Page 12 of Tank

Tank takes a step closer, and I flinch involuntarily. He freezes, jaw clenching, a flash of pain in his eyes. Slowly, he raises his hands, palms out in a gesture of peace.

"I know you're scared as hell right now," he says softly. "And you got every damn right to be. But I promise you, Sophie, on my life, that you're under my protection now. The Iron Reapers' protection. Ain't nothing bad gonna happen to you, not on my watch."

His gruff sincerity settles something deep within me, a tiny spark of hope flickering to life amidst the darkness. I take a shuddering breath, feeling the weight of his gaze, the unspoken promise hanging heavy in the air between us.

Maybe, just maybe, I really am safe here. With him.

Tank steps back, giving me space to breathe, to process. He runs a hand over his buzzed hair, a flicker of something dark and dangerous crossing his face.

"We've got a plan," he says, voice hardening with determination. "To eliminate the threat. The bastards who did this to you, who are still out there doing it to others - they won't be breathing much longer."

My heart stutters, a visceral flinch at the mention of more violence. Images flash through my mind - blood, pain, screamsechoing in the darkness. I can't... I can't let that happen again. Not because of me.

"No," I whisper, voice shaky but firm. "No more killing. Please. I can't... I can't have more blood on my hands."

Tank's brow furrows, a mix of confusion and concern etched into the hard lines of his face. He takes a step closer, slowly, like he's approaching a wounded animal. I guess that's what I am, in a way.

"Sophie," he says gently, my name a rough caress on his lips. "This isn't on you. None of it. Those sick fucks... they're the ones with blood on their hands. Not you. Never you."

I shake my head, blinking back the tears that burn behind my eyes. He doesn't understand. How could he? The weight of guilt, of shame, it's like a physical thing, bearing down on me until I can barely breathe.

"I can't let anyone else get hurt because of me," I choke out, my voice cracking under the strain. "No more violence. No more death. Please, Tank. There has to be another way."

He's silent for a long moment, jaw working, eyes searching mine like he's trying to see into my very soul. I hold his gaze, pleading silently, desperate for him to understand.

Finally, he nods, a slow dip of his chin. "Alright, little one," he rumbles. "We'll find another way. I promise you that. But one way or another, we're gonna make sure you're safe. That no one can ever hurt you again."

The conviction in his words, the fierce protectiveness in his eyes... it's almost too much. I feel something crack open inside me, a dam bursting, and suddenly I'm crying, great heaving sobs that shake my entire body.

Tank is there in an instant, strong arms wrapping around me, holding me together as I shatter apart. I cling to him, fingers digging into the leather of his cut, anchoring myself to his solid warmth.

"I got you," he murmurs, over and over, a soothing litany against my hair. "I got you, Sophie. You're safe now. I swear it."

And for the first time in longer than I can remember, I actually start to believe it.

A loud knock at the door shatters the moment, tension spiking through me like a live wire. Tank's arms tighten around me for a split second before he eases back, a reassuring squeeze to my shoulders as he rises.

"Stay here," he murmurs, voice low and steady. "I'll handle this."

I watch as he crosses the room, movements fluid and purposeful, a predator's grace. His hand rests on the handle of the gun at his hip, not drawing but ready, always ready.

The door opens with a creak of hinges, and I crane my neck, trying to see who's on the other side. A flash of blonde hair, a low murmur of voices, and then Tank is stepping back, allowing two women to enter.

I tense, heart pounding, but something in Tank's posture eases, a subtle shift that tells me these are friends, not foes.

The first woman is short and curvy, with a riot of curly blonde hair and a wide, easy smile. She exudes kindness. The other is taller, with tan skin and laughing eyes. Sunshine to her companion's moonlight.

"Sophie," Tank says, gesturing to each in turn, "this is Carlie and Jenny. They're here to help."

I eye them warily, instincts still screaming caution even as some deep-buried part of me yearns to trust, to believe in the kindness shining from their faces.

Carlie takes a step forward, hands held out in a placating gesture. "I know you're scared, honey," she says, voice low and soothing. "And you got every right to be. But I promise you, we aren't going to let anything bad happen to you. Not now, not ever."

Jenny nods, her smile gentle and understanding. "We've all been where you are, sweetheart. Hurting and afraid and not sure who to trust. But the Reapers? They're the real deal. They saved us, just like they're gonna save you."

I look to Tank, seeing the truth of it in his eyes, the unwavering determination and care. And something inside me, some last wall of resistance, crumbles to dust.

"Okay," I whisper, the word little more than a broken rasp. "Okay. I trust you."

---