Page 16 of Tank

Nodding, I fold the papers in three and then put them inside my cut pocket. “Come on brother, I definitely need a ride now. And a drink.”

And maybe an eyeful of a colorful, nutty blonde, working at the table in the center of the common room.

Mira

Holy moley! I can’t believe it’s almost been a whole week of DRMC and their clubhouse and all the stuff that goes with it. Which if I’m being honest seems to be a lot of gossiping, pranks and eating. I’ve yet to meet the rest of Chewy’s family who are away helping the FBI and Blanche’s brothers with something. I’ve been told this is highly unusual, as they have teams of people in their firm, but this needed “special skills” which I think is why Chewy’s grandpa went too. I have no idea what any of these so called special skills could be, but whatever they are sounds intriguing. And maybe a little dangerous. Different brothers over the course of the week have told me to steer clear because the whole family is nuts, which doesn’t seem likely. I mean Chewy’s not nuts. A little different, but pretty sane. Although it did strikeme as a little weird that the big, burly bikers seem to be wary of them. Maybe I need to get to know them better?

I mull over what their special skills could be for a little longer then remember I’m meant to be writing. I do that all the time, get sidetracked by thoughts and then have to somehow unthink them so I can get back to concentrating. So far, my heroine decided to not listen to any sage advice and go off on her own, even though the entire club is on lockdown and the hero is busy sorting out the cartel. I don’t usually like to write heroines that wander off, but this one seemed hellbent on doing her own thing. That’s the thing with book characters. People think the authors have all the control and power and it’s simply not true. My characters write their own stories, I’m just here to type them into the laptop and do all the boring book admin.

I’m halfway through the scene when brothers start filing in from wherever it is they work. My eyes dart to the door, expecting Tank to walk through any moment now. I’ve gotten used to the movements around the clubhouse now, and I know that Tank and Judge get home from the tow yard between 6 and 6.30pm. Glancing at the clock, I note that it’s 6.29. Huh. He’s late.

Just then the door opens and in he walks, in all his big, blonde bikery glory. Looking all solid and manly and all “I can throw you over my shoulder and spank your ass whenever I want.” I let out a little wheeze and try to contain the heat coursing through my cheeks. Jeez Louise, Mira Elizabeth Campbell, calm down. Nothing to see here. Move along. I give myself a mental talk down because I mean, otherwise I’ll be all blushy and not playing it cool and that’s what I’m meant to be doing, right? Playing it cool. Like a cucumber.

“Hey Writer Lady, how’s the book coming along?” Tank’s deep voice washes over me. As does his leathery, woodsy scent.

“I’m cool as a cucumber,” I blurt and then cringe.

“I’m sure you are,” he chuckles, eyes twinkling. He knocks twice on the table next to me with his huge ham-sized fist, “I better let you get back to it. I know how annoying it is to be interrupted.” He smiles and then swaggers off.

What a tease. I bet he doesn’t even know he’s swaggering. Is swaggering the male equivalent of when a woman sashays? I quickly note that down. I should research that, it could come in handy with my writing.

“What do you keep in that notebook, girly? Secrets? You’re writing about me, ain’t ya?” Remy’s dad Flack sits across from me, gently placing his beer on a coaster.

I grin at him. “Oh totally. I needed a wily, rough older character than can show these young guys a thing or two.” He chuckles at that, his shoulders shuddering.

“If you’re looking for an older, wily rough character, then you have the wrong man. You want Pops, Chewy’s grandfather.”

I point my bumble bee pencil at Flack, “Now you’re like the 50th person who’s told me that!”

His bushy white brow raises. “The brothers all been telling ya to write about Pops?”

“Well, no,” I lower my pencil, “But everyone talks about Chewy’s family like they’re something special. Or nuts. A few brothers have said that.”

“Well, the family are … unusual. Do you know how Chewy landed here?” Flack asks.

“Kinda. She broke into the compound, didn’t she?”

“Well, me, Savage and Dex weren’t on the scene then. We were friendly with DRMC, but we had our own shit going on, so I can only really tell you the story I heard. Chewy broke in because she was stalking the guy that murdered her parents.”

I lean forward and whisper hiss at Flack, “And he was here?! DRMC?”

“Oh no, girly, keep your panties on. Nah, the guy she was stalking just so happened to be stalking Rhodie and the MC didn’t know. Anyway, no one breaks into an MC, especially not a little woman like Chewy. But she had balls and just the right amount of crazy. With her came her family, August, Ana’s husband, he’s the one in control. A little highly strung, but a good guy to have around. You know Tav already. Jules is harder to peg. He’s more of an asshole. Then there’s Pops. Love the man, but hell he lives to piss people off. Word has it he survived a POW camp in ‘Nam and came back with a ‘particular’ set of skills. Chewy is his apprentice.”

I dart my eyes across the room to where Chewy is currently suspended in the air, arms around Rhodie’s neck as he grips her butt and eats her face off.

“Would it be weird if I said that I can’t wait to meet him?”

“Nah, he’s a good stick. Apart from that time he made the brothers all wear sequined hot pants and shake their asses,” He throws his head back and roars with laughter at the look on my face.

“Mira! There’s a package here for you,” Jimmy, the gate prospect who I met on my first day here, makes a beeline for me holding a plain, brown cardboard box.

“That’s weird. How does anyone know you’re here?” Chewy frowns, sidling over to me, looking at the package like it’s a bomb.

“I have no idea. Or maybe I do. I dunno, sometimes I just talk out loud for no reason so maybe I told somebody? Although I don’t remember. I woke up, came here and that’s about it.” I shrug, taking the package from prospect’s outstretched arms.

Placing it on the table, I look for a return sender address, but find none. I start to pick off the tape so I can open it, but then there’s a snick sound and Tank’s big tattooed arm is reaching around me to slice the tape. How do I know it’s Tank arm?Believe me, I know. I’ve committed all those tattoos to memory. For research. Obviously.

“There you go sweetheart,” he says gently before leaning back again.

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