As I shut my front door, I touch a hand to my face. My body is even burning up over him. At least, I think it’s because of anger. I could be feeling flushed for other reasons, too—like that amazing, out of this world orgasm I just received very unexpectedly.
I don’t know what I was thinking. I am really not the kind of girl who does this sort of thing. I don’t sleep with someone I just met. I don’t even sleep with people I know really well. It usually takes me at least five really awesome dates for me to go to bed with a guy, and that’s only if he decides to stick around and wait for me.
But there was something about Tank and how he brought me to bed, touched me so gently, and then managed to still argue with me. No, it was that kiss. That earth-shattering kiss that made my knees go weak and my toes curl into the carpet. I have never been kissed like that before. And the power or magic of it somehow pushed me to lying back on that bed and letting him place his hands all over my naked body.
I want more. I’m not going to lie to myself about that. If that was just foreplay, the appetizer, I want the whole main course—and I want it now. But I have to be serious with myself. This isn’t right. There is a reason why I didn’t tell Abe that I was entertaining the head of the other top motorcycle club in El Paso. Both of us would have been driven out of town, or worse.
I’ve seen it happen before. Some girl gets all googly-eyed for this rider on a Harley. He makes her promises that they can overcome it. She believes it and starts to tell everyone she knows that she’s proud to have “crossed the territories.” But before she can get that ring or even get to home base, everyone in her life has disowned her. If she works with the MC gang, she’s fired. If she lives at home with her parents, she’s kicked out.
The guy gets it even worse. If she’s a club girl, someone’s daughter or sister or the woman of someone important, he’s punished for tasting forbidden fruit. And it’s not just disowning. That’s the easy part. There are guys that don’t necessarily walk away from this sort of star-crossed romance. Romeo and Juliet have nothing on what it’s like to date the wrong type of club guy.
I hear Tank clearing his voice from behind me. He hits the light to the living room, and I take a look at him, standing there with a disapproving glare. I may have done something stupid tonight, but I did something stupid with someone incredibly hot. He’s totally different from the college boys I usually date.
He’s not that skinny, intellectual nerd with the button-down shirt and the occasional cardigan. His thin t-shirt practically clings to his sweaty body, giving me to the outline of his sculpture-esque chest. He’s covered in tattoos, but they’re different. They add to the shape of his muscles, the lines of his neck and hands, and the creamy color of his skin. And that hair. I’ve never seen a motorcycle guy with a mane to match. The brown curls that stick out from the side of his face give him a softer appearance.
He’s just as the rumors make him out to be. He’s a gritty beast of a guy that I’d be pretty terrified of if I managed to come in contact with him. I take a moment to picture him riding on his jet black bike, smoke coming from the tailpipe behind him. I really don’t want this to be true, but I would love to see that in action.
My mouth is watering again. I shake my head quickly and pick up a discarded couch cushion, placing it neatly back onto its spot. I don’t look at him as I offer a quick apology. “I’m sorry about that.”
Before I can say another word in my defense, he’s coming at me. “I thought you said he wasn’t your boyfriend? Did you lie about that? I need to know. It’s important to me.”
“Did you not hear what I told him? He’s not my boyfriend. He’s not my anything. He’s just Abe. He’s been acting like this since I met him years ago, but the answer is always ‘no.’ I don’t date motorcycle guys, and I certainly don’t date assholes like him.” I’m breathless. I hate that I have to explain myself again. This wasn’t any of his business. I spin towards him, looking him straight in the eye. “Why is it important to you? So what if I was Abe’s girlfriend?”
He leans against the alcoves doorway and runs a hand across his hair, smoothing out the spots wrecked in our session upstairs. “It’s not important to me. It’s important to the investigation. If you’re dating the president of the Aztecs, the organization trying to blame Carmen’s attack on me, you don’t think that wouldn’t be key information?”
“No. I don’t. But it’s not my job to get ‘key information.’ Isn’t that what you’re supposed to be doing to clear your name? At this point, you’re just as much as a suspect as anyone else out there.” Saying those words has certainly brought me back down to Earth. Why did I let this guy into my bedroom? He swears he doesn’t order these kinds of hits, but I know better. I know what happens in those meetings.
Suddenly, I get the urge to run, to flee. A part of me is saying that it’s crazy. Why would he have taken me like that if he had plans to hurt me? But how he is staring me down, as if I’m a criminal for potentially being with Abe has me second-guessing that gut feeling. My eyes dart across the room, as I try to think of escape routes and potential weapons. I try to be nonchalant as I work my way to the window.
“Are you accusing me of something?” I can tell he’s angry. A little vein in his neck is pulsating quickly enough for me to see it flush purple against his skin. He walks towards me, a finger pointed in my direction. “If you’re accusing me, I want to hear you say it directly. I don’t take it lightly when someone starts shit with me, especially not some woman. So you lay it out.”
