Tank

Kim's such a tasty blend of softness and fight. I like that she didn't submit her body to me willingly even though she spread her legs easily enough. She really must've missed me while I was in Chicago. Though most likely she just hasn't gotten laid in awhile and decided I was to be the lucky guy to change that. By the feel of her, she hasn't gotten laid much at all. That's gonna change by the time I'm done with her. I also don't think she ever got laid by anyone who knew what they were doing. I already fixed that last night. But I have more tricks up my sleeve.

That was at least two-thirds lust talking when she argued with me about leaving. Maybe the full three-thirds. I like having that effect on women. Especially redheads, with their milky white soft skin and fiery temper. They're the hardest to please, and I love the challenge. I thought Kim would be hardest of them all, because her tongue is razor sharp and she’s totally different than the women I usually meet, meaning she’s completely unspoiled by guys like me. A virgin when it comes to alpha males, and that’s even better than a regular virgin. But she fell right in line. I'm hoping she'll do it over and over again for a good many nights to come.

If she thinks I'm not gonna see her again soon, she's dead wrong. I'd stay this morning and well into tonight, but Cross set up some all-important meeting with the other MCs operating in this county, and he needs me there. I don't see what we got to talk to them about, we never had to before. But Cross is already worried about how I’m handling the Spawns' eradication, and I don't want to add to that. Despite what he—and clearly some of the others if Ice is to be believed—thinks, it's not a problem for me. It's just a lot of deaths in a short time and some of them are bloodier than I like them to be. But I don't mind killing. Me and the Grim Reaper have an understanding about it that goes way back.

"What's this meeting about?" I ask Cross while we're waiting for the visitors to show up in the cool morning light in front of Sanctuary. "Or are you just gonna let them explain it to me?"

Cross likes to play things close to the heart, and after all these years, I know he'll never change. But his secretive ways annoy me. That's not gonna change either. Though, granted, I could've asked this question yesterday when he informed us about the meeting, but I was already late for the one at Grey's and seeing Kim.

He gives me a sharp sidelong glance. The tone I'm using annoys him, but that's never gonna change either. He might be my President now, and I'm more than happy to follow his lead and obey his orders, but I've known him since he was just Jimmy, and I was just Davey and that kind of familiarity lingers through the years. Things like hierarchy don't change it.

"As you already know, there's a council of sorts among the MCs in the area," he explains. "We were never a part of it, since our area of operations was always more of a service than an actual exchange of goods thing. But now that we've entered the weapons trafficking ring in such a big way, we have to get involved in this too. Frankly, I'd rather just keep doing our own thing, but we're playing a different game now."

"So this is a council meeting?" I ask, lighting a new cigarette off the butt of the old one. "As in, we're gonna discuss things for hours and someone's gonna take down the minutes and shit?"

I got better things to do with my time. Much better things. But I don't add that. He can hear it just fine in my tone.

"No, not that kinda meeting," he says. "There's some pressing problem that needs everyone's attention. They didn't say what, but we're gonna find out soon enough."

He’s referring to the sound of rumbling bikes approaching.

"If there's a problem we'll get rid of it. That's what we're good at, right?" I say sarcastically, since I'm pretty sure the reason for this meeting is something along those lines, if they're all willing to come to us for it.

"Yeah, I figure that's where this is heading too," Cross says.

What's one more name to add to our kill list. But I'm not overjoyed at the prospect of dealing out even more death.

They arrive, we shake hands and introduce ourselves, then escort them to the meeting room amid poorly veiled jealous and sometimes downright offensive remarks about what a lovely setup we have here at Sanctuary. They're right. Our HQ is way fancier than the fanciest MC HQ anywhere, and damn near palatial. The place used to be a hospital, or some such shit, for the rich once upon a time, before our founder turned it into the clubhouse.

Nowadays, it's only the execs and long-standing, useful MC members who get to enjoy the comforts of the mansion and the surrounding gardens. But back in the day we all lived here, and we used to have women everywhere too. Cross put an end to that when his thirteen-year-old daughter Lily came to live with us. She's eying us through the railing on the first floor as we enter, looking kind of panicked. I wink at her and she smiles back, but I understand why she's worried. A year and a half ago she was kidnapped by a group of bikers, so she's still wary of any strangers coming around. We failed to protect her then, but that's not gonna happen again. I think by now she knows that.

And maybe when she grows up a little, we can have ladies around again. There's nothing like coming home from a long ride, or a hard job, to find a hot and willing beauty waiting for you. Kim is hot and willing too, and she's waiting for me right now. I hope this meeting doesn't last long.

