Page 5 of Tank

My mind races with questions, trying to piece together the puzzle of who she is and what brought her to Perdition. But for now, all I can do is wait and hope that she wakes up soon.

As the first rays of sunlight start to peek through the blinds, I hear a soft groan from the bed. I lean forward, my heart pounding in my chest as her eyelids flutter open.

"Hey," I say softly, not wanting to startle her. "You’re safe now. You’re at Perdition, the Iron Reapers’ clubhouse."

She blinks up at me, confusion and fear clouding her eyes. "Who... who are you?" she croaks, her voice hoarse from disuse.

"I’m Tank," I reply, offering her a reassuring smile. "I’m the one who found you last night. You collapsed in the bar, and I brought you up here to get some help."

She nods slowly, seeming to process my words. "Thank you," she whispers, her gaze dropping to the IV line in her arm.

"Don’t mention it," I say, shrugging off her gratitude. "I’m just glad you’re okay."

But even as I speak the words, I know this is just the beginning. Whatever happened to her, whatever demons she’s running from, I’m determined to help her face them head-on.

The door slams open, the sound cutting through the rumble of conversation like a gunshot. I spin around, instincts on high alert, as a woman stumbles into Perdition.

She's a mess, blonde hair tangled and matted, clothes torn and dirty. But it's the wild, desperate look in her eyes that sends a chill down my spine. This isn't just some drunk party girl who wandered in off the streets.

"Help me," she gasps, her voice raw and strained. "Please..."

Before anyone else can react, I’m moving, closing the distance between us in a few long strides. I reach her just as her legs give out, catching her in my arms before she can hit the floor.

She clings to me, fingers digging into my cut, her whole body shaking like a leaf. Up close, I see the bruises on her face, the dried blood caked around her split lip. Rage boils up inside me, hot and fierce. Someone did this to her, and every fiber of my being screams for retribution.

"I've got you," I murmur, shifting her weight so I can support her better. "You're safe now."

Her head lolls against my chest, eyes fluttering closed. I can feel the eyes of every brother in the room on us, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

"Tank?" Hawk’s voice cuts through the silence, a question and a warning all in one.

I meet his gaze, my jaw clenched tight. "Get Doc," I say, my tone brooking no argument. "Now."

Hawk nods, already reaching for his phone. I know he understands the gravity of the situation, the unspoken code that binds us all. When someone comes to the Iron Reapers for help, we don’t turn them away.

As I scoop the woman up in my arms, her head resting against my shoulder, I can't shake the feeling that this is just the beginning. That somehow, this broken, battered stranger is about to change everything.

But at this moment, none of that matters. All that matters is keeping her safe, getting her the help she needs. Because that’s what I do. That’s who I am.

I’m Tank, the Iron Reaper. And I never back down from a fight, no matter where it leads me.

The stairs creak beneath my boots as I carry her up to my room, her weight barely registering in my arms. She’s so damn light, like she hasn't eaten a proper meal in weeks. The thought makes my stomach twist, anger simmering just beneath the surface.

I shoulder open the door, careful not to jostle her too much. The room is sparse, just a bed and a dresser, but it’ll have to do. I lay her down on the mattress, my eyes scanning her body for any sign of serious injury.

"What the hell happened to you?" I mutter, more to myself than to her.

She doesn’t answer, of course. Just lies there, her chest rising and falling with each shallow breath. I brush a strand of hair away from her face, my fingers lingering on her cheek for just a moment too long.

A knock at the door jolts me back to reality. I turn to see Doc standing in the doorway, his medical bag in hand.

"Hawk filled me in," he says, his voice gruff but not unkind. "Let’s take a look at her."

I step back, watching as Doc sets to work. He checks her pulse, her breathing, his brow furrowed in concentration. I pace the room, my mind racing with questions I have no answers to.

Who is she? What happened to her? And why the hell do I care so much?

I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts. It doesn't matter who she is or where she came from. All that matters is making sure she pulls through.

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