Trailer Park Psychos (Trailer Park Psychos #2)

1. Ellie

Ellie

"Really, Tank?"

Kade's voice is pure venom as he pushes off my car, his signature lighter disappearing into his pocket. "I thought I had to worry about the slut and the nerd touching her first. My own brother?"

Tank's grip tightens on me, and I can tell he's ready to snap. He makes that rumbling growl sound deep in his chest. It's basically an alarm bell warning he's about to julienne another human being.

So far, that human being has never been Kade, but after what Tank and I just did and how weird things have been between the five of us lately, I don't have high hopes.

But Tank can't sign while he's holding me. He also can't defend himself, or do anything but stand there and take Kade's verbal tirade.

"Put me down," I whisper into his ear. "You need to have your hands free."

He hesitates, torn between wanting to keep me close and being able to communicate. He growls again, and I look up and realize Kade is stalking toward us, wearing that murderous look in his eyes.

Not that that's anything new lately.

"Tank." I push my palm against his chest. "It's okay. Put me down."

He does, finally, setting me on my feet gently. My legs wobble a little, but I lock my knees and refuse to show weakness.

The second he can, Tank starts signing choppily. My rusty comprehension catches maybe every third word. I pick up mine and choice and a sign I think might be fuck off. But the meaning is clear enough from his harsh movements.

"Don't give me that shit," Kade snarls, coming to a stop three feet away from us. He's still close enough to swing at Tank if he wants to, though. "We had rules. We had a fucking plan, and you went behind my back and—"

Tank's signs cut him off. This time I catch more of what he's saying. Your plan, brother. Your rules, not mine.

"She belongs to all of us!" Kade snarls.

She's not property.

"Bullshit." Kade barks out a bitter laugh. "You were fine with taking your turn, apparently. You just couldn't wait, could you? Had to have her first like some desperate fucking—"

Tank's on him before the insult even fully leaves Kade's mouth, his fist striking Kade's jaw with a cracking sound that echoes across the empty lot and makes me wince.

Kade staggers but somehow he doesn't go down. Instead, he recovers fast enough to throw a punch of his own that gets Tank square in the ribs.

They crash into each other, grunting and cursing.

Well. Kade curses. Tank just makes those terrifying growling sounds. But the implications behind them are clear enough.

"Stop!" I scream, but they're beyond hearing me. Both beyond caring about anything except hurting each other at this moment, like rabid wolves gone feral.

Kade lands a hit to Tank's kidney that would drop any other man. Tank just uses his enormous size advantage to slam Kade back against my car hard enough to dent the door.

I wince automatically.

But honestly, fuck the car.

It's Todd's money anyway.

"You're a selfish fucking asshole," Kade spits, his teeth bright red with blood. "Taking what you want without thinking about anyone else!"

Tank's answering gesture is unmistakable in any language.

They're going to kill each other.

Right here in this parking lot, over me.

Okay, so Tank is going to kill Kade. Kade would come out the victor in just about any fair fight, but Tank? He's a one-man army.

I have to stop them.

I throw myself between them before I can second guess myself just as Kade draws back for another punch, and put my body directly in the line of fire.

Both men freeze.

Tank's fist stops inches from my face, the muscles and bones of his hand drawn so tight from stopping himself they're bulging. He violently recoils, eyes wide in horror and shock.

Kade actually staggers back. Even after everything, the sight of me in harm's way seems to physically repel him.

Guess he doesn't hate me that much.

"Are you fucking insane?" Kade demands, but his voice cracks on the last word.

"Apparently." I plant my feet, refusing to move even though I'm lightheaded and dizzy from the adrenaline rush. "Since I'm the only thing standing between two killers who are about to beat each other to death over who got to fuck me first."

Tank makes a wounded sound. His hands move, signing slowly and regretfully. Didn't mean to… wouldn't hurt you…

"I know." I reach back, touching his chest without looking away from Kade. His heart slams against my fingers. "I know you wouldn't. That's why you stopped. But I'm not going to let you kill each other."

He's staring at the grass now, eyes soft above his mask.

Kade's jaw works, glancing between us. He's clearly warring with himself. Anger raging against what could be either shame or wounded pride.

Actually, scratch that.

Kade has never felt shame a day in his life.

"Move, Ellie."

"No."

"I said move."

"And I said no." I tilt my chin up at him. God knows I have practice steeling my spine at Todd's shitty parties. "You don't get to order me around right now, Kade. Not after throwing a tantrum like this."

His eyes flash. "Tantrum? You think this is a tantrum?"

"What else would you call it?" I gesture at the blood trickling from Kade's lip and the bruise already darkening Tank's cheekbone, most of it covered by his mask.

"You're pissed off because your brother didn't wait his turn like a good little soldier.

Because I chose someone else before you.

How is that anything except a childish fucking tantrum? "

"You're mine, Ellie," Kade grits out through his clenched teeth. "And you let him—"

"I'm not yours!" My voice cracks, but I don't care. Not when I finally get to say everything I've swallowed for days. "I'm not anyone's property, no matter what that contract says. I'm a person, Kade. You want to know why I chose Tank? Because he treats me like one."

