Page 55 of Tank

“She’s going to make the perfect Ol Lady one day,” Mira says, leaning the back of her head into the crook of my neck.

“So are you baby, so are you.”

Marx

Fuck. I scrub my hands down my face, trying to wipe away the fear and the fucking guilt. What the hell was I thinking letting the prospects watch the bunnies alone? Why the fuck did I pull back on their numbers? When did I get cocky and complacent? We have not one, but two fuckers coming at us and I make the move to split the prospects up. Tonight, what happened to Jimmy, it’s on me and me alone.

A gentle knock at the door has my blood pressure rising. I can’t take anymore fucking problems, not now. The knocking sounds out again, two gentle taps.

“Come in!” I bark, my tone cutting.

I don’t even bother to look up to see who it is, I stay leaning forward, forearms on my knees, staring down at my boots.

“I brought you something to drink.” Lovely’s gentle voice breaks through the haze of red, but not enough to snap me out of my mood.

“I have drinks here. I don’t need yours,” I growl.

I hear an inhale, then a gentle breath out. “You have alcohol in here. If you need to ride out, it will be better with a clear head.”

I let out a rough snort. “What do you know about it, Lovely? Hm? What could you possibly know about this lifestyle and us ‘riding out’?” I look up at her sweet face, challenging her. I’m an asshole and this caring woman made the mistake of coming in here at the wrong time, becoming the target of my ire.

Her shoulders pull in a little, shrinking before my eyes and I feel like a fucking monster until my gaze wanders to her face to find her staring at me, her dark eyes shocking me with the steel I see there.

“I may not know about ‘it’,” she says quietly, voice steady. “I may not know all the ins and outs of your lifestyle, but I know men. I know greed and jealousy and lust. I know rage. I know guilt. And I know revenge.”

Fuck. I look away, ashamed at the words I flung her way, designed to hurt.

“I know evil men and I know good men. You, Marx, are a good man. But your judgement is clouded by rage and revenge. You don’t need to be clouded by whiskey as well.” She nudges the sweet smelling mug of hot chocolate my way.

“I - it was my fault, Lovely.” I drop the anger, guilt overcoming me as I look up at her. “I pulled Jimmy’s backup. I underestimated the danger and got him hurt, maybe killed. I - I made a bad call.”

“And you’ll probably make more before your time as Pres is over.” She stands a little taller, shoulders back. “The question is, are you the type of Pres who can move on from a mistake, suckit up and lead your men, or are you the type of Pres who wallows in self pity, leaving your men to fend for themselves?” She turns and heads toward the door, stopping in the middle of the office, looking over her shoulder at me. “I know which man I would want at my back.”

She walks through the door, closing it behind her with a soft snick. I stare at the door long after she’s gone. Fuck. She’s magnificent.

Mira

The common room is a vigil to Jimmy right now. There is no laughter or familial bickering. Just quiet murmuring, a vigil to a prospect everyone loves. I glance over at Tyson, he’s sitting with his brothers while I’m on the couch with the Ol Ladies. I’m not sure what I should be doing, or if I should be doing anything at all. I try to wrack my brain for ideas. What would my characters do? What do the women in the books I read do in situations like this? Usually, they tend to leave the safety of the clubhouse and get themselves kidnapped, so maybe it isn’t a great idea to look for inspiration there.

“I can’t wait to get my hands on the men that did this. I’d make sure my Rev Room is well stocked for them,” Chewy says to no one in particular.

“Speaking of, how, ah how did it go with the last guy you took in there?” I inquire. I mean, I have time to spare and the whole Rev Room thing intrigues me.

“Boring. He didn’t put up much of a fight once he realized what was in his butt,” Chewy grins a little scarily.

“Wait, what was in his butt?”

“A batman bobblehead from his dash,” Blanche shudders.

My eyes fly to Chewy who’s sitting looking bored. “How the heck did it get in there? And was it like the whole thing?”

Chewy turns to look at me with a grossed out look on her face. “Of course it wasn’t the whole thing. Only the feet, you need to have a flared base otherwise it’d get lost up there.” She shakes her head and pats Chomper.

“And, just so I can get this straight in my mind, how did it get up there?”

“Oh, easy. I put it there. Mira, when you want to draw information out of someone, you want them to be very uncomfortable. You should probably write that down for your novels.”

“I think I’m good. And did he really need to be that uncomfortable? Like, I’m not sure what you did to him, but I’m guessing it’s pretty gross.” Chewy beams at me. “But, like, did you think maybe to call that Sergeant Davies guy?”

---