Bristling, Tank ground his teeth, wishing he could give the poor man the answers he wanted. No citizen could understand the brotherhood, and nomad or not, he couldn’t discuss club business. If he broke his oath to the brotherhood, he might as well burn the ink off his skin and tear up his cut. It was something that just wasn’t fucking done, even for a decent man like John. Tank felt for him, and wanted to tell him he and the other members were going to end the bullshit soon, but he couldn’t give John any assurance that the insanity would stop before all was lost.
Running his fingers through his hair, Tank said, “I’m sorry, man. My hands are tied, and I can’t say a thing. You don’t know how much I wish that wasn’t the case, but we are where we are with it. I’m not even a full-time member anymore, so I don’t have much to do with the club at all. You’re asking the wrong person.”
Tank watched the man crumble before his eyes. Shit really was taking a heavy toll on him, and Tank vowed again to make it come to a standstill once and for all, sooner rather than later.
“Whatever’s going on with you, I hope it gets better, if that’s any consolation.” Tank got up from the chair, overshadowing the now hunched over older man, and squeezed his shoulder.
“I don’t understand any of this. Your club is forcing my tenants to pay them protection money. They work hard, like your mom used to. Would you want someone threatening your mother if she didn’t pay them?”
Pressing his lips into a firm line, Tank shook his head.
“Then why can’t you do something to stop it?”
“I already told you the score.”
Hanging his head, John nodded. “I know you did.”
“For what it’s worth, John, I am sorry.”
“I appreciate that.”
“Of course.”
“I hope your mother is doing well. You’ll give her my best, won’t you?”
“I will.”
“You’re still in the same house, I imagine?”
“Yep. Not much has changed.”
John sighed. “Not much has changed, and yet everything has shifted…”
An awkward silence stretched between them.
“I gotta get going,” Tank said at last.
John looked up at him. “Sure.”
Tank turned, and with slow, heavy footsteps, he walked toward the street.
Tank
The next couple of days were a flurry of meetings at the Devil’s Surfboard, concerning the unrest in the club. The anti-Hammer members had all agreed that talking sense into the VP and his cronies wasn’t going to do shit. The man wanted the dangerous combination of power and money, and there was no way he was going to peacefully step down from the board.
Tank had gone over to Raptor’s house to discuss what vision the president saw for the Jagged Outlaws’ future. He conceded to Tank that he was too preoccupied with his son’s health to be a strong leader, and when Tank brought up electing an interim president, Raptor was all for it. For the members who were trying to keep Hammer from taking the presidency, Raptor’s cooperation in naming a temporary president was huge.
John Bourne’s dilemma weighed heavily on Tank’s mind. It’d killed him to see the fear, sadness, and hopelessness in the kind man’s eyes. When money was short and the bills were many, John had been there to help them all out, and Tank felt like he was stabbing an old family friend in the back by not helping him out. Intense anger roared through him when he found out that Cougar and Rubble were the ones who had torched Gus’s dry cleaning store the week before. Gus, the gentle man who had given Tank a job in high school.
The day after he’d spoken with John, Tank had gone to Hammer and asked when he would be needed to do the collections. The smug sonofabitch bumped fists with Tank, happy he had taken an interest in the club’s new channel of revenue. It took all of his willpower not to deliver a smashing blow to the asshole’s face. The jerk actually thought Tank was jumping off Raptor’s ship, which was fine with Tank, because the less Hammer and his cohorts knew of the plans to oust them, the smoother the transition would go down.
When Tank saw the headlights of an SUV coming down the street, he drew in his breath and exhaled when the vehicle drove by the complex. He pushed away from the trunk of the tree he’d been leaning against for an hour. Where the hell is she? She doesn’t have an event until next weekend. Tank had broken down and called Dawson to get the name of Lena’s catering company, giving him some made up bullshit about an anniversary party for the printing shop as the reason for wanting it. Dawson hadn’t questioned it, which surprised the hell out of Tank. He’d texted the number and the website, and Tank had pulled it up on the computer to check the calendar for their upcoming events. There was nothing scheduled for that night, so where the hell was she at ten o’clock?
The thought of Lena out with another man infuriated him. Fuck this! Pissed that he cared about her, he fished the keys out of his pocket and strode toward his bike. I’m outta here. Just as he reached his Harley, he spotted Lena’s burgundy SUV turning into the complex. Sprinting across the grass, he made it over to the garage as the electronic gate rolled opened. Lena drove through, and he quickly followed behind her.
Lena slammed the car door shut with her hip, balancing a bag of groceries, a briefcase, and her purse. Moving swiftly, Tank stepped out from behind one of the pillars in the parking structure and watched as she walked toward the elevators, her skirt clinging to her rounded ass, and her long dark hair swishing across her back. Sucking in his breath, he drank in every inch of her. His cock stirred, and something low in his belly heated. Licking his lips, he picked up his pace until he was right behind her.
“Hey, Lena.”
She came to an abrupt halt, and the bag of groceries slipped from her arm. Without missing a beat, he grabbed the bag before it hit the pavement, and looked up to find her glaring at him.
“You scared the shit out of me! Didn’t you learn not to sneak up on people?”
Holding the bag in one hand, he shook his head. “I didn’t mean to spook you. Sorry.”
“What are you doing here?” she snapped.
“Carrying your groceries?” He joked.
“I’m tired, and I’m in no mood—”
“Okay. I came by to see what the fuck’s going on with you. You’ve been ignoring my calls and texts. What gives?”
“Unbelievable,” she muttered.
“I think you at least owe me an explanation. If I were gonna move on, I wouldn’t ghost you—I’d tell you.”
She shifted her purse to her other shoulder. “That’s right, I forgot. You’re Mr. Honesty.”
Prickles of irritation crept down his spine. “Stop the elusive shit. Tell me what’s bugging you.”
“Excuse me,” A man in a suit pressed in between them, shoved a key into the door, and rushed inside.
Tank tightened his grip on the grocery bag. “This blows, talking in the fuckin’ parking garage.”
She stared at him, as if trying to decide what to do. Silently, Tank waited for her to make up her mind. Seconds seemed to turn into minutes, yet neither spoke nor relinquished their position.