Page 65 of 12 Months of Mayhem

The roar of the motorcycles cranking up drew both of our attention to the gas pumps.

Tank and his friend were on their bikes with their gas tanks full.

A huge chunk of me had been hopeful they were going to come in for an overcooked hot dog and a soda before taking off.

I guess not.

I watched them easily maneuver away from the pumps and take off down the road. Tank didn’t glance back at the store once.

Again, disappointed.

“Girl,” Diamond called. “You look like you are about to cry,” she said.

“I do not,” I muttered. I had never met, let alone been, that close to someone like Tank. There was a magnetic pull to him I hadn’t expected.

And now he was gone.

I guess that pull didn’t go both ways.

“I’m going to go clean the bathrooms and then head into the cooler to see what we need to order for the deli. Holler if you need me, yeah?”

Diamond eyed me knowingly but didn’t pester me anymore about Tank. “I’ll do the bathrooms. You head into the cooler. I know you’re a nut who likes hanging out in there.”

I shrugged. “I am not going to argue with you about who is going to clean the bathrooms. Have at it.” I headed toward the deli counter. “And I do like the coolers.” It was peaceful, and I didn’t have to deal with customers or gas pumps that didn’t work.

“I think you need to cool down after your encounter with Tank.”

I tossed my hand in the air. “Now you’re the nut, Diamond. I’m never going to see that man again. Just like seventy-five percent of the people who stop here.” I glanced at her over my shoulder. “Just strangers passing in the night.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that, Maddie,” she called.

Not seeing Tank ever again was the only thing I was sure about. I moved around the deli counter and into the back kitchen. I grabbed the clipboard off the hook by the cooler door and pulled it open.

I flipped on the light, and the door gently shut behind me.

Quiet and cold.

I pulled my hood back up and grabbed the pen from the top of the clipboard.

Counting cheese slices, ham, turkey, and roast beef were the only things I was going to think about right now.

Not Tank.

Chapter Two

Tank

The wind howled past me as we tore down the open road. My bike ate up the asphalt beneath me. Moose rode in front, his silhouette framed against the moonlit sky. The steady rumble of his engine was a familiar thunder in my ears. Riding at night always had a different kind of thrill—fewer cars, fewer eyes, just the engine’s hum and the steady throb of adrenaline in my veins.

Moose raised his hand and signaled a right turn. I followed without hesitation and leaned into the turn as we rolled into the parking lot of a rundown motel. The neon sign buzzed like it was on its last leg and cast an eerie glow over the cracked pavement. The place had seen better days as the paint on the walls peeled and a few windows were boarded up. It was the kind of joint that probably rented out rooms by the hour more often than by the night.

We pulled up in front of the main office and killed our engines. The sudden silence was almost jarring after the steady drone of the ride.

“Here?” I called to Moose as my voice cut through the quiet.

He nodded and kicked down his stand. “Here is about the only place we are going to be able to afford, man. Funds are running low.”

That fucking sucked.

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