Page 31 of Tank
I pause.
“You’re welcome back anytime,” he says, voice laced with amusement. “And if you ever get a craving for sticky buns, they’re on the house.”
I roll my eyes. I would’ve appreciated a little more effort in the innuendo, especially since — great kisser though he is, he did just try to force himself into my charity for some reason I don’t quite understand, nor appreciate. So I flip him off without looking back. “If you didn’t have the goddamn delicious pastry to back it up, I’d tell you to go to hell.” Then I pause just long enough to glance over my shoulder, smirk, and say, “Instead, I’m just going to say ‘see you around, Caleb.’”
And I leave.
It doesn’t take me long to drive into the office. I’m practically flying, speeding down the highway with the morning’s chaos still buzzing in my head, the tires humming in time with my thoughts. Sugar, caffeine, and adrenaline push the needle past five, maybe even twenty miles over the limit, and the lust from Tank’s gaze fuels me even more. The signs blur by, a dizzying backdrop to my resolve. I won’t let him get inside my head. I won’t let him win. I clutch the wheel tighter and lean into my promise to stand on my own.
Once I arrive at Safe House, I throw myself into work, letting the lingering heat from Tank’s lips and words crash over me like waves. I’m determined to put it all behind me, to focus on the one thing that matters. The charity’s in trouble, and I’m the only one who can drag it back from the brink. Well, me and Alex. She sits steady at my side in our cramped little office, effortlessly juggling three calls at once, her fingers blurring over the keyboard. She’s working the phones like our lives depend on it. They do — not just ours, but the lives of every woman who walks through these doors.
I dive into the chaos, refusing to sink. I lock down a venue willing to host the fundraiser. I secure a caterer willing to cut costs for the event. I get a local cake shop — one that isn’t run by a bearded brute — to provide desserts. I even book a band willing to play for next to nothing.
The hours slip by in a frenzy, a blur of deals and phone calls. Alex is relentless, an unstoppable force, and together we push and pull and claw our way toward breathing room. By the time I slump back into my chair, sweaty and drained, I can’t ignore the glimmer of optimism seeping through my exhaustion.
Maybe I can actually pull this off. For the first time in forever, things seem like they might just come together. I look at Alex, hoping she feels the same. She gives me a tired but triumphant nod, her green eyes alight with a shared hope that makes the entire day worthwhile.
It’s dark out by the time we finally decide to call it a day. The office is quiet, and I’m riding on a high that Tank’s doubts can’t touch. I pull on my coat, feeling strangely victorious. The world outside is crisp and cold, a stark contrast to the warmth of Alex’s presence and the adrenaline still buzzing in my veins. I’m more optimistic than I’ve been in months, and I want to hold on to that feeling as long as it lasts. I can almost forget there’s my crime boss brother breathing down my neck.
Almost, but not quite.
Then I step out into the raw night and see her. Vanessa. The name reverberates in my mind like a warning bell, urgent and insistent.
My stomach drops as though I've been punched. The air feels different out here: charged, electric, a biting cold that slices through my brief triumph and leaves me breathless. She is standing just down the street, looking like a wraith in the distance, jittery, her arms wrapped tight around herself. Even from here, I can see her cheeks are sickeningly white, drained of color, her skin clammy and waxen. She looks ready to bolt, like a cornered rabbit, frail and sick.
And she’s not alone.
Someone stands in front of her—someone I recognize; I have chased him off before, but like a bad penny, he's turned up again. He’s examining the street, twitchy and paranoid, but already counting cash in one hand. I feel heat rising, a wave of anger and fear curling through me. I know exactly what he is, what he’s doing here. The other hand is slipping into his jacket, and rage bubbles in my churning gut.
Oh, hell no.
I don’t think, don’t hesitate — I charge across the pavement, every step a refusal to let history repeat itself. Vanessa will not fall back into her old cycle. It ends. It has to end. My voice cuts through the night, sharp and accusing, the fury of betrayal edging every word.
“Vanessa! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
She startles, her head jerking up, eyes widening with guilt and panic and something so much worse — desperation. It twists in my chest like a knife to see her this way, to know what that look means, to understand the depth of her loss. My heart hammers. With each step, my anger flares. I will burn them all down before I let them pull her under.
The dealer flicks his gaze back to me, smirking, his mouth twisting into an ugly sneer. He’s not fazed, not yet. He jams Vanessa’s money into his pocket, casual, taunting. “This ain't your business, lady.”
I step between them, a physical wall, ignoring the pulse pounding in my chest. It feels like my heart might tear loose, but I don’t care.
“She’s coming with me, and you are getting the hell out of here.”
Vanessa looks torn apart, shifting on her feet, her whole body shaking. She doesn’t want to go. She doesn’t want to stay. It’s agony watching her unravel, seeing her teeter on the brink, knowing she might fall at any moment. My anger wars with helplessness. All my words feel thin, pathetic, paper tigers against this hell she’s facing.
The dealer doesn’t budge.
He watches me, slow and calculating, like he’s deciding if I’m worth the trouble. There’s a moment suspended in tension. Then his hand goes back into his jacket and his grip tightens around something solid, heavy.
My breath catches.
Vanessa whimpers behind me.
The dealer’s eyes lock onto mine. Something sinister sits there, and his smirk takes on a dark cast. “You sure you wanna do this, bitch?”
Chapter Sixteen
Bianca
