Page 28 of Tank
My gut twists, not just from the news but from the name—Marco. And with it, Rocco. It’s been two days since I banished him, since he stood in front of me and spilled the truth about being Marco’s son, sent to kill me.
I wanted to believe him when he said he couldn’t kill me, wanted to keep him close, but the lies… it was too much. No amount of chemistry between me and the boy could make up for the fact that he deceived me, that he was a blood relative of Marco’s. I mean, maybe if he’d told me from the jump… nah, even then it would have been too much.
I’m a Wolf Rider, and I’ll ride loyal to the club until my last breath. That’s just the way it has to be, and it’s the way I want ittoo. But that’s not to say that I don’t have any feelings for Rocco. I’d be a fool and a liar to say otherwise…
The truth is plain to see. I sent Rocco away to save his life, to keep Clay from killing him. Part of me feels disloyal to Clay and the others for even doing that, but it felt like the right option at the time.
But now, knowing Marco’s rallying the Fury, I’m not sure I made the right call.
“Where’s their hideout?” I ask, my voice rough, my hands clenched on the table.
Clay slides a map across, pointing to a spot in the desert, an old factory twenty miles out.
“Here,” Clay says. “Twitch got word from a snitch. They’re holed up, gearing for a hit. We movetonight.”
Arch, leaning against the wall, catches my eye. He knows what I’m thinking—Rocco’s out there, with Marco, and if he’s part of this, we’re heading for blood.
“You good, Tank?” Arch asks, his voice low.
“Yeah,” I lie, my mind on Rocco’s face, his lips on mine, the way he felt under me that night at my place. I don’t know if he’s a traitor or a victim, but I’m about to find out. “Let’s do this.”
We roll out at midnight, a pack of Wolves on Harleys—Clay, Arch, Kash, me, and a handful of patched members. The desert’s cold, the stars sharp, our engines roaring like a war cry. My heart’s pounding, not just from the fight ahead but from the thought of seeing Rocco again.
If Rocco is with the Fury, if he’s chosen his father over me, I don’t know what I’ll do. But I know I can’t lose him, not without a fight.
The factory looms ahead, a rusted skeleton against the night sky.
We cut our engines a half-mile out, moving on foot to avoid detection. The place is lit up, bikes parked outside, the rose-and-barbed-wire emblem glinting on a few.
Fury.
My blood runs hot, memories of the turf war flashing—Marco’s screams, the blood on my hands. We all knew what we were walking into that day—on both sides—and while it might have been brutal, I can say in all honesty that at least on the Wolf Rider side we fought with honor.
Marco got hurt, and it was me who did the hurting. But he knew the rules, he chose this life just like I did.Fuck. Why the hell did Rocco have to be his son?
I shake it off, gripping my gun as Clay signals us to spread out.
We creep closer, sticking to the shadows.
Voices echo from inside, and I catch a glimpse through a broken window. Marco’s there, in his wheelchair, barking orders to a dozen men armed to the teeth.
And then I see him—Rocco, standing at the back, his face tight, his eyes haunted. He’s holding a gun, but it’s loose in his hand, like he doesn’t want it. My chest aches.
The boy’s here, with the enemy, but he doesn’t look like he belongs.
Clay whispers, “On my mark.”
But before he can give the signal, Rocco’s eyes meet mine through the window. Time stops. The boy’s face shifts—shock, then something else, something desperate.
Rocco drops his gun, raising his hands, and shouts, “Tank, I’m not with them! I’m not on their fucking side!”
Marco wheels around, his face twisting with rage. “You traitor!” he roars, pulling a pistol from his lap. “You’re no son of mine!”
The room erupts.
The Fury men turn on Rocco, but he’s already moving, diving for cover as bullets fly.
I don’t think—just act.
