Page 17 of Tank
The name hits like a punch to the chest.
Marco.
I can still see his face, bloodied and broken, his screams echoing in the desert. I didn’t kill him, but I took his life all the same. Left him in a wheelchair, his club in ruins.
I know it’s supposedly all fair in love and war, and shit goes down all the way from time to time. But that doesn’t mean it’s easy to live with the consequences. Well, not for me anyhow. The guilt’s been buried deep, locked away with the other shit I don’t let myself feel, but Arch’s words drag it up, raw and ugly.
“You think Rocco’s his kid?” I ask, my voice low and serious.
Arch shrugs, but his eyes are sharp.
“Could be. Same build, same fire in his eye,” Arch says. “And those Fury emblems? That’s personal. I’ll dig into it, see what I can find on Marco. If he’s still alive, where he’s at, if he’s got a son. But, hell, it could all be one wild goose chase, you know?Maybe this kid really is a cock sonofabitch drifter. Life’s like that sometimes.”
“Do it,” I say, my mind racing.
If Rocco’s Marco’s kid, this isn’t just a game. It’s revenge. The kind that ends in blood. But even as I think it, I’m watching Rocco lean over the pool table, his jeans hugging his ass, that smirk still in place...
The way he looked at me at the overlook, all defiance and want, calling me Daddy like it was the most natural thing in the world—it’s got me twisted up.
I want to believe he’s just a drifter, but my gut says he’s more.
And if he’s here for Marco, for me, I need to keep him close until I know for sure. And then I’ll do whatever needs to be done, no question.
The pool game ends with Keegan sinking the eight ball, throwing his hands up in victory. Rocco laughs, tossing his cue onto the table, and says something that makes Keegan grin. They’re easy together, like brothers, and it stirs something in me—jealousy, maybe, or just the ache of wanting what Arch and the others have…
A boy who fits.
A boy who stays.
I shake it off, but it lingers, heavy on my shoulders.
Rocco catches my eye across the room, and that smirk turns into something else, something knowing. He says something to Keegan, then heads toward us, his walk all swagger and confidence.
Up close, he’s even more dangerous—those green eyes, those lips, the way his leather jacket clings to his shoulders. My cock twitches, remembering how he felt under my hands, and I curse myself for it. This kid’s a threat, and I’m thinking with the wrong head.
“Having fun, boy?” I ask, my voice gruff, trying to keep it neutral.
“Beats getting punched in a bar,” Rocco says, leaning against the bar next to me. His arm brushes mine, and it’s like a spark jumps between us. “Keegan’s cool. Says you’re the guy to talk to if I wanna prospect.”
I raise an eyebrow, glancing at Arch, who’s watching us like a hawk. “That what you want? To be a Wolf?”
Rocco shrugs, but his eyes don’t leave mine.
“Maybe. I like what I see,” Rocco says. “Tough crew, loyal. Figure I could fit in. What do you think, big guy? Got room for me?”
There it is again, that “big guy” that makes my blood heat.
Rocco’s pushing once more, like he did at the overlook, testing how far he can go. Part of me wants to grab him, drag him upstairs, and show him exactly what I think.
But the other part—the part that’s kept me alive all these years—is screaming to watch my back. If he’s Marco’s kid, he’s not here to join us. He’s here to end me.
“Prospecting’s not a game,” I say, my voice hard. “You gotta earn it. Blood, sweat, the works. Doing all the shitty jobs no one else wants. No backtalk either. You think you’re ready for that?”
Rocco’s smirk doesn’t waver. “I’m ready for anything you throw at me, Tank.”
Arch snorts, breaking the tension. “Kid’s got balls, I’ll give him that. But you better be sure, Rocco. Wolves don’t take kindly to liars.”
Rocco’s eyes flicker, just for a second, but it’s enough to make my gut twist.
