Page 10 of Tank
How the fuck does he know my first instinct is to run when he is getting too close?
“Trust me,” he pleads again.
“I hardly know you enough to trust you, Tank,” I tell him, trying to add a firmness to my voice.
“Get to know me before you run. Get to know the man I am, Pandora. I would never hurt you,” he promises.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” I throw back at him.
“I don’t. I promise, I will never hurt you,” he says, with teeth gritted.
I take a deep breath. I want to believe him, I honestly do, but my experience with people, especially bikers, is that they will lie. They would promise you the world to get what they want, but deep in my gut, it’s telling me to take a chance on Tank. I always listen to my gut.
“Okay, I’ll give you one chance, Tank. You fuck up, and I’ll shoot you.”
“I can live with that,” he says with a chuckle, clearly thinking I’m not serious.
Oh, how wrong he can be, how very wrong.
“Let me pay for this, and we can go somewhere to get to know each other better,” he says on a wink as he heads for the checkout.
I follow behind him and pay for my t-shirts. Outside, I head for my bike.
“Where have you parked?” he asks.
“Right here,” I say, pointing to my bike.
“That’s yours? You ride, damn woman, you get sexier by the minute,” he replies on a groan as he adjusts his pants.
Rolling my eyes at him, I give him the look.
“Yes, jackass, women can ride too.” I throw at him, getting pissed.
“Rein it back in darlin’, wasn’t meaning anything by it. Just not too often you come across a woman who can ride a bike like that, and I’m all for women riding. Think more should ride. Not just a man’s ride. I’m a biker sweetheart, not a Neanderthal.” He acts like he’s offended.
“Don’t act like you’re offended, Tank. You know as well as I do, bikers tend to like their women a little more downtrodden shall we say.” I know I’m starting to push his buttons.
“I’m going to find out why you have such a negative idea of bikers darlin’, but the Sons respect and treasure their women. I’d like to say we are equal, but we all know you’re by far the more superior gender,” he growls at me.
Maybe I'm wrong about the Sons of Havoc. Maybe they are a modern club. I guess time would tell.
Nodding at him, he clips the helmet to the back of his bike.
“Follow me,” he tells me as he mounts up.
I stow my purchases in the saddlebags and get on my bike.
Tank pulls out first, and I follow him. He waves me forward, so I’m next to him on the inside, and we ride together the rest of the way.
Not long after, we pull up to a beautiful two-story home with a wraparound porch painted grey with black edging. It’s beautiful, but also very masculine. The colors definitely make this a man’s home, I notice as I pull behind Tank in the driveway.
“It’s beautiful, Tank. Who lives here?” I ask as I take my helmet off.
“This is home. Come on, I’ll give you a tour,” he takes my hand and guides me into the house.
Walking through the door, the lounge is homey, with huge soft couches facing a massive log fire and the biggest TV I’ve ever seen. Thrown over the back of the sofa are fluffy blankets and a few pillows on the couches. Tank continues to guide me into the kitchen, which is more modern than the lounge, with stainless steel appliances and granite countertops.
“Want something to drink? Have you eaten yet?” he asks, opening the huge fridge.
