Tank cocked his fist. When his knuckles struck flesh and bone, he’d never felt so satisfied in his life.
He released Chad, and the man slumped into his seat.
Behind him, he heard Patriot’s chuckle. The guys had grown silent for a moment, but as soon as Tank moved toward the bar to grab a second drink, talk resumed to building the clubhouse on Sunday as if nothing had happened.
When he sidled up to the bar, Fiona shook her head. “You can’t beat up my patrons, Tank.”
“He fucking had it comin’.”
“For what?”
“For bein’ alive, that’s what. Gimme a Crown, Fiona.”
She leveled a look at him.
“Please,” he added, tossing her a grin to smooth things over.
She rolled her eyes and stepped up to the wall of liquor.
Patriot appeared at Tank’s side. “I know why you punched that asshole,” he said quietly.
Tank swung his head to pierce his brother with a stare. “What do ya want me to say? I lost my shit, and the guy’s had it comin’ for months.”
“What I’m wondering”—Patriot chewed on a toothpick he always had stuck in the corner of his mouth—“is why you don’t just go get the girl.”
He heaved a sigh. “Not that easy.”
“Why the fuck not? You spend time together, right?”
“Yeah, as friends.”
Patriot made a scoffing noise. “Fuck friends. Pick her up, carry her to bed and tear off her clothes. It’s what she’s waiting for anyway.”
Fiona pushed the drink across the bar to him, and Tank curled his hand around it with a nod of thanks to her. He turned to Patriot, but no response came to mind.
Could Patriot be right? Tank thought about what he’d seen in Catarina’s eyes at the moment he leaned in to grab the tool off the cart beside her. The green depths had flickered with something—anticipation?
Hell, he didn’t know anymore.
“On second thought, I think I’m gonna hit the road. Take a long ride.” He handed Patriot his drink.
“I hate fuckin’ Crown.”
“Then give it to the prospect.” He headed to the exit.
“You want company?” Patriot asked, but Tank only held up a hand in farewell.
On the road with the steel he’d put back together with his own two hands, Tank’s mind drifted, unraveling bit by tense bit like the road that unfolded before him. The scent of pines and mountains filled his head, and he dragged in deep breaths of the life force.
He flexed his grip on the handlebar, feeling the effects of punching Chad in the fucking face. He deserved it, he reminded himself.
Why would the guy have beef with him anyway? Tank wasn’t the one fucking up his relationship with Catarina—he did that all himself by picking fights with her for no reason and accusing her of stepping out on him when she wasn’t. Hell, if anything, the woman’s loyalty was her biggest fault, because she put her faith in the wrong people.
Fucking friends. He’d like to show her how friendly his mouth could be—right on her pussy.
He groaned aloud and sped faster through the final curves leading out of Mersey and into the mountains. Shadows fell across the road, and he focused on his surroundings but what he really saw was Catarina. How she would look after he stripped off her clothes. How tender that freckled skin would feel under his callused fingers, his lips…his tongue.
He was hard as a steel rod now and couldn’t do a damn thing to ease the ache.
That slight flare of her eyes as he leaned in to retrieve the tool…
His mind crashed with reality—she wanted him too. She just couldn’t admit it. All that talk about being her best friend might be a cover for what she really felt for him.
There was only one way to find out if his theory was right, but how to get her to admit to it?
He rode on for a couple more hours, until darkness had fallen and he navigated with only his headlights. When he rode past the station the paramedics were based out of, he saw Catarina’s car parked there.
She was out here somewhere, helping to save people’s lives. The fucking woman didn’t know how incredible she was, and she wasted her time with men like Chad.
What she really needed was a real man to show her how it felt to be loved.
Tank finished hammering the top onto the new workbench he just built for the motorcycle shop. He swung the hammer down to his side and stood back to inspect his progress. Nice and level. Serviceable. What else can he ask for?
From the open door of the new metal building that had been erected in no time at all came nonstop hammering as the Dark Falcons worked on the clubhouse not far off. Dixon gave him a pass this morning, though he’d argued about needing to be there to help. But in the end, he was glad to have time to set up the shop to his liking. Now all he needed were a few orders and the business would be underway.
He set the hammer in its place on the pegboard and grabbed the wide push broom. After chasing some dust around the floor for a bit, he shoved it out the back door. He stood looking out across the yard a moment, taking in the lush green of Tennessee and thinking of someday owning a plot of land for himself.
For some reason, he pictured kids running around there. And one little girl had unmistakable curls and freckles exactly like her mother’s.
“Damn,” he said softly.
“You okay?” The feminine voice coming from the open shop door made him turn. Fiona stood there, worry on her pretty face. No wonder Dixon was head over heels for the woman. Sweet and gorgeous—a deadly combination to any man’s heart.
He thought of his own where Catarina was concerned.
He came inside and closed the door, stowing the broom in the corner once more. “Yeah, I’m fine. What’s up?”
“I came to tell you food is served.” She looked around the space. “You really got this place in good shape. Ready for opening day?”
“I’d be more ready with a few orders to start me off.”
She waved a hand. “They’ll come. I’ve put out the word with at least four guys who come into the Painted Pig.”
“Appreciate it.” He crossed the room to her.
She tipped her head up to look at him. “Tank, are you really okay?”
He issued a sigh.
“Is this about Catarina?” she asked.
Hell. The last thing he wanted was to confide to Fiona, maybe because she was half his size and twice as scary. At least when it came to someone who was good at probing men’s feelings.
She wagged her fingers at him. “Out with it, Tank.”
“Aww, Fi. Don’t make me.” He scuffed his boot on the floor.
“I know you’re crazy about that woman. What’s holding you back?”
He leveled a look at the petite blonde. “Direct much?”
“I own a bar and my boyfriend’s the president of the club. I don’t know how to be anything other than direct. So what’s your answer?”
A long sigh trickled out of him, leaving him feeling deflated. “She keeps going back to her ex. Every time I think I can make a move, I see her with him. Don’t ask me why she keeps going back, either. He’s such a douche to her, and she always ends up at my place, talking about us being friends and shit.”