Kade's jaw ticks as he meets my eyes with a hard stare. Then he cracks his neck, looking away, off toward the treeline, then up at the sky with an exasperated growl like he's cycling through arguments he wants to make about the contract and his stupid fucking rules.

"Fine."

His voice is stone cold. He turns away, yanking open his car door hard enough to rock the entire vehicle.

"You wanna fuck around with Tank? Go ahead. But don't come crying to me when you realize he's not the saint you think he is."

"Kade!"

He's already in the car, engine roaring to life. The tires squeal against the asphalt as he peels out of the parking lot, and I watch his taillights disappear into the dark like angry red eyes.

Gone.

I don't realize I'm shaking until Tank's arms wrap around me from behind, pulling me back against his chest. He bends forward to rest his chin on top of my head, his massive body folding around me. His heart's still racing from the fight. I feel it pounding against my spine.

Okay? He signs the word against my palm where my hand rests on his forearm.

"Nope," I say hoarsely. "Not even close to okay."

He turns me in his arms, his dark eyes searching my face. Even masked, everything below his eyes covered, I can still read his concern in the furrow between his brows. I've always been able to read him.

I'm sorry.

"For what? You didn't do anything wrong."

Caused… this. He's signing slowly and carefully, like he's worried I won't be able to keep up. Should have waited. Should have—

"Stop." I grab his hands, stilling them, and they wrap slightly around mine. "Don't you dare apologize for what we did. That was the first time I've felt like myself in so long. Don't you dare regret it."

His eyes soften. One giant hand comes up to cup my face, his thumb tracing my cheekbone gently.

Never, he signs with his other hand. Could never, ever regret you.

I press my forehead against his, breathing him in, desperately trying to hold onto this moment for as long as I can.

"We should go," I murmur finally. "Before Kade does something else that's stupid."

Tank nods, stepping back just enough to take my hand. He leads me across the parking lot, past my abandoned Audi, which I'll worry about later, and toward where his motorcycle waits in the shadows.

The bike is exactly how I remember it, and I know damn well he can afford a new one. He must have kept it because of the memories. Matte black with chrome accents, modified within an inch of its life because Tank could never leave well enough alone.

I used to watch him work on it for hours. I memorized how his hands moved over metal and machinery with such care. And I still remember how he'd gaze up at me sometimes with those dark eyes, his hands stilling on his tools, and I'd forget how to breathe.

Some things never change.

He hands me a helmet, and I put it on without arguing. Safety first. This is Tank, after all. I climb onto the sun-warmed leather seat behind him, and muscle memory takes over as I wrap my arms around his waist.

God, I've missed this.

The engine rumbles to life beneath us, vibrating up through my back and my tight chest. Tank's hand covers both of mine where they're clasped against his stomach, squeezing once in reassurance before he grips the handlebars.

And we're moving.

Slowly at first, then picking up speed as the campus disappears behind us. The wind tears at my clothes, my hair whipping around where the helmet doesn't cover it, and I tighten my arms around Tank as the streets blur past in a smear of streetlights and shadows like we're in a dream.

For a few perfect minutes, I let myself pretend that's all this is.

That the contract I signed and the collar resting against my throat aren't real.

That I never left the trailer park.

I'll wake up and it's the first day of summer, and we have the rest to look forward to.

I press my cheek against his back, the muscle of his back flexing beneath it as he navigates through traffic. His hand comes off the bars to touch mine in brief reassurances whenever the wind threatens to sweep my thoughts away, as if he can sense it.

This is what we used to do, when things got bad and I needed to escape from everything pressing in on all sides.

Tank would show up on this very bike and we'd just ride.

Sometimes for hours, going nowhere in particular, the roar of the engine drowning out everything except the feel of him and the road and the possibility that maybe life wouldn't be so fucking hard one day.

The first time I rode on the back of his motorcycle, the day he got his learner's permit, the bike was barely held together with spare parts.

He showed up at my window in the middle of the night, tossing a pebble at the glass.

I opened the window and saw him standing there like we were white trash Romeo and Juliet, jerking his thumb toward the street, and I climbed out without a second thought.

We drove until the sun came up. Parked at an overlook I didn't even know existed and watched the sky turn pink and orange over the city below.

He didn't sign anything the whole time. He just sat beside me, his arm pressed against mine, being there for me in his way that never needed words.

That was the night I realized I loved him.

I had a different point of realization for each of them, and a different way I loved each of them, but that was Tank's.

And I left him anyway.

Left all of them.

Maybe it wasn't my choice, but that still doesn't change the outcome.

I know that now.

The guilt settles uncomfortably in my stomach as the familiar streets start to appear. We're closer to the house now, and closer to whatever fallout is waiting for us when we arrive.

Tank takes the turns slower. I feel the tightness creeping back into his shoulders, and I know he's thinking about what comes next just like I am.

The house comes into view, but the driveway is empty.

No sign of Kade's car.

Tank pulls up to the curb and kills the engine, and the sudden silence is almost painful after the roar of the ride.

I don't let go just yet. I stay pressed against his back, breathing in the scent of leather and the cool bite of his aftershave.

Guess we don't have to worry about the continuation of their brawl in the parking lot tonight, but Kade's absence isn't comforting.

Far from it.