Page 40 of Chaos Bound
TWELVE
TANK
“Hey, biker. I remember you.”
Tank’s head jerked up and he tried to focus his bleary eyes on the woman standing at the bar beside him. But after eight beers and too many hours drinking at Rider’s Bar alone, it took him a full minute to place the fucking hotalicious babe, her curves spilling out all over the place. In her tight suit, her blonde hair in a sleek bob, a briefcase on the floor beside her, she stood out in the rough, dimly-lit biker bar, with its worn, stained tables, polished wood bar, and bike memorabilia scattered about. If she hadn’t been on the Conundrum news every night at six p.m., and if her face hadn’t been plastered on buses and billboards all over town, he might not have recognized her at all.
“Ella Masters. I’ve seen you on TV.” He held out a hand, hoped it was steady. What the hell was Conundrum’s top news reporter doing in the Sinners-owned Rider’s Bar? And what the hell did she want with him?
She shook his hand and almost broke his fucking bones. Crap. That was some handshake, but she was a tall, athletic woman with breasts a match for even Tank’s large hands.
She lifted a quizzical eyebrow. “You don’t remember the night we spent together?”
Holy shit. Had he slept with Ella Masters one of the many drunken nights he’d spent partying with T-Rex? “Uh… Sure I do.” Tank sipped his beer and prayed she would go away. He wasn’t in the mood to talk. For the last few hours, he’d been pulling in favors from all over the state, calling all the local businesses in Still Water, but so far no one had spotted two civilians in Bolton Beaver shirts on a shiny new Ultra Glide.
Ella laughed, her hair swinging along the soft edge of her jaw. “Your friend, Holt, spent an entire evening trying to get into my pants about a year ago at some dive in East Conundrum while you sat and watched. Now does it ring any bells?”
Fuck. Everything came back in a rush. T-Rex calling dibs on the cute blonde who was laughing it up with the bartender. Tank watching him chat her up wishing he had the balls and charm to go after a woman as famous as Ella. Startling when she dumped a beer on T-Rex’s head. And then his surprise when T-Rex told him he’d insulted her so she would chase him away.She’s dangerous, T-Rex said.Steer clear. Tank had figured he was pissed ’cause she was the only woman who had ever shot him down. But now, with his hand aching from her bone-crushing handshake, he wondered if T-Rex had been right.
“Not sure if I remember that night in particular. T-Rex tried to get into every chick’s pants.” He sipped his beer, tried to play it cool. He’d had no problem when T-Rex had called dibs on Ella. She wasn’t Tank’s type. Too tall, too curvy, too confident, too loud, and way too much of an ice queen. He liked the quiet ones, shy, reserved—women with a dark secret or hidden vulnerability that called to the damned protective streak that had seen him punch his dad the first and only time he’d hit Tank’s mom.
Her brow creased in a frown. “Tried?”
“He’s dead.” Tank downed the rest of his beer and nodded to the bartender, Banks, to give him another bottle. But instead of serving, Banks jerked his head toward the end of the bar.
What the fuck?Banks wanted to talk? Now? Ex-military, tatted and hard, Banks ran the bar jointly with the Sinners, although he had refused Jagger’s attempts to bring him into the Sinner fold. He was taciturn, reserved and generally surly, but his sharp mind, underground connections, and military training made him one of the Sinners’ most trusted allies.
“I’m sorry.” Ella placed a gentle hand on his arm, and Tank jerked away. The last thing he needed was sympathy. Hard enough to keep it together without some chick breaking down his walls.
“Tank.” Banks barked his name and Tank scowled. Why the fuck was Banks bothering him? Couldn’t he see Tank was talking to Conundrum’s equivalent of a celebrity? Women like Ella Masters didn’t talk to guys like Tank. She was so far out of his league he would never have approached her if she hadn’t spoken first. He still couldn’t believe they were having a conversation since the bar was heaving tonight, and a woman as famous and pretty as Ella could have any man she wanted.
“Fucking busy talking to a lady here, Banks,” he growled.
“Saw someone sniffing around your bike out back,” Banks said. “Thought you might care since you are a damn biker.”
“Son of a bitch.” Tank pushed away from the bar. “Anyone touches my bike, they’re gonna fuckin’ die.”
“I’ll wait for you here.” Ella sipped her drink. “I get queasy at the sight of blood.”
Banks snorted in derision, and led Tank through the stockroom door. But when Tank headed for the back exit, Banks clapped his hand on Tank’s shoulder.
“Hold up. There’s no one around your bike. I needed to talk to you, and you’re so damn thick-headed you didn’t take the hint.”
Thickheaded. Numbskull. Dimwit. Lout. Tank’s dad had an endless supply of insults for his son, and after years of being told he was stupid, Tank began to believe it. Even after he joined the Sinners, he stayed in the background, taking on missions that required brute force instead of those that involved strategy and planning. After years of being told he wasn’t the brightest light bulb in the box, he knew to keep his mouth shut and just do what he was told to do. At least that was the case until T-Rex showed up.
T-Rex never made Tank feel stupid. He came to Tank for advice. He listened when Tank talked. He followed Tank’s suggestions. He made sure the brothers knew that Tank had good ideas, and if anyone tried to put Tank down, T-Rex was right in their face. With T-Rex by his side, Tank began to speak up and earned the respect of his brothers. Tank could never repay T-Rex’s faith and friendship, but he could give him his loyalty and have his back. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for T-Rex. And there was nothing T-Rex wouldn’t do for him.
Tank looked at the back door, then back to Banks. “What the fuck is this all about?”
Banks gave an exasperated sigh. “Ella Masters has been here all week asking questions. When I pulled her aside, she said she’s got a thing for bikers. Well, I got thing against reporters, and something about her sits wrong with me. She reminds me of those female black widow spiders that eat the males after sex.”
Tank’s face twisted in disgust. “I’m a fucking Sinner. I’m not afraid of that tiny blonde bitch.”
“She’s a sinner, too,” Banks said. “The kind that fucks with the Devil and then eats his head. You don’t have T-Rex anymore to watch your back. I’m trying to do you a favor. You’re a good guy, Tank. Probably one of the most loyal, trusting guys I know. And that’s not always a good thing when you’re alone.”
Christ. This was all he needed. Yet another reminder that T-Rex was gone when he’d come to the damn bar to forget. “Are we fucking done here?”
Banks nodded. “Said my piece. Can’t do more than that.”
