Chapter 12
Tank
We gathered in the Roost for our weekly club meeting. The Hell on Heelz were a fierce and loyal bunch, but even among us, there were moments where tempers flared and lines were crossed. Tonight was shaping up to be one of those nights.
Rage, our president, was addressing the room, her voice carrying the authority that had earned her the top spot. “We’ve got to be ready for the charity run next week. Everyone needs to be on their A-game.”
Most of the girls nodded in agreement, but I noticed Nails, a newer member, rolling her eyes and muttering under her breath. I could feel my blood start to boil. Disrespect was something I couldn’t tolerate, especially not toward Rage.
“Nails, you got something to say?” Rage’s eyes narrowed, her tone sharp.
Nails didn’t get her name from the kind of nails Pix just did for me. She put out, often. Nailed anything with a pulse.
Standing tall, she defiantly flashed her painted eyes. “I just think we’re wasting our time. Why should we care about some stupid charity run when we’ve got bigger problems?”
The room fell silent, every eye turning to Nails. I felt the familiar surge of anger rising within me. This wasn’t just about the charity run. This was about respect, and Nails was sorely lacking it.
I stood up, my chair scraping loudly against the floor. “You got a problem with the way Rage runs things, Nails?”
She looked at me, her defiance faltering for a split second. “I just don’t see why we have to waste our time on this crap.”
I stepped closer, my eyes locked onto hers. “This ‘crap’ is important, not just to Rage, but to the entire club. And if you can’t see that, maybe you don’t belong here.”
Nails opened her mouth to retort, but I cut her off. “Listen here, you fucking twat. Rage has done more for this club than you could ever hope to. Show some fucking respect or get the hell out.”
The room was deathly quiet as everyone waited to see what would happen next. Rage watched me, her expression unreadable, but I knew she appreciated the backup.
Nails’ face turned red with anger, but she knew better than to push it further. “Fine,” she muttered, looking away.
“Good,” I snapped. “Now sit your ass down and shut up.”
I turned back to Rage, giving her a nod. “Anything else you need, Prez?”
She gave me a small smile, a silent acknowledgment of my support. “No, Tank. That’s all for now.”
As I sat back down, the tension in the room eased slightly. The message had been clear. Disrespect wouldn’t be tolerated, and I wasn’t afraid to be the bitch who enforced that.
After the meeting, Rage pulled me aside. “Thanks for that, Tank. Nails needed to be put in her place.”
I gave a little shrug and smirked. “You know I’ve got your back, Rage. Always.”
She nodded, a rare look of appreciation in her eyes. “And that’s why you’re my enforcer. You’re a bitch, Tank, but you’re our bitch.”
Full of pride, I laughed. “Damn right. And don’t you forget it.”
Walking out of the Roost that night, I was totally satisfied. Being a biker bitch was more than just talk. It was who I was, and I owned it. I was tough, loyal, and ready to stand up for my sisters, no matter what. And that’s what made us Hell on Heelz.
The week passed in a blur of work and restless nights. I tried to keep my mind occupied, but thoughts of Boiler kept creeping in. Every time I saw his face, heard his voice, I felt a pull I couldn’t ignore. But I was determined to remain resolute, to maintain my distance.
As the day of our charity run approached, I was a bundle of nerves. I had worked hard to make sure everything was perfect, but with the tension between our clubs, not just the Slayers but now with the riders, I wasn’t sure if anyone would show up. I sure as hell wasn’t going to beg them to.
The morning of the auction, I arrived early at the Roost to set up. Pixie, Razor, and the other girls were already there, helping with the final preparations.
“Don’t worry, Tank,” Pixie said, giving me a reassuring smile. “They’ll come.”
I nodded, trying to believe her. As the hours passed, bikers started to trickle in. At first, it was just a few, but soon the parking lot was filled with motorcycles. The sight brought a lump to my throat. Despite everything, bikers had shown up.
Our annual event to raise funds for breast cancer was one of our biggest, and the Hell on Heelz were out in full form, ready to charm the wallets off anyone who walked through the door. The auction was first and then the pledges, all one big party. After that we would ride tomorrow, usually in the afternoon, giving us all time to sober up.