Before I can stop to think, my own anger and aggression catch up to me. The truth flows out of my mouth completely unchecked. “Fine, Tank…or whatever your real name is. I think it’s pretty clear that you had something to do with it. I don’t honestly know if it was one of your guys whom you commanded to do it, or if you were man enough to do it yourself. All I know is that when Carmen gets out of that coma and is able to talk again, you’re in for a world of pain. And I’m going to be far, far away from you when it does happen.”
He takes in a deep breath of air and holds it. His face turns red, as he marches even closer to me. His hand outstretches with that finger pointed in the air. He wants to say something, I can tell, but he’s doing everything he can to hold it in. I do my best not to shriek away or to grab hold of the window for support. I need to stand firm. I am not going to be intimidated by him.
Tank’s mouth opens as he finally speaks, “It’s Jack.”
“What?” I have no idea if I’ve heard him right.
“It’s Jack. My name is Jack. But it’s my father’s name, so the club called me Tank.” When he says this, it’s like a weight is lifted off of his shoulders. I can’t tell if he’s been dying to correct me, or if he just needed a break from our fighting.
But still, I can’t give him the time. I compose myself and focus back on the argument at hand. He’s insulted me. He’s insulted Carmen. And he’s done it all in my own house where he managed to seduce me. I’m not okay with this, and he needs to know it. The time has come to put an end to this stupid game I’ve been playing with him.
I cross my arms over my chest and firmly say, “Okay, Jack. Or Tank. Or whatever you want to be called today. I want you out of my house.”
He’s eyes glare as I command him to leave. “Look, lady. No one ever tells me what to do.”
“That’s too bad, because I am. Get out of my house before I call the cops or Abe or the rest of the Aztecs.” I walk past him, towards my phone resting on the side table. I begin to dial.
He looks at me, as if this is just a part of the routine. But I’m not budging. I’m just about to hit the second “one” when he moves. Our game of chicken is over. “Fine. I’ll be back with information when I get it. In the meantime, don’t get yourself fucking killed.” He says it with such detest, as if I’m the problem here.
“Not an issue for me.” I head back towards the door and open it widely for him. He pauses where he is before placing his hands into the
pockets of his tight jeans and storming out the door. I am tempted to slam it behind him, but I want to be sure he’s gone. I watch him walk out the complex doors and towards the street. Just a few cars up is his motorcycle, which he practically leaps on.
Once I see him speed away in a huff of engine roars and snarls, I finally let my guard down. I place my back towards the cold wood of the door and sink down to the ground. Suddenly, I feel as if I am supposed to cry here. With everything that’s been going on with Carmen and Tank, I should. No one could really blame me for it if I did.
But I am my father’s daughter. I’m tougher than anyone can imagine. And one little motorcycle club president (or maybe two club presidents) are not going to intimidate or bully me. This is my house, my rules, my life. And if he thinks he can walk in here again and with a snap of his fingers magically make me get down and blow him, he’s got another thing coming. He’s not stepping another foot in this house as long as I am alive to prevent it.
After a long moment promising myself to behave better and to resist all urges from now until infinity, I force myself up. On the long walk towards the bedroom, I spot Carmen’s door slightly ajar. She always keeps it completely shut. She just hated the thought of anyone, including me, having access to her stuff. And the last I remember it, the door was shut when I left the house this morning.
My body tenses and starts to prickle. Something isn’t right here. I open the door further to peek in. It’s pitch black, and the dark blue painted walls doesn’t help. The lights turn on, and I see her bed with the patchwork quilt and the pictures of the two of us on vacation in Austin. We’re drinking extra-large margaritas and wearing silly hats some waiter had begged us to wear. She always loved that kind of stuff. We had even planned a trip to Los Angeles this Spring Break. But with her condition, that was going to have to wait.
A little further into her room, I also notice her history textbook is still open on her vanity. As I go to close it, a realization comes over me. There’s something missing in this room. I begin searching, just in case I’m overreacting. I ruffle through the backpack sitting at the edge of her bed and the drawers of her desk cluttered with papers and drawings from her time in art class. It’s not under her blankets or tucked under her pillow either.
Her tablet computer, the one she used to do all of her schoolwork and post on her messaging sites, is gone. She usually keeps it on the top of her desk where she does the majority of her schoolwork. But there’s just an empty spot and the unconnected keyboard. After I’m through tossing the clothing in her laundry bag out and all over the floor, it hits me. The only person who’s been in this house and who could have accessed her tablet was the person I foolishly opened the door for.
Chapter 7: The Center of the Universe
It’s been four days since I tasted Sierra, and I still can’t get her out of my mind. Those supple thighs writhing underneath me, the strands of her hair, her piercing eyes, her lips parting to my fingertip… She’s a record on repeat, and nothing I do seems to keep that record from spinning. Three straight nights of dreams where I tie her to a bedpost in the desert and fuck her hard have caused me to wake up both satisfied and with longing.
It’s not as if I haven’t tried to stop thinking of her. After she basically gave me the f-off, I went back to the clubhouse and told myself to take someone else. Because I had called the meeting hours earlier, there were plenty to choose from. And whenever I walk in, I can almost guarantee that the buffet of girls will be coming straight towards me.
