19. Tank
TANK
I wake to the weight of what I've done settling heavier on my chest than it did last night.
I killed a man. Deliberately. With my bare hands. I watched the life leave his eyes and felt nothing but cold satisfaction that he'd never touch her again.
It should bother me more than it does. It probably should keep me up at night and make me question who I am.
But it doesn't.
Because Enya's asleep beside me, face peaceful, breathing even. First time I've seen her truly relaxed. No tension in her jaw, no furrow between her brows and absolutely no fear.
Just peace.
Worth it. Everything I did last night was worth this.
I shift slightly, careful not to wake her. I need to see her properly. Make sure she's really okay. That last night wasn't some fever dream born of violence and adrenaline.
But she's real. Warm and solid and right here in my arms.
She told me she loves me and it was fucking everything hearing those words from her, knowing exactly what it means.
The shit she’s been through, the fear and pain she’s felt at the hands of that bastard, it made it hard to trust, to let someone in, but she let me in and opened herself up.
She fell hard, and fuck me, I fell harder.
I love her. And I killed for her. I would do it again without hesitation.
What does that make me?
Monster? Protector? Both?
I don't know and I can't think about it right now. Not with her sleeping beside me looking like she finally feels safe.
Enya stirs beside me, making a small sound in the back of her throat. Her eyes flutter open, unfocused at first. Then she sees me and something softens in her expression.
"Morning," she whispers, her voice rough with sleep.
"Morning."
She reaches up and touches my face, gentle, tracing the bruises that have bloomed overnight. "How do you feel?"
"Fine."
"Liar." But she's smiling slightly. "You look like you went ten rounds."
"Only went three."
"Still." She sits up slightly, inspecting my face more closely. The cut above my eyebrow. The swelling on my jaw. My split knuckles. "You should ice these."
"I'm fine, Enya."
"You keep saying that."
"Because it's true."
She's quiet for a moment. Then: "I'm sorry I cried so much last night."
"Stop."
"What?"
"Stop apologizing for surviving, for feeling things, for being human." I catch her hand, hold it against my chest. "You've got nothing to be sorry for."
Her eyes shine with unshed tears. "I don't know how to do this."
"Do what?"
"Be with someone who..." She stops then tries again. "Be with someone who cares. Who protects. Who doesn't make me feel like I'm drowning."
"Then we figure it out together."
"You keep saying that."
"Because I mean it."
She leans in and rests her forehead against mine. Just breathes. I let her take what she needs.
After a moment, she pulls back. "What happens now?"
"What do you want to happen?"
"I want..." She hesitates. "I want you to meet Warren. Properly. I want him to know you."
My chest tightens. "You sure?"
"Yeah. I'm sure." She searches my face. "Is that okay? I know it's fast. I know we're still figuring this out. But if you're staying, if you meant what you said about not going anywhere..."
"I meant it."
"Then I want my son to know you, to trust you, to see that you're safe."
Safe. The word lands heavy. Because I'm not safe. Not really. I'm a biker. A killer. Someone who solved her problem with violence.
But to Warren, maybe I can be safe. Maybe I can be the kind of man who protects instead of harms.
Maybe.
"Okay," I say quietly. "When you're ready. When he's ready. I'll meet him properly."
Relief crosses her face. "Thank you."
"Nothing to thank me for."
"There's everything to thank you for."
I don't know how to respond to that. So I just pull her close. Let her press against me. Let her take comfort in the steady beat of my heart.
We lie there for a while longer. Not talking. Just existing. Just being.
Eventually, she says, "We should probably get up. Face the world."
"Probably."
Neither of us moves.
Then my stomach growls, loud enough that she laughs. A real laugh, light and genuine.
"Come on," she says. "Let's get you fed."
* * *
The clubhouse is quiet when we emerge. Early still. Most brothers probably sleeping off last night.
But Pyro's at the bar, coffee in hand. He looks up when we enter. Nods once.
"Tank. Enya."
"Morning," I say.
Enya just nods, still nervous around the brothers. Still not sure where she fits.
"Everything alright?" Pyro asks, looking at me. Meaning something else entirely.
"Yeah. We're good."
"Good." He takes a sip of coffee. "Enya, the women are in the kitchen if you want to join them. Tank, a word?"
She glances at me. I squeeze her hand. "Go ahead. I'll be right there."
She hesitates, then nods and heads toward the kitchen.
Once she's gone, Pyro gestures for me to follow him outside. We stand in the car park. Cold morning air. Gray sky threatening rain.
"Everything from last night is handled," Pyro says quietly. "No trace. No body. No questions."