Mudflaps, an enforcer like me, was already working the crowd. Her long, dark hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, and she was strutting around in her usual tight jeans and a tank top that showed off her impressive cleavage. Mudflaps was built like a brick shit house, all muscle and attitude. Could be my dark bookend. A lot like me, she was known for her no-nonsense approach to anyone who stepped out of line.
“Mudflaps!” I called out, catching her attention. “You scare anyone off yet?”
She grinned, winking at me. “Only the ones with empty pockets. What’s the point of charming the broke ones?”
I laughed, shaking my head. “Fair enough. Keep ‘em in line.”
Next to Mudflaps was Razor, our resident speed demon. She was a brunette with a wild streak a mile wide, always itching for the next adrenaline rush. Razor lived for the thrill of the ride, and she had the scars to prove it. Tonight, she was dressed to kill in a short leather skirt and thigh-high boots, her hair spiked up in a way that only she could pull off.
“Razor, you planning on auctioning off that bike of yours?” I teased. Her custom Chopper was her pride and joy.
“Hell no,” she shot back, her eyes flashing. “But I’ll auction off a ride with me if it brings in some cash.”
Pixie, our smallest and arguably fiercest member, was next. Don’t let her size fool you. Pixie could take down a guy twice her size without breaking a sweat. She had a colorful pixie cut that matched her name and an attitude that said she took shit from no one. Tonight, she was working the bar, mixing drinks and flirting shamelessly with anyone who looked like they had deep pockets.
“Pixie, you trying to get everyone drunk before the auction starts?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Damn right,” she replied with a smirk. “Loosen ‘em up, make ‘em spend more. You know the drill, Tank.”
I nodded, knowing she was right. We had a system, and it worked. Our auction nights were legendary, not just for the cause but for the entertainment value. We knew how to put on a show.
Next up was Flame, a fiery ginger with a temper to match. She was all sass and swagger, and tonight she was decked out in a shiny dress that shimmered under the lights. Flame was the kind of woman who could charm you with a smile and then cut you down with a single word. She was working the room, her laughter ringing out as she flirted and teased.
“Flame, you behaving yourself?” I asked, knowing the answer.
She winked at me. “As much as I ever do, Tank. These boys don’t know what hit ‘em.”
Pride swelled as I looked at my sisters. We were a motley crew, each with our own strengths and quirks, but together we were unstoppable. The Hell on Heelz weren’t just a club. We were a family. Sisters. And tonight, we were going to kick ass and raise a ton of money for a good cause.
The auction kicked off with a bang, the room filling with cheers and laughter as items went up for bid. We had everything from bike parts to weekends away, all donated, and the bids were flying fast and furious. But the biggest draw were the dates the Heelz auctioned off, some of my sisters putting a night out with them up for bid. Mudflaps was up front, hyping the crowd and driving the prices higher with every shout.
Razor auctioned off her ride-along, and the bids went through the roof. Pixie was slinging drinks and winking at the bidders, making sure their glasses were never empty. Flame had the room eating out of her hand, her charm and sass turning every head. Rage kept a watchful eye, ensuring that the night stayed on track.
I took a moment to step back and take it all in. The Roost was packed, the energy high, and the money was flowing. We were doing it, making a difference, and I couldn’t have been prouder.
As the hours went by, the bids kept climbing, the laughter and cheers growing louder. We were a force to be reckoned with, and tonight, nothing could stop us.
Then I saw Boiler arrive with a very large group of Slayers, maybe all of them, his presence commanding attention. And suddenly, I knew this turnout was his doing, a sign of his commitment to making this work. Our eyes met across the crowd, and briefly, all other things disappeared. He gave me a nod, and I felt thankful.
However, we were so busy, I didn’t make my way toward Boiler, and he kept a distance. And the next day, just as planned, Bikers from different clubs rode together, united by a common cause. It was a proud moment riding with my sisters. This was what we were fighting for—a sense of community, of coming together for something bigger than ourselves. The charity run was a huge success.
After the run, we gathered back at the Roost for a celebration. The vibe was amazing, with lots of laughter and rowdy times. Boiler found me in the crowd, a determined look in his eyes.
