Page 24 of Tank
I could kill him, here and now—he’d be powerless to stop me.
I know that Rocco isn’t who he says he is, and for that alone he should be in mortal danger.
But the feeling of lying next to him, having done what we’ve just done, it’s like a fire I never,ever,want to put out…
The bed creaks under us, the sheets tangled, the air heavy with sweat and want. Rocco’s asleep now, his dark hair messy against the pillow, his chest rising and falling slow.
The boy looks more innocent like this, softer, like the weight of whatever he’s carrying is gone for a moment.
I’m propped on one elbow, watching him, my mind a mess of desire and doubt.
What we just did… it was fire, raw and consuming, like nothing I’ve ever felt.
But the ghost of Marco’s still there, whispering in the back of my head, and I can’t shake the feeling that Rocco’s more than he seems.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand, cutting through the quiet. I grab it, careful not to wake him, and see a message from Arch. My gut twists as I read it…
ARCH: Confirmed. Rocco is Marco’s son. Word on the street—the Fury are rising from the ashes, and Marco’s been sent to kill, your scalp being a signal that they’re back in business. Watch your back, brother.
The words hit like a fist to the face.
I look at Rocco, his face peaceful, his lips still swollen from our kiss.
The Fury rising again.
Marco’s son.
Sent to kill me.
It all lines up. But then I think of him at the warehouse, holding his own, his hands on my arm as he bandaged my wound, the way he called me Daddy like he meant it.
Fuck.
I don’t know what to believe.
Is he playing me, waiting for the right moment to strike? Or is there something real here, something worth fighting for?
I slide out of bed, my boots heavy on the floor, and step outside to clear my head.
The desert air’s cold, the stars sharp overhead. I light a cigarette, the smoke curling into the night, and try to piece it together.
Marco’s kid… I crippled his father, took everything from him.
If Rocco’s here for revenge, I can’t blame him.
Why hasn’t he done it yet? What’s he waiting for?
But the way he looks at me, the way he feels in my arms—it’s not just a game. Or maybe I’m just a fool, letting my cock lead me into a trap.
I think about the turf war, the blood, the screams.
I did what I had to for the Wolf Riders, but it cost me pieces of myself I’ll never get back.
Now, with Rocco, I’m facing it all again.
If he’s here to kill me, I need to be ready.
But if he’s not—if he’s caught in the same mess I am—I want to protect him, keep him close, protect him.