I nod, unable to speak yet.
"You did what needed doing," he continues. "Protecting her. Protecting her kid. That's what brothers do."
"I know."
"Do you?" He studies my face. "Because you look like you're carrying weight you shouldn't be."
"I killed a man, Pyro." It was my first kill. I know there’s going to be more that I do, but fuck, I hadn’t expected it to be so soon.
"You ended a threat. There's a difference."
"Is there?"
"Yeah. There is." He crosses his arms. "Look, I'm not gonna lie and say it'll be easy. Trauma recovery isn't linear. She's gonna have good days and bad days. Moments where she's fine and moments where she's not. You need to be patient."
"I will be."
"And you need to take care of yourself too. Can't pour from an empty cup."
I nod again, not trusting my voice.
"Enya and Warren are under club protection now," Pyro says. "Which means they're family. You understand what that means?"
"Yeah."
"Good. Because it's a big responsibility taking on a woman with a kid, making sure they're both safe and provided for. You ready for that?"
Am I? I barely know. But I nod anyway. "Yeah. I'm ready."
"Alright then." He claps me on the shoulder. "Go take care of your woman. And Tank?"
"Yeah?"
"You did good last night. Don't let guilt eat at you. He got what he deserved."
I want to believe him. Want to let go of the weight. But it's still there. Sitting heavy on my chest.
We head to the kitchen, where we find Enya with Chloe, Ailbhe, and Caoimhe. They're talking quietly. Enya's got a mug of tea. She's smiling at something Chloe said.
She looks lighter, safer, like being around them helps.
I watch from the doorway. Not interrupting. Just observing.
Chloe notices me first and smiles. "Morning, Tank. You look like shite."
"Feel like shite."
Enya looks over. Sees me. Her whole face softens. "You alright?"
"Yeah. Just talking to Pyro."
She nods, understanding without me having to explain.
Ailbhe pours me coffee. "Eat something, love. You look like you need it."
I take the coffee and the toast Caoimhe pushes toward me and sit beside Enya at the small table.
She reaches over, taking my hand under the table. Just holds it.
Grounding each other.
After a while, she says quietly, "I think we should go back to the flat."
I tense. "You sure?"
"No. But I don't want to be scared of my own home. Don't want to let him take that from me too."
"Okay. We'll go whenever you're ready."
"Now. I want to go now. Before I lose my nerve."
I nod and stand. "Let me get our stuff."
The drive back to her flat is quiet. Tense. Enya sits beside me, hands folded in her lap, staring out the window.
I keep glancing at her, making sure she's okay. Making sure she's not spiraling.
But she's holding it together. Barely. But holding.
My own thoughts are loud. Intrusive.
What if she regrets this? What if she looks at me in a few days and sees a killer instead of a protector? What if I'm not good enough for her? For Warren?
What if I fuck this up?
I can't voice any of it. Can't burden her with my doubts when she's carrying enough of her own.
So I just drive. Keep one hand on the wheel, the other on her thigh. Grounding her. Letting her know I'm here.
We pull up outside her building. She stares at it for a long moment.
"I can't believe he was right there," she whispers. "Right outside my door."
"But he's not anymore. And he never will be again."
She nods slowly. Takes a breath. "Okay. Let's go."
I grab our bag from the back and follow her up the stairs to her flat. She stops outside the door, hand shaking as she reaches for her keys.
"Let me," I say gently.
She hands them over. I unlock the door and step inside first. Check every room. Every window. Every corner.
All clear. All safe.
"Come on," I say from the doorway. "It's okay."
She steps inside. Slowly. Like she's walking into a minefield.
The flat looks exactly the same as when we left. But I can see how different it feels to her. Tainted. Violated. Because Declan was here.
She stands in the middle of the sitting room. Just staring. Shaking.
"Enya." I move to her and take her hands. "You're safe. I checked everything. There's no one here but us."
"I know. I just..." She closes her eyes. "I can still feel him here. It’s like he's watching."
"He's not. He's gone. Forever."
She nods, but tears slip down her cheeks anyway.
I pull her close. Let her cry against my chest. Let her release whatever she needs to.
"Stay close," she whispers. "Please. I need you close."
"I'm not going anywhere."
After a while, she pulls back and wipes her face. "I should call Mam. Let her know I'm back."
"Good idea."
She moves to the couch. Pulls out her phone. Dials.
I give her space but stay nearby. Just in case.
"Mam? Yeah, I'm back at the flat... No, I'm fine. I'm safe... Yeah, he's here... Devin... I know, Mam... Can Warren stay with you another day or two? Just until I'm settled... Thank you... I love you too."