Page 60 of Tank

Ew. That’s the worst double entendre ever.

Flack lets out a guffaw and I curse my inner monologue. Or lack thereof. Rhodie gives his brother a chin lift which I guess is a manly nod.

Marx returns it, barking, “Roll out in ten.”

“Doll, look at me.” Tyson gently guides my face with a hand on my cheek until my eyes lock onto his. “We’re gonna get to the bottom of this. We got you, OK?” I press a kiss to his lips.

“Of course you do. Also, how damn awesome were you just then? Like a big, blonde delicious detective, deducing all the stuff. That’s why people shouldn’t underestimate the quiet ones, they’re the ones that see all the things. I’m sooooo stinking proud that my man has such a good detective brain. Add that to that jawline and whooooweee!”

“I think you only love me for my jawline.”

“Nah, I love you for the Tank in your pants too.” I waggle my brows and he bursts into laughter, tugging me close, wrapping his big arms around me.

“Love you, Doll. I’ll be back before you know it.” He drops a kiss to my head and gives me one last squeeze.

“Love ya lots like jelly tots.”

Chapter 18

Tank

Imount Winnie and wait for my signal to roll out, at the backs of my brothers. Marx raises his fist and the roar of our motorcycles wakes up the night, a low rumble like thunder as we idle. My Pres raises his finger in the air and circles it. One by one we pull out, heading toward Roxburgh and the little pissant that needs to be taught a lesson. Don’t fuck with the DRMC.

A little down the road we see the signs of where Jimmy was hit, the rubber of his tyres staining the road, a mirror lying broken to the side where he said he came off his bike for a moment. I’m amazed the kid had the speed and strength to get back on it and back to the safety of the clubhouse.

My brothers and I hold our fists up as we drive past, and we all speed up a little, eager to get our hands on the little scumbag that Whitney’s fucking. I mull over the facts in my mind again, how coincidental it all is. If I had a brain like Chewy’s I’d be able to calculate the odds of Mira’s stalker and our ex-bunny crossing paths, but I don’t. I only have my brain and my brain and my gut is telling me something else is going on. I turn the facts over in my mind as I ride, the vibrations of Winnie beneath meand the wind in my hair helping me on a physiological level. My shoulders lower, my breathing steady, any tension gone from my body and lulling me.

“Roman.”

“What’s that brother?” Judge’s voice comes through over the bluetooth in my helmet.

With what happened to Jimmy, Marx insisted we wear helmets tonight. We’re also strapped into some fucking fancy ballistic shirts that are lined with kevlar on the front, back and sides. Thanks to Tombs Security, we’re fucking bulletproof.

“Sorry brother, just thinking some shit through,” I tell Judge.

“Is Roman the answer or the problem?”

“Don’t know. Maybe both.”

Judge doesn’t answer, but I notice him pull closer to the group, tightening up our ranks, I follow lead and in a tight unit we navigate the streets of Roxburgh until we’re parked outside of Spinners, the neon sign casting the street with a pink glow. Jules parks his SUV behind us, having come with us because Chewy needed her “special things”.

“I feel like I’m going to catch something in there,” Rider gripes.

“What are you talking about? This place was ranked ‘No. 1 Strip Club in 2004’ according to the sign,” Nitro points out, trying hard to hold his laughter.

The SUV door opens and Chewy’s booted feet dangle for a moment before she drops down out of the vehicle into the street. She leans into the open door, messing around with something. She pulls back with her goddamn gator in her arms.

I’m used to seeing him strapped to Rhodie’s chest or in the stroller Chewy uses. He has fucked up feet so walking isn’t so great for him, but I know he’s been doing rehab. We all know because Rhodie and his Ol Lady won’t stop updating us. He’salso usually dressed in some weird ass outfit, but tonight he’s in a black harness with a spiked lead that Chewy has a hold of.

“Is it me or does Chomper look a fuckton bigger than usual?” Dex murmurs.

“Nah, he definitely looks bigger,” Savage replies.

“That’s because this isn’t Chomper. This is Gretchen,” Chewy states, like we should all know that.

“Who the fuck is Gretchen?”

“The Landrys female gator,” she answers like that’s obvious.

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