Page 3 of Tempest

I reached behind the bar for a mug and poured myself a beer, downing it in one go. Then I slammed the mug down.

“What’s got you so worked up?” Tank asked, his tone deceptively casual.

“Your daughter.”

“Which one?” he asked. “In case you forgot, I have three.”

“Kasen.”

Tank’s expression hardened. “What about her?”

“She’s out there, with some guy. Some nobody.”

Tank’s eyes narrowed. “And?”

“And I thought you should know,” I said, struggling to keep my voice even. “Didn’t look like the type to be in a club.”

Royal snorted into his drink. “Since when do you care about the girls’ social lives, Tempest?”

I shot him a glare that could have melted steel. “It’s called looking out for family, asshole.”

Tank stood slowly, his imposing frame towering over me. “Kasen’s a grown woman. She can see whoever she wants. Within reason. But I’d be fine if she never wanted to leave home.”

“But --”

“But nothing,” Tank cut me off. “Unless you’ve got a damn good reason why I should be concerned, I suggest you drop it.”

The challenge in his voice was clear. I clenched my fists, torn between spilling everything and keeping my mouth shut. “I thought you’d want to know,” I muttered finally, backing down.

Tank studied me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “Thanks for the heads-up,” he said finally. “Now why don’t you go cool off? You look like you’re about to explode.”

I nodded stiffly, turning on my heel and stalking toward the door. I stormed out of the clubhouse, my boots echoing on the concrete. The sun beat down, intensifying the heat of my anger. I needed to hit something. Hard.

The newly built gym beckoned. I stripped off my cut, tossing it over a chair as I entered the stuffy room. The punching bag swayed slightly, taunting me.

I lashed out, my fist connecting with a satisfyingthud. Again. And again. Each punch carried the weight of my frustration, my jealousy, my impotent rage.

Kasen’s face flashed in my mind. Her smile, directed at that stranger. My knuckles split, leaving smears of red on the bag.

“Fuck!” I roared, unleashing a flurry of blows.

I don’t know how long I stood there, pummeling the bag until my arms burned and sweat soaked my shirt. The pain in my hands was a welcome distraction from the ache in my chest.

“You trying to kill that thing?”

I whirled around, fists ready. Royal stood in the doorway, eyebrows raised.

“The fuck you want?” I snarled.

He held up his hands. “Easy, brother. Just checking you haven’t lost your mind completely.”

I turned back to the bag, landing another solid hit. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, you look it.” Royal snorted. “This about Tank’s kid?”

I froze, then slowly faced him. “What?”

Royal shrugged. “You come in looking murderous, asking for Tank. Then you’re in here beating the shit out of that bag. Doesn’t take a genius.”

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