Page 61 of Tank

Jules sighs, “The Landrys brought her with them. It’s gator mating season. She’s popular, being fucked too often. That answer your questions?”

“Not really,” Rider says under his breath, but judging by Jules’s face the conversation is over.

Without another word Marx leads the way. The security on the door stares at us as we walk past, whispering something into his sleeve, then looking panicked as Chewy in her long leather coat slowly leads Gretchen past, a huge smile on her face. No doubt with that entrance we’ll be meeting Big D real soon. Stepping into the dimly lit club, I’m assaulted by non stop bass being pumped through the speakers, the neon lights bouncing off the shiny bar in the corner. The place is packed. At least three different stag nights seem to be crammed in here. The girls on stage and working the crowd all have glassy eyes, look incredibly thin, and at least four of them look young. Too young.

“What is this fucker into?” I mutter to myself.

“We’ll soon find out,” Jules answers, nodding toward the behemoth making his way to Marx.

Three other men dressed in cheap suits surround our group although I note the ones near Chewy keep their distance. Flanking our sides and back they usher us through to a weirdass function room, a single table set up in the middle with Big D front and center.

“The D. R. M. C.” Big D says, sounding out each letter as if he just learned to read. “You come to do business?” He takes a long drag of the joint that’s been flapping around in his mouth.

He taps something in his lap, and Whitney climbs out from under the table, hair a mess, saliva and god knows what else all smeared across her face. She plops down in Big D’s lap, whispering in his ear, and running her fingers through his greasy, lank hair. Marx gives her a look that would send a grown man running, but all she does is lick her pumped up lips and bat her eyelashes. Marx ignores her, walking closer to the table they’re sitting at, kicking out a chair and lowering his bulk into it.

“You clearly don’t know us if you think we’d ever do business with fucking scum like you,” Marx answers in a bored tone.

Big D smiles. Which is a reaction I didn’t expect. Usually jacked up little shitheads like Big D jump straight to anger when they feel like they’re being belittled. His reaction has me shifting slightly.

“Oh, I know all about the little Devil’s Rose MC.” He takes another long toke, blowing the smoke in Marx’s direction. “Marx Paxton, eldest son of Mad Dog Paxton. Momma was a whore who ran away and left her little boy all alone. Awww.” He pokes his bottom lip out with a pout. “It wasn’t til Rhodie’s momma came along that you got any real type of love.”

Marx gives nothing away, not outwardly, but I know my Pres and the line of his shoulders is pulled tight, like a coiled snake.

Big D waves towards Rhodie, “What was it like sharing your momma with a kid whose own mom didn’t want him?” He snorts, “Oh, and how’s your little Ol Lady? I hear she’s, how did you put it babe? Defective?”

Rhodie moves to step forward but Chewy’s hand on his arm calms him immediately. She steps to his side, twinning her fingers with his. Jules flanks her.

“Oh! It’s the blank faced twins! Don’t think I don’t know your secrets. Jules. I know you like to fuck with Fox and Nitro. The question is, do youfuckfuck them, like they do each other, or just share bitches with them?” He laughs hysterically, throwing himself forward, hands flat on the table to hold himself up.

A swift movement to the side catches my eye and Big D’s laughter turns to howls. Whitney screaming bloody murder next to him as Chewy holds up the finger she just cut off. His so-called bodyguards reach to pull their weapons but me and my brothers beat them to it, our guns already trained on them.

“No one talks about my people like that,” Chewy says in her flat voice. She dangles Big D’s finger in the air, then drops it, straight into the waiting mouth of Gretchen who makes a snapping sound, swallowing the treat.

“You’re fucking crazy! Rhodie, how can you want this crazy bit-” Whitney’s cut off by Judge slapping a hand over her mouth and shoving her into an empty seat next to her boyfriend.

“Well, now that pleasantries are out of the way, why don’t you tell us about the woman that came to you wanting information on us? You know, the one that sent her man to kidnap my brothers’ Ol Ladies?” Marx says, his voice cold and steady.

“He died bleeding from the ass,” Chewy adds, concentrating on getting the blood off her hands with a baby wipe her brother passed her.

Big D takes two deep breaths and pulls himself together as best he can. There’s sweat beading on his forehead and he looks terrible. “I’m not telling you shit,” he spits at Marx, rocking a little in his seat.

“OK.” Marx waves at Chewy who steps forward, her knife at the ready.

Big D tries to pull his hands away but Jules has his wrist held tight to the top of the table.

“Which one do you want me to take?” Chewy asks, brows raised, waiting for Big D’s decision.

“None of them, you crazy fucking bitch!” he sneers, struggling to get out of her brother’s hold.

“Well, that’s not an option I’m afraid. Tell you what, I’ll take the ring finger, that way you can still count to three on this hand, and you won’t have to skip any.” She smiles gently at him, which causes him to flinch. “On three. One. Two,” Her knife comes down and his finger rolls on the table.

Big D screams, his men jumping at the sound. The one my gun is trained on looks ready to fucking run out of here and never come back.

“You said three!”

She gives him a funny look. “Everyone knows you never do it on three.” She holds up his finger, peering at it long enough for him to peek at his missing appendage and then start gagging. With a shrug she drops it into Gretchen’s waiting mouth. “Good girl,” she pets her head.

Marx folds his arms across his chest, cold gaze on Big D, who looks more like Little Sick D, and raises his brow.

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