Page 4 of Tank

Blinking, I realize we’re idling outside my grandmother’s cute little cottage. Well, mine now. She left it to me when she passed away and I love it here.

“Whoa, that was fast! I was away with the fairies that whole time. Well, thanks bikers, I’ll see you around,” I say, unbuckling my belt and hopping down out of the SUV.

I make my way up my cute little path, weaving through the funny garden ornaments dotted around the place.

“Wait!”

I spin around, startled by the big biker shouting at me.

“Your door is open. Did you leave it like that?” He’s right next to me and he smells distractingly good. He’s also bigger up close than I thought he would be. I’m a tall woman and I only come up to his shoulder. He could most definitely lift me up I decide. “Hey, was that you? That left the door open?”

Oh, yeah, the door. I squint at it and go through my morning routine, trying to remember if I locked it or not.

“I’m gonna be honest with you, I’m not sure. But it’ll be fine. This is a quiet neighborhood and all that.” I shrug and carry on up the steps when I’m stopped by a massive warm hand wrapping around my chubby upper arm.

“Ah, there’s a bleeding box on your doorstep.” He points at what does actually appear to be a bleeding box. Biker Man moves me out of the way and steps up to it, flicking one of the flaps open with a penknife he pulled out of who knows where. “Looks like meat. Butcher meat.”

“Sounds about right. I’m an author that writes sexy murder. I get sent all sorts of weird and wonderful stuff from my readers,” I give him a shrug before peering into the box. “Oh yay! Liver. My cat LOVES liver.” I collect up the box and head toward my open door.

“Wait! Wait here. I’ll do a quick check of your house, make sure it’s safe.”

“Dude, it’s fine, trust me.” I decline his offer but he doesn’t listen, cautiously walking into my home.

I turn toward the SUV and Judge, the man waiting in the idling car. He gives me a questioning look so I give him a shrug and a smile. I would wave but my hands are full with a leaking box of liver.

“Everything looks clear inside. I think you’ll be safe.” Biker man frowns down at the box in my hands.

“Thanks, mister, although I could have told you that. These types of things happen to me all the time. Leave the door open, the taps running, things on the stove. Busy, mind you see.” I can’t tap my temple to illustrate, so I just dart my eyes toward my temple a couple of times. He frowns down at me like I’m a crazy person, then turns to walk down the steps.

Once at the bottom, he turns to look up at me. “Hey, if you need anything, just call the Devil’s Big Tow and ask for Tank.”

“Sure thing. Have a good day. Oh, and thanks for the ride!” I smile huge so he knows I’m grateful. I need to get rid of them both because I’ve just had the best idea and I need to get it on paper, stat.

“See ya round, Writer Lady.” He throws up a wave as he gets into the SUV and they pull away, leaving me to the new book series forming in my mind.

Chapter 1

Tank

Ihead past the empty reception desk piled high with papers and throw myself down on the leather couch in the break room of Devil’s Big Tow.

“You all good, man?” Judge asks, leaning against the door jamb, light bouncing off his bald head.

“Fucking exhausted. When did we get so busy?”

Judge nods sagely, which doesn’t answer my question either way. We’re a two-man business, one goes out on a job, the other mans the desk until they get back and we swap. Well, that’s what’s meant to happen. The past few months we’ve both been out on jobs nonstop and the reception is now a filing desk. At least the papers are in neat piles. All they’re waiting for is one of us to catch a break so we can actually file them where they’re meant to go.

“On the upside, you’ve been too busy to be arrested again,” Judge mumbles.

“Ain’t that the truth,” I sigh, resting my head back on the couch.

Rose Grove PD had nothing on me, but they had to go through all the formalities bullshit. They couldn’t tell us who laidthe complaint, but whoever it was wanted to mess with me. Or us. It’s hard to tell, the past year we’ve had people lining up with hard ons to take us down. It’s a total fucking mystery why. We aren’t one percenters. Shit, we don’t even move anything worth their while, unless they want to get into delivering moonshine to vets.

“The Computa’s will figure it out, dude.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s just messing with me. Like who the hell did I piss off that would want me in prison?” I shake my head. Maybe if I bounce my pea brain around enough it’ll give me something, anything that could help me figure it out.

A massive shadow blocks out what little light we have back here in the breakroom. “Come on brother, let’s clock out and take a ride.”

---