Page 53 of Savage

His gaze narrows. “I was followin’ orders.”

God. I want so badly to beat his fucking head in right now. I want to unload an entire clip into his chest because he knew. At the rally, he knew about her. He fucking had to for Prez to give the order before he got arrested. That was why Tank was nowhere to be seen when the shit hit the fan—he was laying in wait for her.

“What are you gonna do, brother?”

“I’m leaving,” I say, surprising myself. Tank’s not surprised, though. It’s as though he knew it before I did.

“Your bike’s been fitted with a tracker. Frogger’s been watchin’ the feeds, though it seems your girl took care of that.” He looks her up and down with an appreciative smile. “She pull on you too?”

“Yeah,” I admit.

“Let me guess—you fucked her into submission?”

“Somethin’ like that.” I raise the gun to his head. I don’t want to shoot him. He’s the only friend I have left in this entire world, but I will if I have to. Sometimes decisions have to be made to ensure your self-preservation, and while I don’t think Tank would kill me over this, if I had to choose between him and me, there’s no question of who comes out on top.

“You really wanna do this? Where the fuck you gonna go, Kick? Prez is already jacked up on the idea of you betrayin’ the club. He’s had a tail on you for a month that you don’t even fuckin’ know about.”

“What the hell are you talkin’ about? You didn’t wanna tell me this shit?”

He laughs. “If I’d told you, they’d be stringing my guts up like Christmas lights. I like them where they are. I knew—” He shakes his head. “Ithoughtyou’d be smart enough to stay away from the bitch.”

“I stayed the fuck away. She came lookin’ for me.”

“And you couldn’t do what you had to.”

“Could you?” I ask, but I know that’s a stupid question. Tank never cared for anyone but himself. Tank feels nothing, and right about now, I’m starting to think it’s a pretty good way to be. “Hand over your keys, and get on the ground,” I command.

“You really wanna fuckin’ do this?”

“Not really,” I admit. “But I don’t have a choice, so get the fuck on the ground before I shoot you in the head.”

He tosses his keys to me and puts his hands behind his head, as he slowly sinks to his knees. “They’ll find you. Can’t go to Slayer; he’ll take your girl and boot you out on your arse, and then he’ll be callin’ Prez to tell him exactly where to come pick you up from.”

“Lay down,” I snap, and walk over to Lauren. “Princess, if I give you the gun, are you gonna shoot him?”

“Yes,” she says without hesitation.

Ask a stupid question ...

I sigh. “Wrong answer, baby.”

I keep the gun firmly trained on Tank’s head as I circle his huge form. The fucker knows he can take me, he knows it as well as I do, and though I’m the one holding the gun, he’s the one with the power.

“Weapons, where?” I bark out, half expecting him to tell me to go fuck myself.

“Piece in my leathers, knife in my left boot.”

I squat down and retrieve the gun, shoving it in the front of my jeans. I reach into his boot to retrieve the knife, but I come up empty-handed. Tank rears his foot back, throwing me off balance. He reaches into his right boot and pulls a knife, flinging out his arm and stopping its path a quarter inch from my skin at the same time as I press the barrel of my gun to his head. Behind him, in my periphery, Lauren stands stock-still.

“Sorry, brother, but I had to make it look believable. They watch the tape back and see me lying low without a fight, I’m as dead as Frogger is, and Red before him.”

I yank the blade from his hand, push the gun harder against his skull, forcing him to lay back down on the pavement.

“Better hide well, brother. If you don’t, you’re a dead man.” He calls to me as I back away with the gun still trained on his head, and I grab princess, pulling her over to the custom Harley Night Rod belonging to Tank. It’s a fucking Cadillac when compared to my 1991 Fat Boy, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. I throw my leg over, the gun still in my hand, as I flip the kickstand, and turn the key, revving the throttle with one hand once princess slips on behind me.

I pull the helmet from the handlebars and hand it to her, shouting at her to put it on, over the roar of the engine. Then I pass her the gun with a warning as loaded as the chamber. “Shoot him, princess, and I throw you off this bike. You got me?”

“Yeah,” she snaps. “I got you.”

---