Chapter 6 Rocco
Rocco
I’m just about to hop onto my bike outside the clubhouse when I feel a heavy hand on my shoulder. I know who it is without having to turn around, and I gasp as I feel Tank’s other hand wrap around the front of my jeans and squeeze my crotch.
“Daddy wants to say a proper goodbye,” Tank says, his breath heavy with whisky.
“Yes, Daddy,” I reply. “Me too…”
I can’t deny how exhilarating it feels as Tank manhandles me away from my bike and down the tight alley at the side of the clubhouse. Before I know it, we’re kissing—Tank’s strong hands holding me in place and his leg pressed right up against my cock.
“How’s that spanked ass of yours?” Tank grunts, pulling back from the kiss for a moment. “Did it cool off with those Budweiser’s I gave you?”
I nod, my cheeks flushed, my dick straining to get out of my pants.
“Well, for taking the spanking so well, I want to give you a reward,” Tank growls, his hand swiftly unbuckling my belt once more and yanking down my jeans and briefs. “Call it motivation ahead of your first day as a prospect…”
I moan in pleasures and shock as I feel Tank wrap his big hand around my cock and immediately begin to pulse his fist, quickly moving into a pumping motion.
“Fuck, you know what to do to a boy…” I say, my cock rigid in Tank’s hand and my breathing heavy. “I’m not going to last very… oh shit… fuccccck.”
I look down and watch as my dick erupts in Tank’s warm hand, wave after wave of thick cum shooting up into the air and down the side of my Daddy’s powerful shovel of a fist.
“Let me do you,” I say, my voice quivering as Tank drains every last drop.
“I’ll tell you when you get the honor of Daddy’s cock,” Tank says, a wicked smile on his face as he lets go of my dripping cock and playfully slaps it from side to side.
“Now haul your prospect ass out of here and get a good night’s sleep.
The next few days are going to be full-on.
And if you prove your worth in the clubhouse, you might even find yourself put to some real work by next week… ”
With that, Tank turns and walks away, back around the corner and into the clubhouse.
I’m left all alone, my cock twitching and my mind spinning.
This is getting more complicated by the second—and I still haven’t worked out whether Tank trusts me or not either…
It’s been a week since I pushed Tank’s buttons at the overlook, since his hands lit my skin on fire and left me shaking in his arms. Oh, and the hand-job too. Damn, that was hot.
A week of playing prospect for the Wolf Riders, scrubbing bikes, fetching beers, and keeping my head down while I wait for my moment.
My plan’s still in place—get close to Tank, earn his trust, then drive that knife into his heart. But every day I spend around him, every time he looks at me with those hard, hungry eyes, the plan feels less like a mission and more like a lie.
Suddenly, I’m in too deep, and I don’t know how to climb out.
Tonight, I’m riding with the Wolves to a weapons deal, a chance to prove I’m more than just a cocky drifter.
The desert’s dark, the air heavy with the promise of trouble.
I’m on my bike, the Fury emblem hidden under a fresh coat of black paint—Tank’s orders, though I know he’s still watching me like a hawk. He’s up front, leading the pack with Kash and Arch, his Harley a black beast cutting through the night.
I’m at the back with the other prospects, my heart pounding as we pull into an abandoned warehouse on the edge of town.
The deal’s supposed to be simple: trade a crate of guns for cash with some out-of-state buyers. But my gut’s screaming that something’s off. The warehouse is too quiet, the shadows too deep. Tank signals for us to stop, his voice low as he barks orders.
“Prospects, perimeter,” Tank commands. “Eyes open. Anything moves, you sing out.”
I nod, gripping my handlebars, and circle the warehouse with Twitch and another prospect. But as I scan the darkness, all I can think about is Tank—his strength, his protectiveness, the way he held me after that spanking, promising to keep me safe. I shake my head, cursing myself.
Focus, Rocco.
You’re here to kill him, not fall for him.
He nearly killed pop. Now it’s time he feels the same pain…
The buyers roll up in a black van, two guys in leather jackets stepping out.
They’re rough, twitchy, their eyes darting like they’re expecting trouble.
Tank steps forward, his presence commanding, and starts negotiating with the lead guy.
I’m too far to hear the words, but the tension’s thick, like gasoline waiting for a spark.
I glance at Twitch, who’s sweating despite the cold.
“You good?” I whisper.
Twitch shakes his head, his voice low. “Something’s wrong. Too many shadows.”
Before I can respond, the spark ignites. A gunshot cracks the silence, and all hell breaks loose.
Figures burst from the shadows—Viper riders.
It’s a setup, and we’re caught in the crossfire. Bullets fly, pinging off the warehouse walls, and I dive behind a stack of crates, my heart slamming against my ribs.
The prospects scatter, and I hear Tank’s voice roaring over the chaos, “Get down! Cover!”
I peek out, my pulse racing, and see Tank firing back, his gun steady, his face a mask of controlled rage. He’s a force, mowing down a Viper rider with a single shot, but there’s too many of them.
I pull a knife from my boot when a bullet whizzes past my head, splintering the crate. I freeze, my breath catching, and then I see him—Tank, charging toward me, his eyes locked on mine.
