Page 37 of Tank

Their shoulders shake, and Tav almost falls to his ass. Pops stands calmly, zips up his high as hell chinos and opens the trunk to throw the wheelchair in. Is that a wet patch on the front of his pants?

Gus, Jules and Tav finally get into their fucking SUV and pull out. We follow behind, winding our way back to Rose Grove, pulling over once we get to the diner. We follow the brothers in, taking a seat when the teenage waitress tilts her head to a large table in the back, letting us know she’ll be with us in a minute.

“What the fuck are all those?” Nitro gestures as he sits heavily in the booth next to me.

“These are all the different types of services that families can opt for when they lose a loved one,” Tav answers, flicking through them as if they’re the most interesting things in the world. “Like did you know that place offers to not only cremate your loved one but also send some of the ashes to this lab that can create diamonds out of you.” Gus rolls his eyes as Jules sits deathly still.

We all quieten down as ‘Taylor’ fills our cups with steaming hot coffee. We place orders for a light meal, which apparently means everyone gets the all day breakfast special and we wait for Taylor to wander back to her post.

“Gus, did you find out anything? And why the fuck is the front of Pops’ pants wet?” I turn and ask him. Tav is busyplanning to turn Pops into a pimp ring and you get fuck all out of Jules on a good day.

“Yeah. Got the full tour. Security is almost nonexistent apart from the cameras that the team already hacked into. No guards, nothing. Be real fucking easy to acquire things, so to speak.” Gus answers before taking a sip of his black coffee.

“Pops and I found the mortuary and some of the shit there looks less than above board. Pops wet himself to get us out of there.” Tav adds.

“No I fucking didn’t! When I went flying into that shelf and a bottle of embalming fluid fell off and spilled. I was trying to throw him off our scent. Make him think I was an old, crazy, infirm geriatric.”

“So you pulled your dick out of your pants and hollered random shit?” Gus asks.

“Worked, didn’t it, asshole?” Pops fires back.

We all settle down, leaning back to be served our breakfasts, Pops throwing his grandsons stink eyes. We eat in silence, mainly because I don’t want to risk setting off the fucking Tombs’ again. Wishful thinking as with no provocation whatsoever Pops starts bickering with Tav over not wanting to have his ass turned into a diamond.

“Enough!” I throw down some cash and a generous tip. “Let’s get back to the clubhouse and update Pres.”

Hopefully Debs can wrangle Pops, a sane Tombs’ can update the crew and we can start getting some answers. And once allthat is taken care of Mira and I can finish what we started last night.

Mira

Ugh. Writer’s block. Writer’s blocky block block and there’s nothing I can do about it. I’ve tried all the tricks. Having a glass of water. Going for a walk. I’ve fed Mrs. McKenzie (NOT livers) and we’ve played with the laser pointer thingy she likes. I tried writing an alien romance as a palate cleanser and still nothing. Just the incessant flicking of the curser on the bright white page taunting me. On the up side the blood flow to my groin is back in full force and I now have two working legs and the ever present mortification that I had to cut my date short because of a wardrobe malfunction. I bang my head on my desk twice and try to get the ideas flowing.

I thought infiltrating the MC would make this way easier but somehow it’s made it harder. And all because of one man. Tyson. Tank. Wrongly accused hot biker man. I thought he was hot and delicious before I got to know him, but after waking up next to him and how sweet and shy he was when he revealed he likes to write. Then he takes me to the bookstore on our date, pays for the books AND arranges a picnic. Now my panties are constantly on fire for the man. In a good way. Not a diseased way. Ew. Although in order for me to catch a disease I’d have to have had intercourse at some stage in my life and alas, I have not. I’m a fraud. The most fraudulent of frauds, writing spicyromance without ever having reached my peak with another real life human before. But the readers don’t know that, so I’ll keep that little secret between me and Big Ricky.

Not that any readers will notice my lack of love life seeing as there are no words on the page. I let out a long groan and flop forward, my head hitting the table gently, over and over again as I bang it hoping to rattle some ideas around. A rattling sound on the porch draws my attention and I frown. It’s midday and I never get visitors outside of my neighbors but they’re very polite and will always text first. Actually it’s less because they’re polite, and more because they’ve caught me doing some weird stuff for book research so it’s best for all of us if they text first.

Mrs. McKenzie jumps down from her perch and wanders toward the door, stopping halfway to look back at me, as if telling me to get my big behind up and check to see what that noise was. If I’m being honest I’m a little leery about doing what my cat wants me to do, and let’s face it, she only wants me to do that because she’s probably wanting another yummy human liver. I try not to gag as I make my way to the door and peek out the little spy hole thing that Nana insisted on.

Nothing looks amiss. The gnomes are exactly where I left them, even that weird interloper gnome that just appeared one day. The chubby bent ladies are also in place. Humph. It was probably the dreamcatcher brushing up against something. I turn to head back to my little office but something stops me. What if there’s something on my welcome mat? A note, a parcel, a little surprise. Most likely one that I don’t want, but still, if I was writing a scene this is exactly what would happen. I mean, my scene would also probably lead to a kidnapping and definitely don’t want that to be happy. Well, not unless the kidnapper is actually a criminal with a heart of gold who is only kidnapping me for my own safety. He’ll keep me in his beautiful mansion and be harsh and brutal to everyone except me. He’llalso have a scar on his face, maybe even two. His laugh will be rusty from lack of use and oh my god Mira just open the darn door!

Taking a fortifying breath, I unlock the door and slowly inch it open. OK, there isn’t anyone hiding out on my porch, so that’s a good sign. Everything seems ordinary. A breeze brushes over my skin, then something flutters out of the corner of my eye. Tucked into the screen door is a “Sorry we missed you” note. Plucking it out and turning it over to read the back I’m met with friendly, flowery handwriting.

“Your package has been redirected to Devil’s Rose MC.”

Huh? I twist and turn a few times and then drop the card and start flapping. OK, breathe, Mira, breathe. Maybe it’s just a normal package? This is a smallish town, and people gossip, so perhaps the delivery man knows I’m writing at DRMC?Or perhaps the weirdo is messing with you again.Ah cheese and rice. I have to get to the clubhouse.

Rushing around pulling on shoes and throwing my laptop, notebooks, fidget toys and pens into my backpack I stride toward the kitchen door, heading toward my garage where my glorious bike lives. My hand is on the handle when a low, long meow sounds out.

“Aw, Mrs. McKenzie, I know I’ve been away a lot the past few days, I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” I give her smooches and turn to head out once more when she moves to stand in front of the door I’m trying to exit and lets out another pitiful cry. I stare at her for a moment before letting out a long sigh.

Dropping my bag on the counter I move efficiently, scooping some food into a little baggy and popping it into my backpack.

“OK, lady, let’s get out of here.”

I heft Mrs. McKenzie’s bulk up into holding her to me with one arm while I use my other hand to open the door and flick the lock before slamming it shut behind me. I hot foot it intomy garage, hitting the door opener, the garage door screeching a little before rolling up. Now for the hard part.

“Mrs. McKenzie, I need you to behave alright? We need to get to the clubhouse and remember, you didn’t want to be left at home so you’ll be calm and enjoy the ride.”

I’m certain she rolls her eyes at me and lets out a sigh and I plop her into the very roomy front basket of my bike.

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