You awake yet? I text her as I stand by the door and wait for the guests to choose their seats around the oval table in the meeting room. They all want to sit as close to Cross as they can, and they’re so agitated about it, I'm surprised they haven't started a brawl over the best seats yet. I wait for them to settle, before taking a seat too. Cross has a real hatred for ass-kissers, especially ones who try to hide that they're doing it. But he likes to know who they are, since they're always the least trustworthy of any bunch.

Is this you checking if I can still walk? Kim writes back with barely a pause.

No. I'm checking if you're still naked in bed where I left you.

And waiting for you, you mean?

Man, she's sharp. Exactly the way I want her.

I should be done with this meeting in about an hour…

And then you'd like to come over again?

You got it, you smart girl.

There's a pause after I send that, but it turns out it was just because she had a lot to write.

I'm running some errands with my mom, and then I have to visit my brother and help him with his lines. Long story short…I won’t be free until this evening. She ends that with some kind of smiley face that my ancient burner phone can't show. I hope it was the kissy kind.

Alright, tonight then… I'll come over at eight…

And what if I said I wanted dinner first and some flowers maybe? Like a real date…

You're asking what I'd say to that? Or what I think of it?

There's another pause, but I don't plan on waiting for her to come up with something new witty. Cross is already shooting me murderous looks for not paying attention to the meeting, and he's right to, since I have no idea what they've been discussing this whole time. All I know is that I have a raging, painful hard on just thinking about Kim lying in bed, naked, holding her phone and thinking about me. So whatever dinner she makes me take her to will be a short one.

I'd say, sure, name the place. I text her. But I'll be thinking about you naked the whole time.

Oh, so it's like that. She responds. Meet me at Dawn's Diner at eight then.

I'll be there.

"If you're done playing with your phone, you might wanna join this conversation," Cross says to me, fixing me with one of his blackest looks.

Gotta go. I text quickly then stuff my phone in my pocket.

"I'm all ears," I say after that's all done. "What do you need me for, Prez?"

Cross shakes his head and rolls his eyes, although both those things are so faint I'm probably the only one who noticed. He turns to the guy to his left. "Tell him again. He wasn't listening."

"Right, yeah," the old guy he addressed says, then clears his throat nervously more than once, his eyes shifting between me and Cross.

"This new guy running for Sheriff," he finally manages to say. "It looks like he's gonna win and there ain't no buying him. There ain't no threatening him either. He's as straight as they come."

That's gotta be one of the top three evasive ways of getting to the point of asking us to eliminate someone I've ever heard. And I've heard some stellar not-getting-to-the-point ways of doing it.

"If there's a problem with the Sheriff, we get rid of him. Hasn't that always been done that way?" I ask before he can beat around the bush some more.

"We've already made threats," the guy says rather sheepishly. "Now he's surrounded by bodyguards 'round the clock."

I can't help but cluck my tongue in annoyance. "You don't make threats. You just do it."

"They hired those Navy Seal brothers as security. What are they called? The Razor Brothers?"

"The Razor Brothers? You mean the Reznors?" I ask and he shrugs.

Jesus, you'd think they'd at least learn to get the names right.

"Well, that's not gonna be fun at all. Those fuckers have a reputation of never messing up. And they're more incorruptible than nuns. What kinda threats did you make, if I may ask?"

The old guy's the President of War Dogs MC and at least twenty years older than me, but right now he's shifting under my gaze like some school kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"We threw a brick through their dining room window. Among other things," the guy explains, his eyes growing harder. "It was done without my knowledge by some of our younger members, and they've been talked to. But it is what it is."

What it is, is another fucking complication right before my well-deserved break after single-handedly killing off nearly all the Spawns.

"We'll handle it from here," Cross says, eying me sharply. "Right, Tank?"

I nod. "Yeah, we'll clean up your mess. But killing a Sheriff-to-be takes some careful planning and preparation, if you don't want it to get traced back to you. Especially if he’s already been threatened and has bodyguards. It's not a one night kinda job."

"But you'll handle it, Tank," Cross says, and I don't know if that's a question or an order or what. Cross has been so damn hard to read accurately, since he found the love of his life in Roxie and decided he needs to turn his life around.

"Yeah, consider it done," I say and lean back in my chair, pulling out my phone again, hoping to see some witty text from Kim to fix my mood.

I'll wear something pretty. She wrote. As for you…don't forget to shine your boots.

Damn, these redheads never disappoint.

Something pretty and short, I hope, I text back.

Although after seeing her naked, I'll never be satisfied looking at her clothed.

I bet you do.

"The meeting, Tank," Cross says harshly, interrupting someone who was speaking.

And tight too, please. I put the phone away after sending that.

Cross is right to be pissed at me. I should stop acting like a damn teenager and focus on the rest of this meeting like a good VP. But damn it, now I can't get Kim's milky white curves barely covered by some tiny dress out of my mind. I should've fucked her one last time before I left this morning. I knew it was a mistake just leaving her with a kiss after all that begging for me to stay.

