Page 81 of Tank
Bianca gasps, and I grab her arm, pulling her close. Behind me, gunfire still rages, a deadly symphony of chaos and destruction, but for one split second, everything goes quiet.
Victor Moretti is dead. Gone.
The moment stretches, and then I heave a wild, fierce sigh that turns into a laugh that erupts from deep in my chest.
But only for a moment.
Because then I raise my gun high and turn my eyes back to the killing floor.
This war isn’t over yet.
Chapter Forty-Four
Bianca
I’m frozen.
I can’t move. Can’t blink. Can’t breathe. I’m rooted to the ground, staring at a sight I never expected to see.
Tank is alive.
He was on his knees in front of my psychopathic brother, staring certain death in the face, ready to give himself up in a hopeless bid for mercy. All for the chance — the small, small, small fucking chance — that it might save my life and save Vanessa’s life.
I can’t believe it.
The scene in front of me is so bloody, so unbelievable, that it all feels like a twisted hallucination. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to process it. Victor’s body lies crumpled on the stage. Tank is standing over him, covered in blood and panting like some wild thing dragged out of a nightmare. For one long second, all I can do is stare, trying to comprehend the impossible.
But then it hits me: Vanessa.
The thought slams into me like a punch to the chest, knocking the wind out of me. She’s still in the back. Still overdosing. Still dying.
The terror ignites me into motion. I rush forward, dropping to my knees next to Victor’s corpse, pushing past the horror of what he is now, what we’ve done. Desperation surges through me as I dig through his pockets, trying to feel past the slick wetness of blood and god knows what else. I can’t think. Can’t allow myself to think. I just search frantically, grasping for anything.
Tank limps toward me, each step labored and painful.
“Bianca?” he says. “What’s wrong?”
“He said he had it,” I whisper, still searching, my fingers trembling. “He said he had it in his pocket.”
I can hear the panic rising in my voice as I reach into the last pocket, praying for a miracle. For once, just once, I need Victor not to be a liar.
Nothing.
Just lint. A lighter. A tiny bottle of cologne that bears a suspicious resemblance to the thing I saw him hand to one of his men earlier. No fucking Narcan.
I choke on a sob, my voice barely more than a broken whisper. “He lied.” It’s impossible to believe, and yet so typical — the one time I needed him to tell the truth, the one time everything mattered, and Victor still couldn't do it. My brother, dead now, had to get the last fucking laugh. He was a liar to the end.
I don’t know why I’m surprised, but somehow, I still am.
Tank crouches beside me, his hand firmly taking hold of my wrist. There’s desperation in the way he looks at me. “What do you mean?” His voice is urgent, like he can’t afford not to know, like whatever comes next depends on this moment, on the words I have to say. Like there’s time.
“He lied,” I say again. It comes out louder, full of agony and fear, like a scream wrapped in panic. “He never had Narcan. He was bluffing. Vanessa’s going to die!”
A feral intensity transforms Tank’s face as he swings his head around, shouting to the others. “Search the bodies. All of them. Someone’s gotta have Narcan. Now!”
We erupt through the club, a frenzy of desperation and chaos. Mayhem and Diesel are tearing down doors, moving like a force of nature, ripping through anything that stands in their way. Ricky’s already sprinting toward the back, his voice echoing off the walls as he screams Vanessa's name, the sound raw and frantic. I don’t know where to start, what to look for, how to make this right. I rip open a supply closet, a locker, a cabinet—every single thing that feels like a possibility. Hope sparks with each new effort, only to die again when every drawer I pull out is empty. How are they all empty? Every jacket I check has nothing but cigarettes and lighters, useless and cruel, like a sick joke on our desperation.
He never had any intention of saving her.
