10. Tank
10
TANK
I sit back, arms folded, as Hawk runs the meeting with the kind of iron-clad authority that reminds everyone here why he's President. He stands at the head of the long, battered wooden table that's seen more cuts and scrapes than most of the guys in this room. The garage is thick with the smell of oil and sweat.
It’s hard to focus on anything. Even while the boss is talking.
I’m still fucking hard as a rock after that ride with Izzy.
Her ass looks too good in those tight black pants and little flannel she’s walking around in. And I’m damn sure she’s clueless to what she’s doing to us. I clench my jaw.
God. I need to get this meeting over with.
“The Dead Demons are sniffing around the edges of our territory again. We've spotted their colors just outside town three times this week." Hawk’s jaw is set, his blue eyes like chips of ice. No need to say he's pissed; you can read it in the hard set of his shoulders, the way his hand is clenched around a beer bottle like he might crush it.
Murmurs ripple through the room. The Dead Demons are bad news—always have been. They push, we push back. It's an old dance, familiar steps.
Izzy claims to have ties with them, but we all see through her flimsily lie clear as day. She’s a good girl. Too sweet to be found in a wretched underworld along with guys like us, and it only makes me wonder what the hell she’s after.
Hawk thinks she’s a fed, but I’ve dealt with those bastards my whole life—Izzy ain’t one of them.
She’s upstairs right now, feet away. Maybe in the shower. Water slides down her skin, gathering in the hollows of her collarbones like dewdrops on a rose, and I can't help but imagine my hands tracing the same path down. Down to between her legs, where I know she’s wet and ready.
“Tank!” Hawk bellows, bringing me back to the present with a jolt. “Earth to Tank! You got a death wish, or you just hard for one?”
“Present, Boss.”
Fuck me. I’m too busy wondering what Izzy’s cunt tastes like. I’d let her sit on my face and eat my way to her heart all day.
They’re all waiting for me to say something, add to the conversation. Vance is holding back a laugh because he knows what’s going on.
I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table. "Do we know what they're after?" I ask, keeping my voice level. It's a legitimate question. “Are they just testing the waters, or is there something specific they want in our backyard?”
There, I saved fucking face.
“Not yet. Could be they're expanding, or maybe they're after something specific. We need to keep our eyes open, see what they're poking around for." Hawk pauses, scanning the room, making eye contact with each of us in turn. "I don't need to tell you but stay sharp. I want patrols doubled and everyone checking in more often. No one rides alone until we sort this out."
“Screw 'em. They don't have the balls to take us head-on," Mace growls somewhere from the back, and a few heads nod, the mood shifting from tense to a more aggressive readiness. But Hawk doesn't smile, doesn't join in the bravado.
"They don't have to take us head-on," he says, his voice low but carrying. "They just have to be a big enough pain in the ass that we make mistakes. And I'm not about to give them that satisfaction."
He's right. The Dead Demons play dirty, and it's not about courage; it's about chaos.
Hawk sets down his bottle with a clink that sounds like a gavel. "Meeting adjourned. Keep your heads on a swivel, and report back anything, no matter how small it seems."
As the chairs scrape back and the members start filing out, I catch Hawk's eye.
“The hell are you doing?”
“What?” I ask innocently, but he's not buying it.
He narrows his eyes, but after a beat, he jabs a finger at my chest. “You better not let your dick do your thinking when on patrol. Got it, Tank?”
“I got it.”
“You know I’m counting on you to keep your brothers in line.”
“And you know that’s what I’m good at.”
Hawk leans back in the chair, rubbing his temples. Vance stands like a still shadow beside him, mindlessly playing with his pocketknife. The one Hawk made from him. I have one as well.
“I understand that we’ve got a little problem upstairs right now,” Hawk says, “we need to find out what she is and who sent her first. I don’t want any more surprises. We bring in the wrong kind of attention now, and we’ll have more than just the Dead Demons on our ass.”
“What has she said to you?” I ask.
Hawk shakes his head. “Nothing. She seems to be working hard at playing the role of an obedient girl. But there’s no way she is or was with the Demons.”
“You still think she’s a cop though?” I ask.
“It makes sense, doesn’t it? And we’ve led her right into the heart of our operations,” Vance adds.
“Better to keep the enemy close,” Hawk mutters before he smiles. “I don’t know many feds that will let you fuck them though.”
I narrow my eyes, but Vance never looks away from his knife.
“She’s playing us,” he says.
Hawk shrugs. “Maybe I like games. Besides, she’s a distraction I need right now as much trouble as she might be; Tank to her to one of our fields. The location of which would be good intel for whoever wants to take a hit. So we wait. If no one does anything great. If someone tries to mess with the crops then we’ll have a pretty damn good idea who she’s working with.”
“That was too big of a risk,” Vance hisses.
“We have hundreds more north of here. I want to know who's trying to get under our skin.” He looks at me expectantly. “Well? You're gonna stand there and jack off or get to work.”
“What do you want me to do about Izzy?” I ask.
“Keep her close; find out what she’s after. If she tries leaving then fucking follow her.”
“Got it.”
Hawk stands then. “Make sure you do.”
I turn and head for the exit, Vance right on my heels. As I walk, I run my hand through my hair, trying to think about what the fuck I’m going to do.
I stare at the empty apartment.
Great.
She’s not in the goddamn apartment.
I can already hear Hawk cussing me out that we lost her. Nothing appears out of place. The food Vance got for her is still out on the table, snacked on. I walk over and feel the temperature of the takeout box, it’s still warm which means she hasn’t gotten far.
But there’s no Izzy to be found.
Fuck me.
“What’s wrong?” Vance asks as he walks into the apartment.