* * *

Kim

I swear those texts from Tank in the morning and the prospect of seeing him again tonight are the only things keeping me going. Mom woke me up this morning, all chipper and happy. She wanted to go shopping for a new spring/summer wardrobe, because she had decided to attend every one of Russell's campaign events from now on.

That was five hours ago.

Now we're sitting in her car in the mall parking lot, the afternoon sun shining right in my eyes, as I hold her hands and try to calm her down.

"We can't drive home," she keeps saying in that strangled voice there's no reasoning with. But I'm trying to anyway. I always try.

"It's fine, Mom. I'll drive slowly," I tell her.

"No, we can't drive. We'll get into an accident on the way. I know we will. I had a premonition."

The more I assure her that's just her anxiety talking, that I'll drive carefully, that the traffic is light at this time of day, the less good it does, the more panicked and strangled her voice becomes. So after awhile, I just urge her to calm down as I hold her hands. I wish I'd made sure she took her medication with her when we left, but I didn't think too. When she's feeling good, she doesn't take it, which leads to these serious attacks.

We've been here so many times before. At coffee shops, at dinners, on the living room sofa with her clutching my hands, because she's too afraid to let me leave the house, even to go to school, terrified that something will happen to me. My dad was killed in a car crash when I was seven years old. We got the call in the middle of the afternoon and none of us were ever the same again.

I hardly had any social life growing up. In elementary school, my friends' parents would drive them to the mall and to the movies, while I stayed home with Mom and Benji. In high school, my friends would hang out after class, go out at night and make out in the park, but I always came straight home so Mom wouldn't worry. I minded, but not terribly, since that's how my life had always been. I also studied a lot, so I got accepted to NYU, Brown and Northwestern, but I ended up going to a local community college about a half an hour drive from our house, so I could stay close to Mom. At twenty-two, I was awarded a scholarship to the Reuters journalism program in London. That I accepted. I left for Europe, despite Mom's fears and her pleas that I stay close to home.

I always wanted to be a journalist, a writer, and when I was awarded that scholarship, Russell sided with me, convinced my mom that she had to let me live my own life. I visited for holidays, and I called almost every day, but I haven't really been back for much more than a week at a stretch in almost ten years. I've forgotten how heart wrenching my mom's attacks can be.

"How about we just drive to Grey's and visit Benji?" I ask softly. "It's only a couple of blocks from here."

She shakes her head, but her hands are shaking worse.

My mom was never a strong woman and losing my dad broke her. The only thing that kept her going for the first few years after he died was having to take care of Benji, who was just a baby at the time, because he really needed her. I helped, I helped a lot, but it was Benji that saved her. And I'm hoping he can do it again today, because I'm clearly not enough.

I'm meeting Tank for dinner in a couple of hours, and I really, really want to make it. I also want to go home and change into the new dress I bought for our date. It's short, it's tight and it's pretty. He should be happy.

She's looking at me, tears brimming in her eyes, and I realize I have a dumb half smile on my face from thinking about Tank. That won't do. I'll cancel the date, if it means helping mom, I will. But I so don't want to.

She strokes my cheek, softly like only she can. Her touch feels like a breath, each and every time.

"I'm sorry for being like this, Kim," she whispers, her voice hardly any more substantial than a breath too. "I just…I just…I was so happy this morning, but it all came crashing down. What if something happens to Russell? What if something happens to you or Benji? I couldn't live through that."

It was the meds that made her happy, and she messed up because she didn't take her dose this morning. But this is no time to bring that up.

I lean my face into her hand. For all the softness of her touch, her palm is always strong enough.

"I know you're worried, Mom, I understand it. But Russell has a ton of bodyguards protecting him, and I never put myself in danger." I did visit some dangerous places in my career, but the only time I was really in danger was on that night in Nigeria when the terrorists came to abduct the girls. "You know I always play it safe. Come on, let's go visit Benji. He's learned almost more than half his lines for the play now, and he's dying to recite them to you."

She nods slowly, and I start the car before she can change her mind again.

"You always know the right thing to say, Kimmie," she says. "I'm so glad you're home."

I squeeze her hand before shifting into drive. I so wish I could still give her what she needs, be with her all the time to comfort her, but the pressure of being that person for her, the one responsible for her well-being is still as unreal as it was before I left for London. I couldn't handle another moment of it, I felt I was drowning in her sadness and her pain, my own pain over my lack of anything resembling a young woman's normal life. The first boyfriend I ever had was a guy in London, and I was twenty-three by then.

I can't go back to the life I led before I left home. But I'll never tell her that. I'll never even hint at it. Because I'm afraid she won't recover from knowing how trapped I felt by her illness. I love her and I never want to add to her suffering.