1
Tank
She’s a mystery. A fucking myth of some kind. She was more of an enigma than anything. She’s a God damn legend. I grew up all my life hearing stories about her. He never stopped talking about her. She is his God damn pride and joy. They all talked about her. In fact they never shut up about her. Knew more about her than what was probably necessary. They were always putting her in my head, in my thoughts. I don't remember meeting her. Pops had said I met her once but I'll be damned if I can remember. He might have been drunk when he said that. I grew up out of the area, a sister chapter of the club. My pops president of our chapter, under Low. I moved with the family into town about seven years ago. Bringing us all together, making us a fucking legendary club. A club no one fucked with. We were a force to be reckoned with. No one gets through us and lives to tell about it. My pops died a few years back and I got voted in. I took his place. Spent a good deal of time with Low before ever moving here, but never really meeting her. I think even from a young age I had some sort of a sick fascination with her. Fuck I've never really met her up until six months ago …
“Sit down and shut the fuck,” Low's voice rumbles from the head of the table. Reclined in my seat, shit kickers propped on the table. Smoke hanging from my lips. Watching and waiting as my brothers filter in, handing over their pieces and phones as they come through the door. Puffs of smoke clouding Low's angry as fuck scowl from the head of the table. Waving his cigar wielding hand around pointing at chairs and shit barking orders at everyone. His bark's usually bigger than his bite. But don't let that fool you, piss that motherfucker off you're as good as dead. Like a second father to me in the recent years I've grown to respect him rather than fear him, but I'm still careful about when and what I say around him. Friday evening church, brothers gathered around an old scarred mahogany table. Settling down everyone focuses their attention on Low. Whacking the gavel he starts right in. “We all know there's trouble workin' its way towards us. Motherfuckin' Draco's lookin' for a fight, but that's shit we all know. We'll handle it later,” he grumbles looking around the table at everyone nodding in agreement. Shit needs to be handled soon before someone dies or ends up locked up. “Tonight's about internal affairs. Since Lucy,” his voice trails, choking up. There are only two people on this planet that could bring him down, make him cry. One's a constant figment of my imagination. The other he lost not too long ago. Lucy was Low's old Lady. Been together since before my time. He was the muscle, she was the heart. Sweet lady, kind as fuck. Isn’t a day that goes by where someone doesn't bring her up. We all miss her. We lost her six months ago to a car accident. We know better than that though. Motherfuckers got to her. Inside job. They started it, but we will finish. Clearing his throat Low starts again, “we need someone to keep the books and do shit around the compound. Fill in for her. I've found a trusted,” Happy speaks up before Low can finish. Cutting the Prez of, stupid Happy. “Can't be nobody we trust cus I ain't heard 'bout no body in the family gettin' the job,” he states. Arms crossed over his chest looking proud like he solved some big ass equation. If he doesn't shut the fuck Low's going to toss his ass out. Elbowing his side I mutter to him to “shut the fuck up.” Low clears his throat shooting Happy a warning glance. “Any fuckin' ways. I've brought in a trusted,” he shoots a look at Happy before continuing, “person. Knows this shit better than most of you pussies anyhow. ... Doll face?” Low calls out to the closed door. Every head at that table turns towards those old wood doors.
