer the first time.”

  “I didn’t realize she’d had it before. You were so young. That must have been really hard.”

  “It was harder for her. That was the wakeup call I needed because I got my shit together and stopped making her life so miserable. She’s been in remission until last month. That’s when I started fighting again.”

  “You’ve done that before?”

  He shrugs but when he looks over his shoulder, I can see the toll the admission takes on him. “I can’t help her but I can help someone else. I can make something right in this world. I can do something that matters.”

  There’s so much I want to say but I’m afraid of bungling it. I want to tell him how much he helps his mother every day. How strong he is for his brother and what an amazing friend he is, even to people who are just friends of friends like Sasha. He has this negative view of himself but he has no idea how I see him. How much he means.

  “You matter, Tank Marshall. Just you. Not the stuff you do, although that’s pretty amazing. I bet if I ask your mom, your brother and your friends what kind of man you are, they’d see the same things I do. Someone with great integrity who goes out of his way to help others.”

  “They’d do the same for me,” he replies.

  “Because they’re your friends.” I roll over so I can look directly at him. “And they’re smart. They wouldn’t be friends with someone who wasn’t worthy. You are so worthy.”

  He leans back and I pull him against me. His head rests in the crook of my arm. “I’m afraid, Emma. This thing with my mom … I’ve never been this scared of anything in my life.”

  “I know. But every time you go out there and put yourself at risk, there’s a chance that you won’t make it back. Is it worth that? Think of the people you’ll be leaving behind.”

  His eyes cloud and he suddenly looks far away. “My mom. My brother.”