Page 75 of Tank
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Tank
Alex drives like the road’s trying to rip itself out from under the tires. Her knuckles clench white on the wheel, and sweat trickles down her forehead. I sense the panic in the way her breath cuts shallow and quick. Every pothole feels ready to toss us. Ricky groans beside me, his shirt soaked in blood, and I’m in the backseat pressing a towel to his arm like it’s the only thing holding him together. I press harder, and he grits his teeth, eyes squeezing shut against the pain. The kid’s tough as nails.
“Talk,” I snap. “Now. Everything.”
Alex’s voice shakes. “Bianca and Vanessa stepped out for air. I was back in the kitchen, helping the catering crew do some dishes. Heard Bianca scream. By the time I got out there, they were gone. Two vehicles. Men with clubs. They had bags — black sacks they threw over their heads. I saw it. I didn’t even have time to scream before they were gone.”
“Damn it,” I say through clenched teeth. It feels like something inside my chest is trying to break open. Ricky’s face goes pale, clenched jaw and sweat beading down his temples.
“Drive to my cabin,” I say, and I can taste the panic in the back of my throat.
It doesn’t take long before we pull up to the cabin. Alex kills the engine, and Ricky lets out a deep groan, but we don’t stop. He stumbles through the front door, and I shove him into a chair at the kitchen table. I’m not hesitating. I pour whiskey into three glasses — Alex, Ricky, me. The bottle slams on the table as I head to the closet, jerking the fucking thing open. The door swings wide like a vault, revealing an arsenal mounted on a series of hand-carved wooden racks.
Rifles. Pistols. Knives. Enough firepower to invade a small country, more than enough to level a fucking strip club.
Alex just stares, jaw slack. “Jesus Christ.”
“He has nothing to do with this. This is Old Testament.” I toss a rifle onto the table in front of her. “Can you shoot?”
She swallows some whisky. “I went hunting as a kid. Ducks. Pheasants. With my dad in the Netherlands.”
“Perfect,” I say. “You’re already overqualified. Moretti’s men make ducks look like grizzly bears.”
Her eyes are wide, and her hands tremble as she pushes the rifle back. “I’m a social worker. That means I won’t kill anyone.”
I give her a nod. “I respect that. It takes guts to stand by your principles, even when you’re being a pain in my ass.”
Ricky downs his drink, sets the glass down, and looks me in the eye. His voice doesn’t waver, even while he’s still bleeding through his shirt. “Tank, I need to ask you something.”
“Shoot.”
“Why would Victor abduct Bianca if he’s laundering money through her?”
That freezes me. Everything comes screeching to a halt. “Doesn’t make any fucking sense. Nothing does.”
“Exactly. Abducting her doesn’t make sense unless she’s not playing along. Is she?”
Alex shakes her head, fierce and fast, her voice burning with energy. “Bianca’s been trying to break away from him for a long time. That fundraiser was her way out — her way of raising clean, independent money for Safe House so she could cut Victor out for good. She’s good, Tank. Bianca fights like hell for every woman she pulls from his grip. She’s one of the best people I’ve ever known.”
Her voice cracks. I take a breath as the truth slams through me. But it doesn’t reach my lungs. Doesn’t matter. My jaw tightens. My hands curl into fists at my side. Victor didn’t just take someone I care about. He took someone good. Someone with a pure heart. Someone I was wrong about. Someone I loved… and someone I still love.
And I’m going to kill him for it.
I pull out my phone, fist clenching tight around the thing like I’m trying to squeeze the life out of it. My eyes burn into the screen as I punch in the numbers. This call is going to cost me. Ricky watches me closely, anticipation coiled through his body like he’s waiting for a second punch after the first one’s already left him half-conscious.
“Who are you calling?” Ricky asks, voice gruff and expectant. “Backup?”
I nod, grimacing like the next words out of my mouth have the potential to choke me. “Yes. I’m calling for backup and I’ll be eating a fat crow,” I mutter. The phone trembles in my hands for a second before I steady it and hit call.
“Go,” Rabid says after the first ring.
The words come out like I’m holding down the trigger on an M-16, each one firing off with more speed than the last. “I fell in love with a woman. She’s Moretti’s sister. She found out who I am. Now she’s been abducted. My cover’s blown. Bakery’s gone. I need backup.”
A long pause follows, the kind that feels like it’s stretching over a canyon of disbelief.
Then Rabid clears his throat. “What the fuck.”