Never fucking saw it coming. Hit me like a God damn truck. Every man at that table did a fucking double take. Double doors push open. Collective directed groans at the beauty walking into the room. I've been sitting at this table for seven years, our old table for years before that and not once in that time have I seen a woman aloud to set foot in chapel while we're in church. This one was something special. I’ve never seen a woman as beautiful as this one too. She's pure fucking perfection. Head held high. Long dark hair spilling down her back. Sexy lips crooked into a small smile. I'd love to see those plump beauties wrapped around my cock. Big brown innocent doe eyes looking up at me while I fuck her hard. Big perky tits, ass for days, banging body she is damn amazing. Jesus fucking Christ. She's wearing a tight white tee, some jeans that hug the fuck out of her juicy thighs and ass. The kicker. Her knee high black riding boots. A fucking biker's dream. Those would look pretty God damn hot thrown over my shoulders. God damn beautiful. Can't tear my eyes away from her. I watch her walk. The way her hips sway. Side to side, sex dripping from the body. The confidence in her body holding my attention. Adjusting my dick in my pants, that motherfucker wants a piece of that. The girl walks right to Low. Wrapping his arm around her shoulders he pulls her into his side, kissing her head. New old Lady? The idea makes me fucking sick. That shit isn’t right. She doesn’t belong with an old ass man like Low. She smiles up at him. Strange shit passes between them, but I'm not quick enough to catch it. Bringing her eyes back down she finally looks around the room taking in all of us. Sixteen leather wearing bikers leer at her. Damn near eye fucking her. Undressing her with our eyes. She doesn't cringe. She doesn't look intimidated or scared. Doesn't fucking look away. That bitch fucking smiles at us. Cocking that beautiful head side to side studying us. Fucking gorgeous. “Alright scum bags. This here is Lil. My daughter, but most of ya know that.” I almost fucking choke. Dropping my smoke into my lap, damn near burning a hole in my pants. Daughter? The word daughter bounces around my skull. It takes me a minute. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I'd be meeting her, especially not today. Finally getting my eyes on the girl I've heard so much about. I can't look away. “She'll be handlin' our shit. Say hi Lil,” Low booms over the table. Sweet smile on those fucking lips she nods at all of us. “Lil, I'll have one of the boys take ya home. No women alone,” he tells her sternly. Looking around he nods at Stitch. “You take her,” Low orders. Stitch just shakes his head looking a little upset about it. Can't blame him. Lil smiles at him. Full watt, happy as fuck smile. He returns it with a wink. That motherfucker knows her? “Can't brother. Old Lady's got a damn doc appointment. Sorry sis.” Sis? Is there some shit I'm missing? Sitting across from Stitch Low looks at me next. That cold hard lump of flesh in my chest known as a heart actually skips a beat or two. Who knew that shit still worked? “You got her?” Low asks me. Nodding at him I stand up from the table. Do I have her? Fuck yes I do. “Lil I'll be home later. Be nice to him, yeah.” Be nice to me? Fuck...
As we walk out of the room she reaches a small hand out to Gin. Taking her hand in his for a moment he squeezes and lets it go. “Sis,” he mutters quietly. Smiling again she winks at him. What the fuck was that? Walking behind her I fallow her to my bike still wondering what the hell just happened in there. Every person in that club waves, smiles, and stops to talk to her as she passes. She smiles and shit, but never really stopping to talk to anyone. Not looking at me or talking she walks outside. She thinks she's better than us? Stuck up bitch. Not a word spills from those juicy lips. Not sure how I feel about that. Sizing her up I look over her body. She's small. Lil fits her to a t. Tiny ass girl. Can't be more than five-five and a buck ten. Walking right past the bikes she saddles up next to a truck. What the hell she doing? “No angel. Some education for you?” She gives me a strange look and arches an inquiring eye brow at me. “I'll give it to ya if ya need it, sweetness.” Throwing her hand out impatiently she indicates for me to go on. “We ride bikes, baby. Always bikes,” I tell her nodding to one of my bikes. She still doesn't say anything to me. Bitch a mute or something? Quirking one challenging eye brow at me again she holds fast anyways. Here comes trouble. Those innocent eyes not so innocent anymore. The devil in those deep dark beauties. Arms crossed under those lovely tits. Power packed into that beautiful little body. I don't even have to know her to know there is nothing, but power behind that face. “Come on. I ain't gunna bite ya.” I can't help the smirk. Bite her is exactly what I'd like to do, right along with sticking my dick in her. Shrugging her shoulders as if she could give a fuck she walks that sweet ass over to the driver side of the truck. Popping the door she climbs on in. Fucking women never listening and shit. Walking over to the truck I hop up in knocking her little body over into the passenger seat. Firing up the truck I pull out of the clubs lot. Three minutes in and this bitch has already got me pussying my ass around in a fucking truck. “You ain't gunna talk to me?” I ask looking over at her. “You scared of me baby?” I tease her. I can't resist. This is to God damn easy. Opening those pretty lips she smirks right back at me. That look right there is liable to bring a man to his knees. Oh fuck. “Don't you mean aren't you going to talk to me?” Her voice is like pure sex. Soft and fierce. God damn women corrects me. Mouthy little bitch. “And no I ain't scared baby,” she says dryly. That voice screaming my name is all I want to hear coming out of it. “You're a mean little crazy bitch ain'tcha?” That makes her laugh. Laugh real hard. That sounds hits me in the chest. Is this girl fucking crazy? “I'm a lot a things. Crazy might be one of them, depends on who you ask. … What's your name cowboy?” she asks, eying me. Finally looking me over. Took her long enough. Never had a bitch take so long to actual look at me. “Tank.” Eyes running the length of me she nods in agreement. That makes me laugh. Never had a dispute over my name, it just fits.
