Before Tank could chime in with his thoughts, the bastard spun around and began circulating around the clubhouse to grab some ass and booze. Yeah, this sonofabitch needs to be dealt with before shit gets worse. There’s no way he can be our prez.
“Sorry I bothered you earlier, but are you up for a little drinking game now? I’d love to have some fun.”
The slinky brunette from a few minutes before cozied up to him near the corner of the bar. I know her. Meredith… no, wait… Merida? No, Merry—that’s it. They’d played around a few times in the past, but he hadn’t recognized her when she’d first come over. But then, all he had running through his veins had been white-hot anger.
“You remember me, right?” she said in a breathy voice.
“Yeah.”
Merry clearly remembered their hookups, judging by the way she was shoving her boobs in his face and twirling her hair around her finger. But her warm brown hair reminded him of Lena, and how perfect she had felt in his arms. And the way she looks up at me through her lashes, and that cute way she crinkles her nose. Fuck.
“We had some real good times. We can have some fun tonight,” she purred, pressing against his arm.
“Not tonight. Try Chainsaw. He’ll be pissed after he loses the pool game, and he’ll need a little comfort.”
Not seeming to be put out by his suggestion, Merry brightened and headed toward the pool table. He dug his cell out of his pocket and stared at the screen, thumbing up Lena’s contact information, and stared at her number. She probably won’t answer. Before he could stop himself, he hit the call icon and raised the phone to his ear. He couldn’t drive the image of her in his arms, kissing him, out of his mind.
The phone rang. Pushing away from the bar, he walked outside. The palm trees stood tall above the asphalt lot and slices of green grass. .
After the fourth ring, he was ready to end the call when Lena picked up and answered drowsily, “Hello?”
Hearing her voice brought a smile to his face.
“Did I wake you?”
“Tank?” Sounding surprised to hear his voice, he smiled.
“Were you expecting someone else?”
“I wasn’t expecting anyone at this hour. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I wanted to make sure you got home okay.”
He heard shuffling in the background, like she was trying to sit up in bed.
“It’s a little late for that. I left the parking lot nearly three hours ago.”
He chuckled. “You’re ornery when your beauty sleep is disturbed.”
“I need all the help I can get,” she groaned.
“You know that’s bullshit.”
“Where are you?”
Tank looked over at two members fucking one of the women on the lawn in front of the club and said, “Getting ready to take a ride.”
“At this hour?”
“It’s the best time. The only sounds will be my bike and the waves. It’s fuckin’ awesome. I’ll have to take you sometime.”
There was no response.
“Anyway, I just wanted to make sure you were good. I gotta go.”
“Tank?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad you called. Goodnight.”
“Nite.”
Slipping the phone into his pocket, Tank jumped on his bike. He had no idea why he’d called her, but he was glad he did. An unfamiliar warmth spread through him, making his cock twitch at the thought of her in bed, snuggled underneath the covers.
Bringing his Harley to life, he sped out of the lot and headed for Pacific Coast Highway.
The moon was full and the night peaceful. The only thing missing was Lena pressed against his back, those sexy thighs of hers wrapped tight around his.
Fuck.
Groaning low in his throat, he gripped the handlebars and twisted the throttle to make the bike go faster, trying to outrun the desire racing through his blood. But it was no good. Some part of her had already taken root inside of him, and he had no clue what the hell to do about it.
Tank
“I don’t think he’s coming, bro,” Maniac surmised.
Tank cursed under his breath and rubbed his jaw, still watching the entrance to the clubhouse. As much as he hated to admit it, Maniac was fucking right: Raptor wasn’t walking through those doors. Church was supposed to have started fifteen minutes before, and the members were getting antsy.
“If any of us were late for church, Raptor would tear us a new asshole, so why the fuck are we letting him get away with this shit?” Shark fumed, pounding his fist on the table.
“This disrespect is more fuckin’ proof that the brotherhood isn’t the first thing on his mind,” Hammer growled. There was a low chorus of agreement from the back corner where a majority of the vice president’s supporters hung out lately since the dissension in ranks. “Are we just gonna wait for Raptor to decide we’re more important than whatever else is going on in his life? Suspend everything we got going on within the club until he decides to give a fuck? The club isn’t something a president can ignore until the fuckin’ timing is right for him. This disrespect is a reflection on his fuckin’ view of the brotherhood as a damn whole.”
Hammer stalked around the room, gesturing with his hands and getting the men riled up. Ignoring the small tick in his jaw that was quickly working its way into a headache, Tank tipped his chair back until it rested against the wall. The whole damn situation was a total clusterfuck. He didn’t see any way through or around it, so long as Raptor kept fucking up his responsibilities.
Tank probably understood what Raptor was going through more than most of the brothers. He knew what it was like to have a family member sick as hell, needing attention and support. That kind of fear and sadness rocked through a family and never let up, not until there was a miracle and the person got better, or… Fuck. Tank shook his head, unwilling to think of the other alternative. Either way, he and Raptor were in the same spot. Raptor’s son was fighting for his life, and Tank’s mother was slipping away. Family was damn important, and that was the one constant he and his president shared above all else. But Tank understood where the members’ anger and sense of betrayal was coming from, and that couldn’t be ignored. Yep, nothing but a damn clusterfuck.
Groaning, he shifted up and out of the chair, tuning out whatever the hell Hammer was saying, which was getting a rousing chorus of cheers from his cronies, and a few of Raptor’s followers. He assessed the men in the room, noticing a good majority of them were listening to Hammer. Raptor still had allies in the clubhouse, but they were decreasing by the day, and him not showing the hell up for church hadn’t helped the situation.
“Fuckin’ hell,” Tank muttered under his breath as he walked toward the door, slamming his empty beer bottle on the bar top so hard, he thought it would shatter in his hand.
“Going somewhere, Nomad?” Hammer’s gruff voice echoed through the room as soon as Tank’s boots hit the threshold. “Are you just now realizing your president can’t be fuckin’ trusted? Reality stings like a swarm of damn wasps, doesn’t it?”
Hammer chuckled along with his army of jackasses.
Clenching his fists at his sides, Tank didn’t bother acknowledging Hammer before walking out of the clubhouse and into the humid air. The sunlight pierced his eyes and he squinted, fumbling at the same time for the pair of sunglasses in the inner pocket of his cut. The asphalt radiated the heat of the day, and he pounded the pavement until he was next to his bike parked under a tree. Shit had to be straightened out, and he wasn’t going to sit by while Raptor got his ass handed to him by a selfish, greedy motherfucker whose goal was to bring back anarchy, pain, and a shitty lifestyle for the members and the town. When Raptor had taken the reins, he swore to the townspeople that the club would make sure the shit imposed by the old regime wouldn’t continue, and he kept his word. For the most part, the Jagged Outlaws were respected by the citizens, and they appreciated the MC’s diligence in keeping the cartel out of the area and the town safe from rival clubs and gangs. Now, Hammer was hell-bent on destroying all the trust and respect Raptor and the members had worked so hard to build.