“Looks like our little distraction slipped out during our meeting.”
“She’s probably just walking around the compound. Not a big deal. We didn’t tell her to stay trapped in this room.”
“Where the fuck would she go, Vance? The rec room to hit balls with Jacks?”
“Tank, calm the hell down, brother!”
I check myself, inhaling a deep breath. I’m letting my emotions take control. God dammit. I’m worried about this woman.
“Well, you better go get her before Hawk finds out.”
“I’m on it.”
I head out the door, slamming it behind me. I doubt she’d leave, at least not yet. Unless she got the information she needed. I hurry down the stairs, my eyes scan the bar where some of the guys have started to gather for drinks, joints and time to relax.
I push through the crowd, my eyes scanning every corner, every shadowy nook for a sign of Izzy. If one of the guys saw her without one of us, there’s no doubt they’d try to make a move.
I make my way over to the bar, where Gunnar is hanging with a couple of new prospects, laughing and throwing back shots. He notices me coming and his smile shifts, just a bit, the way it does when club business mixes with the pleasure.
“Tank,” he greets, nodding slightly as the prospects take a discreet step back.
“Gunnar.” I nod back, my gaze still sweeping the room. “Have you seen Izzy tonight?”
Gunnar’s brow furrows, his hand pausing with a beer halfway to his lips. “Izzy?”
“The chick I was with earlier.”
“Nah, man. I’d notice a babe walking around. Believe me.” He readjusts his junk and I want to break his hand insinuating he has a shot with her. He catches my seriousness, and the smile falls from his thin lips. “Why? Is something up?”
“No.”
“Is she in trouble?”
“Don’t know yet,” I admit, my eyes still moving, checking every face, every movement around us. “Just got a feeling. You know how it is.”
Gunnar nods, being ex-military, he understands the unspoken language of gut instincts that often speak louder than words. “I’ll keep an eye out, let the others know to ping you if they spot her.”
“Thanks, man.” I clap him on the shoulder, appreciating the backup, but it’s hard enough to send the message that I don’t want anyone to fuck with her. Period. “Let me know immediately if you hear anything.”
“Will do.” Gunnar turns back to his group, throwing a last look my way that says he’s on it, no more words needed.
I move on, heading deeper into the clubhouse. The back rooms, the quiet corners where people go to talk or deal or just be alone.
With each room, the chances of her still being in the compound are growing slimmer.
Frustration knots my chest. If she’s not around here, it means she’s gone, and that’s a whole other level of trouble. It means, Hawk and Vance are right about her. She’s a plant, a snitch and a good one at that.
I continue down the hall and head outside. The night is crisp and cool, and smells like it’s just rained. It's damn near midnight, and here I am, lumbering through the clubhouse like some back-alley enforcer. The air is ripe with the scent of an impending storm and my footsteps echo a bit too loudly on the wet asphalt.
I glance down at the dirt, studying tracks in the dirt, but it’s mostly boots of the guys coming and going. My eyes study the perimeter.
Someone would’ve seen her out front, and if she didn’t want to be seen then she would’ve avoided it and left out the side or back. I walk around the building. My eyes never stop moving, all my training is in full drive.
I spot it, the broken twig, and then another and another. The signs are subtle but there if you know where to look. I follow them, branches swaying slightly, a shoe print sinking into the soft earth.
Then I see her when I round the corner of the building just as a figure—a too familiar silhouette—dangles precariously from a low-hanging window.
Gotcha.
"Izzy," I mutter under my breath, half-exasperated, half-worried. The girl's got a knack for trouble, I’ll give her that.
She drops to the ground with a soft thud, her movements sleek and a little too practiced for comfort. I know in that split second, I can’t let her slip away—not tonight. With a quick glance around to ensure no one else is in sight, I break into a run. My boots slap against the wet concrete, heavy and urgent.
She hears me, of course—hard not to—and her head snaps up, those quick, calculating eyes of hers widening just a fraction as they meet mine. There’s no time for niceties, no time for a gentle "what in the hell do you think you’re doing?" Instead, I do what needs to be done; I tackle her.
We hit the ground hard, but my arms kept her from the hard impact. She lets out a grunt, the air knocked from her as I pin her beneath me, my weight an advantage I don't squander. "Going somewhere, love?" I growl.
Her chest heaves under me, and for a moment, there’s this fire in her eyes that says she might just try to take me on.
"Get off me, Tank," she snaps, the fight in her voice clear. Good thing, I’m in a mood to get rowdy.
"Not until you tell me what's going on." My voice is low, firm, the kind I use when I’m not in the mood for games. "You running from something, or someone? You know you can tell me."
For a heartbeat, she’s silent, her eyes darting around like she’s calculating her chances.
"It’s not what you think," she says finally, her voice a mix of defiance and resignation.
"I don’t think, I know," I retort, easing up just a bit but not enough to let her slip away. "You’re sneaking out a window in the dead of night. You’re up to something. And it’s my job to keep shit from hitting the fan around here."
There’s no denying the thrill of having her pinned underneath me. It courses through my veins like a heavy liquor. She’s different from any other woman I’ve come across, and I’m in no mood to let Hawk keep her all to himself.
Selfish fuck.
“Tell me what you’re doing, and I’ll be nice.” This is her one shot before I lose my patience.
Her gaze doesn’t waver, and that’s when I know—this isn’t just some small-time trouble. Izzy’s mixed up in something bigger, something that could spell trouble not just for her, but for all of us.
"Talk, Izzy. It’s your only way out of this mess," I insist, the urgency not just for her sake but for the club’s too.
She swallows hard, and I feel her resolve waver under me. "Alright," she whispers. Then a sharp stabbing pain rises up through my groin as her knee slams into me.