I swallowed, but then I looked him dead in the eyes. “And you have a big cock.”
Tank’s eyes widened, but he fought a smile. “Both good things.”
“Amen!” He laughed. “Sooo . . .” I dropped my head to the side. “You want some company as you travel around just ‘moving on’?” My heart suddenly beat fast in my chest, and I realized I was nervous for his answer. And I knew why. Deep down, I really didn’t want to be alone, as much as I talked the talk.
I thought—more hoped—maybe he didn’t either.
“I ain’t a good man,” he said, his face clouding over with an expression that told me it was the truth. The light had faded from his blue eyes and his lips had thinned.
I studied him. Really studied him. The scar, the tattoos, the white-power shit that I knew should bother me . . . but he said he’d left. Which told me there was more to him than he thought. And I thought back to tonight, to the bar, to how he came to my rescue.
“I’ve just fucked you a day after meeting you. Maybe I’m not such a good girl.”
“You are,” he said immediately. “You’re good.”
A lump clogged my throat. I didn’t know why, but I linked my fingers through his. I brought the back of his hand to my lips and kissed the scarred skin. Not letting go of his hand, I climbed to straddle his lap. Tank’s free hand cupped my ass, keeping me in place. He looked right in my eyes. “I’m coming with you,” I said. I leaned forward and kissed his lip, which was starting to bruise from the fight in the bar. I shrugged. “The way I see it, I get protection from a savage, muscled god, and you get free pussy on tap. What’s there to consider?”
Tank’s hand tightened in mine, and a smirk eventually pulled on his soft lips. “Nothing,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Nothing the fuck at all.”
I laughed and ran my bare pussy along his thickening dick. “Then how about a celebratory fuck?”
Tank flipped me on my back, rubbed my clit with his finger, and said, “Best fucking thing to ever come out your pretty-ass mouth.”
So we fucked.
Chapter Three
Tank
Four months later . . .
I rolled my bike to a stop outside the diner and peered inside the long silver trailer. A wide smile greeted me from the nearest window. I flicked my chin and felt that fire rush through my chest, the one I’d felt every fucking day for four months. A minute later the door swung open and a fucking bombshell in a tight pink waitress uniform strutted out of the diner and down the steps that led her to me.
Arms came around my neck and a pair of red lips smashed against mine. “Darlin’,” Beauty whispered against my mouth.
I slapped her ass. “Get the fuck on. We’re riding today.”
Beauty straddled the back of my bike and wrapped her arms around my waist. Her tongue traced the shell of my ear. I tightened my hands on the handlebars as my cock pushed against my jeans. Bitch got me hard every fucking time she touched me.
And she knew it. The woman could be a total cocktease.
I reached behind me and moved my hand straight to her pussy. Beauty moaned into my mouth. I pulled my hand away and made sure her blue eyes were locked on mine as I licked along each finger. She moaned and bit her lip. Grabbing hold of my face, she kissed me hard. “I can never get enough of you.”
I smirked and turned back to my bike. Kicking up the kickstand, I pulled out onto the road, feeling Beauty’s big tits pressing against my back.
She said she couldn’t get enough of me, but I couldn’t fucking quit the woman. Since the night of the bar fight, she’d never left my side. Staying in hickville towns a few weeks at a time, grabbing work where we could, just moving, riding, and fucking. Her and her long-ass red nails had clawed their way into my fucked-up soul.
My woman was going no-fucking-where.
Beauty gripped me tighter as I built up speed, rushing by the bike shop I’d managed to get some work at. It was a shithole, and the bikes that came through weren’t no good to work on. But we’d be out of here soon, off to whatever town we rolled up in.
We rode for an hour, ending up at a rest stop in the middle of fucking nowhere. “I need a piss, darlin’!” Beauty shouted into my ear. I rolled my eyes as she climbed off the bike the minute I stopped and strutted, high heels clicking on the pavement, to the rundown building.
I lit up a smoke and took a drag, then I saw a guy on the other side of the rest stop. He was a big fucker wearing a leather cut, with long dark hair, and a smoke in his hand. He was leaning against a Fat Boy Harley, and I almost got hard at how fucking beautiful that machine was.
Smoke was billowing from the engine. “Fucking cunt!” the guy shouted and threw his cell. It smashed to the floor. I looked over at the bathroom. There was no sign of Beauty. I walked toward the guy and his bike. Out here, there was fuck-all cell service. He was stuck.
And I’d have given my left nut to work on a bike like that.
I was only a few feet away when he pulled a gun, his crazy fucking hazel eyes staring me down. “One more step, Nazi cunt, and I’ll blow a motherfuckin’ slug through your skull.”
As I lifted my hands up, I saw his cut. Fuck. The Hades Hangmen. And not just any member, but the fucking prez of the Austin chapter. The mother chapter.
Psycho cracked his neck from side to side, gun still held
out. His eyes never left me as he carried on smoking as if he wasn’t about to kill me on the spot. He flicked the butt to the ground. “Who sent you?” he asked, voice fucking laced with death.
Reaper, his cut read. Reaper Nash.
I kept my cool. “No one sent me. I ain’t with the Klan anymore.”
Reaper raised his eyebrow. “Your ink says otherwise.” His eyes narrowed. “Thought you could get me alone? Could cut me down without my brothers?” He smiled, but it was cold as fuck. He stepped closer and closer until the barrel of his Glock pressed against the middle of my forehead. “Got news for you, Klan fucker. You ain’t gonna kill me. I murder pieces of shit like you just for fuckin’ Sunday mornin’ fun.”
“I ain’t lying.” I swallowed. “Used to be with the Klan . . .” I paused, but then thought I might as well tell him. “Austin. But left four months ago. Ain’t going back.”
His hazel eyes flared. “One of Landry’s?” I nodded. “Why did you leave?”
“Fucking hate the cunt.”
Reaper assessed me, never moving his gun. “You got intel on them?” His head cocked to the side. “You know Landry gets out soon.” My stomach fell. I didn’t wanna say shit about my old brotherhood. Tanner . . . I wouldn’t betray my best friend that way.
“Saw you had bike trouble. I’m a mechanic. Harley specialist.” I jerked my chin to his bike. Reaper stared at me, and fuck if I didn’t see the promise of death in his eyes.
“Tank?” Beauty’s voice came from behind me. It was shaking.
“Who the fuck is this slut?”
Anger ripped through me. “My old lady,” I said through gritted teeth. I knew enough about the fucking Hangmen to know to immediately own my woman. I didn’t look back but said, “It’s all right, baby. Stay back.”
I had no fucking idea if Reaper believed a word I said, but he pulled back his Glock and nudged his head in the direction of his bike. “Fix it. Then we’ll see if I let you live or not.” He smiled, a sick and fucked-up smile. “If you fuck up, you’ll just be another of my donations to the boatman.”