Page 32 of Tank
My heart’s pounding, not from fear—okay, maybe a little—but from the weight of this moment. I’m not just Marco’s son anymore. I’m not the guy who came here to kill.
I’m Rocco, and I’m about to become a Wolf.
Tank’s hand lingers on my back, steadying me.
“You got this,” he says, his voice low, just for me. “Whatever happens, I’m right here.”
I nod, my throat tight.
I don’t know what the Paddle Path is, but I know I’ll face it, for him, for us.
I’ve already walked through fire—my father’s hate, the Fury’s ambush, the truth that could’ve ended me.
This is just one more step, one more way to prove I belong here, with Tank, with the Wolves.
At Clay’s signal, I’m surrounded by Riders, each one tearing at my clothes like a wild pack. In less than sixty seconds, I’m butt naked, my body exposed as the men roar, cheer, and push me around.
“What the…” I gasp, suddenly aware of the senior men—Arch, Kash, Clay, and Tank too—with paddles in their hands, swishing them through the air. “Oh…fuck.”
And with much amusement, Tank lands the first paddle onto my naked bottom, drawing a howl from me and a cheer from everyone else.
It’s the first swat of many no doubt.
But like a true Wolf Rider I know what I need to do…
“Hooowooooooo!” I cry, hopping from foot to foot, my ass red and ready to take whatever my brothers can give. ‘Wolf Riders Forever!”
My ass is still on fire, the sting of the Paddle Path still throbbing through me as I stand in the clubhouse, the men’s cheers ringing in my ears.
The initiation was brutal, but it’s done.
I’m one of them now, a Wolf Rider, my place earned in sweat and pain.
Tank’s hand is on my shoulder, his grip firm, his eyes proud as he presses an ice cold can of beer on my butt, aiding with the process of cooling my throbbing butt.
The others—Clay, Arch, Kash, Keegan, Dylan and all the rest—are grinning, passing me a beer like I’ve always belonged. I take it, my hands shaky, and down half the bottle, the cold liquid soothing my raw throat.
Tank leans close, his breath warm against my ear.
“You took it like a champ, kid,” he says, his voice low, rough with that Daddy edge that makes my knees weak. “Ready for a ride?”
I nod, my heart still racing from the initiation and his nearness. “Hell yeah, big guy. Let’s get outta here.”
We step outside, the desert night sharp and cool, the stars blazing overhead.
Our bikes are parked side by side, his black Harley gleaming next to my repainted Fury ride. Before we mount up, Tank pulls me close, his hands framing my face.
“I love you, Rocco,” Tank says, his voice steady, like a vow carved in stone. “You’re mine, and I’m never letting you go.”
My chest tightens, and I grip his arm, pulling him closer.
“I love you too, Tank,” I say, my voice rough with emotion. “You’re my home. Always will be. You’re my Daddy…forever.”
We kiss, quick but fierce, sealing it under the desert sky.
Then we swing onto our bikes, engines roaring to life, the rumble shaking the ground. We tear out of the lot, the wind ripping at my jacket, my sore ass protesting every bump but my heart soaring.
Tank is beside me, his presence a steady anchor, and we ride hard and fast, the road stretching out like freedom itself.