We talked briefly. My walls still very solid. I told him I wasn’t kicking him out of the club.
Boiler stayed close, and he persisted.
“Can we talk?” he asked, his voice gentle but firm.
I hesitated, but then nodded. “Alright. Let’s go somewhere quiet.”
We found a secluded spot away from the noise, and I turned to face him. “What is it, Boiler?”
He took a step closer, his eyes searching mine. “I know you’re scared. I know you’ve been hurt. But I’m not going anywhere. I’m here, and I’m not giving up on us.”
Swallowing hard, his words touched me. “Boiler, I don’t know if I can do this.”
“Yes, you can,” he said softly. “You’re the strongest woman I know. And you don’t have to do it alone. We can do this together.”
His eyes reflected nothing but honesty and determination. Maybe, just maybe, he was right. Maybe I could let my guard down, just this once.
“Alright,” I said finally. “Let’s see where this goes.”
He smiled, a genuine, heartfelt smile that made my heart flutter.
The Roost came alive as the night unfolded. We were all having a good time, drinks were flowing, laughter was echoing, and it seemed like the tensions between our clubs just melted away. Soon we found ourselves outside by the picnic tables, face to face.
We were shitfaced.
"Fuck, Boiler," I huffed, trying to unbutton his jeans. “I need you. Now.”
He growled, low and dangerous, his hands quickly helping me shove his pants down. As soon as they hit the ground, I took charge, dropping to my knees right there in the open. I didn’t care who could see or if anyone was watching. All that mattered was tasting him again. The need that was driving us both wild.
I gripped his long shaft, feeling the heat and the pulse of his desire in my hands. Without hesitation, I engulfed him into my mouth, sliding my lips down his length. He tasted so salty and raw, it ignited something primal in me. I teased his cock with my tongue, swirling around the head and then going down.
Boiler’s hands tangled in my hair, guiding me as I worked him over. Each time I took him deeper, I could feel his restraint slipping. His breaths came out in harsh pants, mingled with groans of pleasure that only spurred me on.
“Fuck, Tank,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “You’re driving me insane.”
I stared up at him, my eyes meeting his. His gaze was dark, filled with unrestrained lust, and it sent a thrill through me. My mouth was full of his delicious cock. I picked up the pace, my hand pumping his base while my mouth worked the tip. I could feel him twitching, on the edge, and it only made me want to push him further.
He couldn’t take it anymore. With a desperate growl, he yanked me to my feet and spun me around, bending me over the rough wooden table. I barely had time to brace myself before he was inside me, thrusting deep and hard. The sudden fullness made me cry out.
Boiler's powerful rhythm made me see stars. The forceful thrusts brought me closer to the brink, the friction igniting a blazing fire in my belly. His hands dug into my flesh as he took what he wanted, and I loved every second.
“Tell me you want this dick,” he growled, his voice rough and commanding.
“I fucking want it,” I gasped, pushing back against him, meeting his every thrust. “I want all of it.”
He pounded into me harder, our bodies slamming together in a frantic, primal rhythm. The world around us disappeared, leaving only the raw, carnal need that consumed us both. My nails clawed at the table, seeking purchase as the pleasure built to a fever pitch.
I could feel my orgasm building, a tidal wave that threatened to sweep me away. Just when I thought I couldn’t take any more, Boiler’s hand slipped between my legs, finding my clit and rubbing it in time with his thrusts. The added stimulation was too much, and I shattered around him, my body shuddering in ecstasy.
Boiler followed me over the edge, his own release ending me. He buried himself deep inside me, his body tensing as he spilled into me. His warmth filled me up, making me feel incredible.
We stayed like that for a moment, our bodies still connected, his breath on my shoulder mingling with the cool night air. Slowly, Boiler pulled out and helped me stand. I turned to face him, a satisfied look on my face.
“Fuck, that was intense,” I exhaled, my voice still a little breathless.
“You have no idea, Tank.” He grinned, pulling me close for a searing kiss.
We straightened our clothes, a sense of camaraderie and mutual satisfaction settling between us. On our way back to the party, I felt so stoked. Boiler made everything wild and perfect.