Page 47 of Tank
So I give her something. Something to keep her. Something palatable, for her, and for me. A piece of the truth. A piece of me. It wouldn’t be my first choice, but I’ll do what I have to do to get what I want: her.
Then I shake my head.
No, not her… I want what she can give me. What I came here for: revenge.
Revenge, and nothing else.
I breathe deep. Let a little of myself out.
“You know my name. I’ve told you that. I grew up poor. Dirt poor. Only had my dad and he was no father to me. I know what it’s like to have nothing. Which is why I cook. Why I bake. Now, I get to give myself things I never had as a kid.”
“And the bakery? Why here? Why Boise?”
“Finally got some money together, and it turns out that it was just enough to buy a place next to a seedy strip club. Most people would be bothered by it, but I saw a lot of them when I was a kid, had to drag my stumbling-drunk father out of plenty of them, which is a damn hard thing to do when you’re eight years old. So I don’t mind. It makes me nostalgic, in a way. And every time I leave my bakery and see that neon strip club sign, I remember that I’m finally getting what I want.”
“And why are you still here in my kitchen?”
I pause. That’s a damn good question. And it’s one that deserves the damn full truth. “Because I don’t want to be anywhere else right now except with you.”
Her expression softens, just a little. Something shifts between us. I don’t like it. But I also don’t hate it.
Because it feels like I’m getting where I need to be — closer to her.
Bianca considers me for a long moment, chewing the last of her bacon, before she pushes back from the table, stretching. “I gotta go.”
There’s something funny in her voice, like she feels what I feel, like she knows where this conversation is taking us, and she’s not going to fight it, but she’s got to be herself and take it at her own speed.
And I can work with that. With what she’s lived through, that’s what I want her to do.
Because I can be patient to get what I want. And what I want is her.
I grunt. “Yeah. Me too.”
She eyes me, smiling, eyebrow raised, eyes twinkling. “Probably should put some clothes on first.”
I smirk. “You sure? Thought you liked the view.”
She laughs and shakes her head. “Get dressed, caveman.”
I chuckle, standing up, stretching. “Yeah, yeah. Gotta check on Ricky, anyway.”
That makes her pause. She studies me for a second, then says, “You’re a good man for helping him.”
I shake my head. “Wouldn’t go that far. I’m just trying to do the right thing.”
Her gaze lingers before she nods. “Well. I’ll see you around, then.” Then, almost as an afterthought, she adds, “You’re welcome to Safe House anytime. Especially if you bring treats.”
I nod. Inside, I’m grinning, I’m proud, but I can’t give any of that to the sister of my enemy; I keep a straight face. “Noted.”
Then she leans up, kisses me one last time, slow and teasing, before pulling back.
“Now put some clothes on and get the hell out of my house.”
I grin. Yeah. I’m in deep. Which is exactly where I need to be…
For my mission, and nothing else.
Nothing else at all.