Lil
I left eight years ago and I never looked back. I didn't hate the club. In fact I actually loved them. Loved them to death. Still do. They are my protection. My heart. They are my family. All I knew. All I still know. I grew up surrounded by cuts, bikes, and outlaws. I just wanted more for myself. More out of life than the club could offer me at the time. I needed to carve a life out for myself. Go to college, study, build a career. I wanted to have my own home, own friends. I needed to create a life that wasn't completely set up and backed by the club. A place on this earth just made by me. I wanted to just be me. I didn't run when I left. I didn't turn my back on them. I asked my dad if I could go and he let me. The club let me go. Moving away I never forgot who I was or where I came from. There are some things you never outgrow. The club is one of them. They have a way of holding onto you. Keep you coming back for more. Always finding myself comparing the outside world to the club, never able to truly let them go. Eight long years and I'm back…
Pop's called me a few months after my mom died. He cried. The man I watched walk out of our front door clad in his cut and leathers riding a motorcycle. The man who ran an entire club. The man with a plethora of weapons. The man I watched beat men to a bloody mess. The man I knew who could be ruthless and heartless. The man who killed. That man cried. The same man that tucked me in at night. Played dolls with me. Took me to the mall. Painted my nails. Sang me songs. Danced with me. That man cried. Cried for the love he lost. I know he misses her. I miss her every damn day too. My mother was a beautiful woman. Dark hair, deep dark sloe-eyes, smooth tan skin. Part Native American, she was stunning. For all the beauty she had an even bigger heart. My mother Lucy was a kind, loving, caring, and giving person. Loved my father, myself, and her club fiercely. Loved us all until the moment she took her last breath. Born into the club just like my father they were meant for one another. Although my father was born into an entirely different club they fit perfectly together. She was his everything. The reason he got up in the morning. She was his reason for breathing. His soul mate. My mother was someone he knew his entire life. He lost a lifelong friend along with his wife the days she died. We lost our heart that day. He told me he needed me back. I packed my shit and came back. He calls I come running. Always did and always will. Left my life behind. I'd do anything for him. Anything for that club. I'd give my life for anyone of them. Knowing they'd do the same. It's my family.