“Rocco, move!” Tank shouts, tackling me to the ground as another bullet screams by.
It grazes his arm, blood blooming on his sleeve, but he doesn’t flinch.
Tank drags me behind a steel drum, his body shielding mine, his breath hot against my ear.
“Stay low, kid,” Tank growls, his voice steady despite the chaos. “I got you.”
My heart’s pounding, not just from the fight but from him—his weight on me, his arm around my shoulders, his courage. He’s bleeding for me, risking his life, and it’s tearing me apart.
I’m supposed to hate him, to end him, but all I can feel is the heat of his body, the strength in his grip.
“You’re hit,” I say, my voice shaking.
“It’s nothing,” Tank grunts, firing off another shot. The Vipers are retreating now, their ambush failing under the Wolves’ counterattack. Kash and Arch are laying down cover fire, and the prospects are holding their own.
The van’s gone, the buyers long fled.
The fight’s over as fast as it started, leaving the warehouse littered with shell casings and blood.
Tank pulls me to my feet, his hand lingering on my arm.
“You hurt?” Tank asks, his eyes searching mine.
I shake my head, my throat tight. “No. Only thanks to you.”
Tank grunts, but there’s a softness in his gaze, a crack in that hard exterior.
“Stick close,” Tank warns. “We’re not done yet.”
Back at the clubhouse, the mood’s tense but relieved. The deal’s fucked, but we’re alive, and that’s what counts.
Clay’s fresh back from Nevada, his gravelly voice filling the room as he debriefs the crew. I need to be careful around Clay—you don’t rise to the top of a motorcycle club by chance, you do it because you’re a mean, smart, ruthless sonofabitch.
I’m at the bar, cleaning a shallow cut on Tank’s arm with a first-aid kit. He’s sitting on a stool, his sleeve rolled up, his muscles tense under my hands. The wound’s not deep, but it’s enough to make my stomach twist.
Tank took that bullet for me.
“Hold still,” I mutter, dabbing antiseptic on the cut. His skin’s warm, rough with scars, and my fingers linger longer than they should. He watches me, his eyes dark, unreadable, and the air between us crackles.
“You did good out there,” Tank says, his voice low. “Didn’t run. Didn’t freeze.”
I meet his gaze, my heart thudding. “You didn’t have to save me. Why did you?”
Tank doesn’t answer right away, just looks at me like he’s trying to figure me out. “Told you, kid. I protect what’s mine.”
The words hit hard, stirring something deep in me.
I want to be his, want to belong to him, but the knife in my boot and my father’s voice in my head are screaming otherwise. I finish bandaging his arm, my fingers brushing his skin, and he catches my wrist, holding it tight. His touch is firm, possessive, and it sends a shiver down my spine.
“Careful, Rocco,” Tank says, his voice a growl. “You’re making it real hard to keep this professional.”
I smirk, trying to hide the way my pulse races. “Maybe I don’t want professional, Daddy.”
Tank’s eyes darken, and for a second, I think he’s gonna pull me closer, kiss me, something. But Clay’s voice cuts through the moment, calling me over. I step back, my wrist tingling where Tank touched me, and head to the table where Clay’s sitting, his broad frame filling the chair.
“Rocco,” Clay says, his voice like gravel. “Heard you held your own tonight. Not bad for a prospect. You keep that up, you could have a future with the Wolf Riders.”
I nod, my throat tight. “Thanks, boss. I’m all in.”
Clay studies me, his eyes sharp, like he sees more than I want him to. “Good. We need loyal men. Don’t fuck it up.”
I head back to the bar, Clay’s words echoing in my head. ]
A future with the Wolf Riders…
I’ve got their trust, which will make it easier to kill Tank, just like the plan. But I’m starting to feel like I belong here, with these rough, loyal men, with Tank watching my back. And that’s the problem…
I’m not here to belong. I’m here to betray.
Later, at my shitty motel room, I’m sprawled on the bed, the neon sign buzzing outside. My phone rings, and I know who it is before I answer…
Pop.
His voice is slurred, angry, the way it always is.
“Rocco, you done it yet?” my father splutters. “Tank’s still breathing, ain’t he?”
I swallow, my stomach churning. “I’m working on it, Pop. It’s not that simple.”
“Not simple?” he snaps, his voice rising. “You’re in there, aren’t you? You got his trust now. Do it, boy. Kill him. Or I’m sending men who will. You hear me? You don’t get this done, you’re no son of mine. And I don’t like traitors. You know that.”
“I know, of course I’m going to do it,” I say. “It’s just…”
“Just nothing,” my father says, his voice full of venom.
“You’re Fury blood. And if you do this, we could even bring the club back.
How it used to be. And you could make a play for leader.
Just like how I was always destined to be.
No more talk. No more time. Do you’re fucking job and make things right for me, for our family, and for The Fury. ”
The line goes dead, and I stare at the phone, my hands shaking.
His words are a chain, tightening around my neck.
I think of Tank, his arm bleeding for me, his voice calling me “kid,” his hands promising safety.
I’m supposed to end him, but all I can feel is the pull to him, the need to be his.
I’m fucked, caught between a father I can’t betray and a man I can’t stop wanting…