That night, as Theresa slithered onto the back of my bike and tossed her clothes over the side of my mattress, I found myself regretting every move for the first time in my life. I got the job done, but it wasn’t without my eyes closed, as I thought of Sierra’s body wrapped in my warm arms. And when I finished, Theresa was dismissed without a second thought. I just couldn’t bear to stare at her when there was better flesh to think of.
After that night, I have become obsessed over finding the person attempting to frame me for Sierra’s roommate’s attack. I have spent hours combing over the details, including the limited amount of clues Skeeter, our resident computer nerd, could get off of Sierra’s tablet. The only new information we could come up with, is that she was meeting a friend in from Mexico after she was done at her brother and sister-in-law’s home.
But she managed to keep the name locked, and there was no trace of him in her emails, messages, or social media pages. It was like chasing a ghost down, with the only person with the right information totally unable to talk. We didn’t find anything about a man from Mexico when we did a review of the current and suspected Aztec pledges.
I sent my best guys out to do some digging for me in the trenches. They crossed territories to talk to dealers, movers, and pushers. Any friendly riders we could find that were in the know were questioned extensively about Mexican riders who may have known Carmen or Anthony. But as of today, no one was giving anything away.
So tonight, I’m heading back to the source. I have sent guys to the hospital regularly, but each of them have been spotted by Aztecs paying tribute to their fallen lady. And while the hospital was neutral grounds, I knew that I was close to starting a battle in exactly the wrong spot. I didn’t need my men to talk to Carmen or her brother. I needed them to get to the man outside the door. My police officer insider is still stationed outside Carmen’s hospital bed, and I know he’s willing to let some things slip to me if I bring the right compensation.
As I packed the grand—all in freshly printed and unmarked twenties—in the secret cuff of my riding jacket, I started to have second thoughts. I could send any guy to do this job. Rafael, the head Apache spy, was the best at going undercover. And he knew how to play cops as if they were a grand piano. But I sent him to the opposite end, towards the border to speak with our Mexican affiliates.
And so I left this job for myself. Obviously, I knew that wanting Rafael to hit the Mexican streets was just a small part of it. We had plenty of guys who had contacts with the Guzman clan who could initiate some intel. But I wanted a chance to see her. From what Tiger and Benji have said about their visits, Sierra’s by her bedside every night after class. And with Anthony working nightshifts, riding deliveries for the Aztecs, she’ll most likely be alone, or at least unguarded for a short period of time.
I look down at my phone. It’s just about noon. There’s only one hour left of visiting time at the hospital before the afternoon switch, so I need to act fast. I finish stuffing the bills in my sleeves and head out towards my parked bike. The Harley purrs underneath me as I take off towards the highway with the blue H signs pointing the way.
When I arrive, I sign in at the desk to avoid suspicions. I use an alias, Jack Cannon. No one knows that it’s my real name, at least not in these parts. I almost misspell it as I write it quickly down on one of the red and white visitor pass stickers. The docent points the way towards the elevators, and I pretend to listen as she gives me directions to the new unit Carmen’s been placed in.
Passing the nurses’ station, I duck low, avoiding glances and questions. One older nurse, dressed in sea-foam green scrubs doesn’t miss me though. I hear her yell out, “Sir, can I see your visitor’s pass?”
I stop in my place and turn towards her. She eyes the room number written on the pass and checks her clipboard of patient names. “Who are you here to see?”
“Carmen, in room 209, ma’am.” I bat my eyes at her and flex a bit. It usually works with women. It’s something about the dark clothes, blue eyes, and my size that gets them worked up.
But this nurse is doesn’t even look up. She continues questioning me, as if she knows something is up. “I don’t have you on the approved visitor’s list. Are you friend or family?”
I pause, knowing that I have to get this right. But luckily, someone interrupts us. I feel a large pat on the back as someone spins me around. My hand goes straight to my waistband where I’m storing my pistol. But before I can draw, I hear the voi
ce, “My man! What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t in town. Does Anthony know?”
I look down to see Officer Thompson smiling brightly at me. He winks one of his eyes quickly in my direction, as the nurse continues to scan her list of approved visitors. Thompson, an even better actor than I could ever be, reaches over and places a hand on her small stack of papers.
Smoothly, he explains, “Don’t worry Nurse Mary, he’s with the family. Anthony, Carmen’s brother, approved him late last night.” Before she can say another word, he whisks me over to where he stood guard over Carmen’s room. He sits back down on his metal folding chair and stares straight into the room. I can’t see beyond the curtain, but I can hear a familiar voice in the background.
“What are you doing here, Tank? You looking to get yourself killed, because that’s what’s going to happen when that nurse asks Anthony or one of his boys about you.” I’ve known Thompson for years. He’s been an honorary Apache since I gave him his first bribe. He, over all the other pigs in this town, understand motorcycle club culture and the importance of knowing the other side. Luckily, he’s on ours.
Savage: Iron Dragons MC Page 31