I've got to admit I'm a little nervous about walking into that room. Not worried about the guys really. I can handle them. It's just been a long time. Not so sure what to expect any more. Pops told me to wait and so here I am leaning against the wall outside the chapel door waiting. Drove in together so I'm stuck waiting. Looking down I notice I really need to paint my nails. Picking at the chipped black polish I wait. Always waiting on my damn pops. Waiting is something I didn't miss. All the nasty gash in the club are staring at me. I can feel their eyes on me. Their express are either ones of hate, suspicion, jealously, and maybe a little fear thrown in there. Big tits hanging out of their far too small tops. Ass cheeks and vaginas peeking out from short skirts and shorts, all of the jean and leather variety. I swear they all shop at the whore Baby Gap. Two weeks’ worth of makeup caked on their tired faces. Hair color coming from a box bought at the local Wal-Mart, desperately in need of touch ups. Tans obtained from a bed. Stripper heel clad feet, clear and plastic. A classy bunch these ones are. One girl with blonde over dyed hair sneers at me when I look over my shoulder. Slut. No old ladies around right now. The whores probably wondering who I am and why I get to stand so close to the church door. Stupid bitches. They'll learn real fast who I am. I smiled at them when I came in, but what I'd like to do is snatch their skank asses up by their hair and toss them out the door. But they sever their purpose. Fun for the boys. Their little play things. I get it. “Doll face?” I hear my pop's deep voice holler for me. Stealing myself I take a deep breath. Show time. Pushing the door open with my foot I walk in. Head held high. You don't hold yourself with respect, these motherfuckers sure as shit won't. Walking over to my pops I don't bother looking at the guys. He pulls me into him, kissing my forehead. No matter how old you are the safest you'll ever be is in your dad's arms. Turning me to the boys I let them get a good look. Finally able to look out on the guys. I look at each and every one. Sizing them up, giving them a smile. Most I know. There are a few new faces. One man catches my eye right away. So damn hot. Too damn hot. Bright blue eyes, sexy lips. I don't let myself linger on him long. Can't get caught staring. Looking away I focus back on dad. It's a quick introduction then I'm sent packing with a body guard. Just my luck I get beautiful blue eyes. I have a place and it isn't in chapel so I leave without a word. I know better than to hang around. Of course my dad sends one of the few guys I don't know with me. Shit, at least he's nice to look at. Isn't that lovely? It's my lucky day. He is a beast of a man. Dark hair cut short on the sides, a tad shaggy on top. Just enough hair to tug on. Sexy lips with a permanent ass hole smirk on them. Hard jaw in need of a good shave. Dark stubble as far as the eye can see. It's that yummy facial hair. You know the lickable kind. Pissed off hard eyes framed by dark lashes. Well over six feet tall. Large, strong body. A body equipped with massive muscles. Broad sturdy shoulders, thick arms, and long strong legs. A body made for rough sex and dirty fighting. Dusty skin, tattoos covering one arm. A few on his neck. The possibility of a few hidden ones under all that biker gear. As soon as we walked outside he put on a hat. It's a nice addition. Backwards black fitted cap. Work CAT boots, jeans, dirty ass gray shirt, and his black leather cut. Fully patched rocking his, our, three piece colors on his back. Everything a biker should be. But it's his eyes, crystal blue. Beautiful and mesmerizing.
The truck ride was fun to say the least. Little talk, and a whole lot of side way glances. Big bad ass biker isn't one for meaningful conversations. Who'd ‘a thought? Pulling up in front of pop's place I hop out before the trucks in park. No need for awkward conversation. I'm not the hanging around type. I need a shower and some food. My mood a little scattered and a headache nagging. “I'll be here,” Tank grunts. This is nothing new. Shit's going down, all women are always escorted. Fallowing me to the door he stops as soon as I'm safely inside. Settling his big body into a rocking chair on the porch he gets comfortable. Damn knife at his side, a gun in the waist of his jeans. I can't imagine how sitting is comfortable, but whatever. Nodding my okay I head in. Straight to the shower I go. Stripping down on my way. I let the warm water wash over me. I can't help but be a little thoughtful about big and bulky on my porch. God damn is he sexy. All large and scary. Trouble all over in that smirk. I remind myself that this not why I'm here, but hell if a little rough fun doesn't sound exciting. It's been too damn long. Rinsing off I turn off the shower. Toweling off I get into some comfy clothes. Hair in a wet messy bun I throw on some clothes. Big black and white checked thermal button up on, hanging to mid-thigh. It was my high school boyfriend's, before he hauled off and got himself killed. It's worn and comfortable. One of the few things I have left of him. He turned his back on the club. No loyalty, they offed him. I'm not bitter about it. Not even heartbroken over it anymore. Sometimes it's a sad memory I dredge up from time to time. I guess I'm more careful now than anything about life and my love after him. That was the lesson I learned. Be cautious with my heart. He's dead and I've moved on. But that's a whole can a worms I do not want to open. He died taking a part of my heart right along with him. Asshole.
