Page 26 of Tank
“Time?” He slams the bottle down, the glass cracking. “You’re living with them, eating their food, acting like one of their dogs. You think I don’t hear things? You’re soft on him, aren’t you? That bastard who did this to me.”
My father gestures to his legs, his eyes blazing with hate.
I flinch, the words cutting deeper than they should.
“I’m not soft,” I say. “I’m playing the part, getting his trust. Getting intel. Like you told me.”
“Bullshit,” he snarls, leaning forward. “You’re my son, Rocco.Furyblood. You do this, or you’re nothing. The Fury is coming back, and Tank’s head is our ticket. You don’t do it, I got men who will. And they won’t be kind to a traitor either...”
His words are a knife, twisting in my chest.
I think of Tank—his hands on me, his voice promising safety, the way he took a bullet for me in that warehouse. I’m supposed to hate him, to end him for what he did to Dad, but I can’t.
Not anymore.
What we did last night wasn’t just sex.
It was real, raw, like he saw me, all of me, and didn’t turn away.
I can’t kill him. But I can’t betray Dad either.
“I’ll do it,” I lie, my voice flat. “Give me a couple days.”
“You gotone,” he says, his eyes cold. “Don’t make me regret raising you. Now get the hell outta here.”
I nod, my hands shaking, and get back on my bike.
The ride back to town is a blur, the desert stretching out like a trap closing in. I can’t do this. I can’t kill Tank, can’t keep lying to him. The truth’s been eating at me since that first kiss, since he looked at me like I was more than a prospect, more than a threat. I have to tell him, even if it means losing everything.
My father, the Wolves, Tank.
All of it.
By the time I pull into the clubhouse lot, the sun’s dipping low, painting the sky blood-red. The place is quiet, just a few bikes parked outside.
Tank’s Harley is there, and my heart kicks up.
I find him inside, alone at the bar, a whiskey in his hand. He looks up as I walk in, his eyes narrowing like he can sense something’s wrong.
“Thought you were casing a joint,” Tank says, his voice low, suspicious.
I take a breath, my hands clenched at my sides.
“I lied. I didn’t go to town. I went to see my father...”
Tank’s jaw tightens, and he sets the glass down, slow, deliberate.
“Your father, huh?’ Tank growls. “Wanna tell me who he is?”
I swallow, my throat dry. This is it. No going back.
“Marco. My father’s Marco, the Fury man,” I say, my heart pounding inside my chest. “The guy you crippled fifteen years ago.”
The air goes still, like the calm before a storm.
Tank’s face hardens, his eyes burning into mine, but he doesn’t move.
“Keep talking,” he says, his voice dangerously quiet.