The smell of fire roasted tomatoes, cheese, and herbs greet me in the kitchen. Before going to the club with my pops I started dinner. Taking it out of the oven I notice it's really coming down outside now. Rain pounding on the house. An angry summer storm rolling in. Glancing through the window I can see big and beefy in the rocking chair looking bored as hell. Cleaning his nails with his buck knife, his face blank and bored. He can't be dry out there either. Why do I do this? They're not all lost broken puppies. Before I can talk myself out of it I'm at the back door. “Aye, you hungry?” I ask him leaning against the door frame, arms crossed. Made a big pan of lasagna might as well share it. Pops and I can't eat the whole thing alone. Head jerking up his eyes pop up to me in surprise. For a second he just looks at me not saying anything. Eyes leisurely travel from my head to toe. What the hell? A big smile breaks over his face after a second. Nodding he pushes himself off of the chair, muscles pulling and straining at his movements. Well God damn. “You sure?” he mutters before he comes in. Jesus Christ, these damn rules. “You hungry or not?” I retort over my shoulder walking back inside. The door clicking closed gives me my answer, he's hungry. Walking around the kitchen putting the finishing touches on dinner, plating food, and cleaning up as I go I can feel his eyes on me. Watching every move I make. Every step I take. He’s damn near starring holes through me. “You gunna put more clothes on then that?” he finally asks me. His rough deep voice catching me off guard. It’s just so deep and gruff. Standing at the sink I look over my shoulder at him. “If I do you gunna stop staring at me?” I retort smartly, lifting an inquiring brow at him. Tank snorts a laugh, clearly amused at my question. “No, probably not.” Well at least he's honest. Setting a big plate of lasagna, bread, and salad on the breakfast bar for him I look him in the eyes. Leaning into the kitchen island I smile sweetly and say, “then no. I like being comfortable and this,” I tell him waving a hand at my shirt, “is comfortable.” Shaking his head he rolls his eyes. “God forbid you not be comfortable babe.” My turn to roll my eyes. Ignoring him I sit myself across from him with my own plate and we begin to eat in silence. Smiling at me he digs in. That's a heartbreaking smile right there. Dimples and all. Dropping girls on their knees with one smile. To good looking for his own good. Shaking my head I dig in too. Yeah to damn good looking. “Fuckin' hell women. You a chef or somethin'?” he mumbles around a mouth full of food a few moments later. Lovely manners. A chef? Not even close. “College professor,” I mutter dryly. Well college professor to be if I didn't come here that is anyways. Eyes pull up to mine, damn near chocking on his food. He looks a little confused. “No shit?” He sounds doubtful. Figured this would illicit that type of reaction. I just smile and nod at him. I wonder if he even knows anything about college. Probably never set foot anywhere near one. Yeah, it's doubtful. I refrain from making a snarky remark. “You're a teacher?” he asks me again. Face still full of doubt. “Where you think I've been the last eight years?” I counter quickly. Shrugging he mumbles, “not a clue.” He goes about eating again. Thoughtfully chewing his food he keeps his eyes on his plate for a while. We eat in silence for a few more minutes. Every so often he looks over at me, smiling. Clearing his plate, setting his fork down, he turns towards me. “Like lectures, paper gradin', and assignments? You really teach college classes and shit,” he asks me. Cowboy knows his shit. Had him pegged for a complete idiot. Beauty and brains, who'd ‘a thought? “I'm workin' on it.” He looks truly shocked. That makes me laugh. Do I really look that different? Didn't know teachers looked a certain way. He looks interested, that's a surprise. “How long did that take?” he asks me sounding truly interested. A long, long time. “About seven years give or take.” Smiling he nods. He asks me questions and keeps me company while I clean up around the kitchen. He’s definitely not the worst dinner date.