Page 52 of Tank
A dumb move like that, and Victor’s head snaps toward us, his predator eyes narrowing. Even through the windshield, I can see the sneer curl on his lips. "Well, well," he muses loud enough that I can hear it from inside the car. "Look what the rat dragged in."
Ricky stiffens in his seat, shoulders curling inward. I see it, the shame, the fear, the instinct to run. I meet his eyes for a moment, hope he can read what I’m thinking: he’s stronger than this. He’s not a fucking coward.
Victor takes a step toward us, still shaking his head, still smirking, brimming with the dumb confidence that you only have when you believe you’re untouchable. Asshole thinks we’re at his mercy. Asshole doesn’t know Bianca’s the reason I’m not already filling him full of lead.
"Didn’t take you long to fold, huh, Ricky? That’s disappointing. I thought you had more backbone than that." I feel Ricky swallow hard beside me, see the effort it takes for him not to crumble, see him fight the urge to shrink down into nothing. He stays silent, but I can hear the battle raging in his head. I know what this takes for him. Victor doesn’t.
Ricky swallows hard but says nothing.
Bianca’s eyes flash around, desperate and caught in the middle. She’s calculating, watching the men surrounding her and trying to track every move, trying to keep herself together when the world spins out of her control. Her gaze jumps between Victor and Ricky, then lands on me. I can almost hear her unspoken plea to keep things clean, for her, for the women inside her shelter that have been running from violence and don’t deserve to have it brought right to their door. She knows this could go sideways in an instant, that it could end in blood and chaos, and she knows what that means for all of us.
And then Victor makes the dumbest, most suicidal fucking mistake he’s ever going to make.
He looks at Bianca like she’s not even there. Like she’s nothing. Like she’s not the reason I’m holding back. It makes me want to kill him right there on the spot, just on principle.
My vision tunnels. Rage heats my blood until I nearly see red.
My fingers flex on the wheel. My body coils, primed to launch myself and rip that bastard apart with my bare hands. I came to Boise to kill him. That’s why I’m here. Why the fuck am I sitting here like a goddamn statue instead of charging in there, shoving a gun in his smirking mouth, and blowing a hole in the back of his skull?
Because of her.
Because Bianca is watching me.
Because even from here, I can see the way she looks at me when she thinks I might lose control. The way she looks at me when she thinks I’m about to fuck up everything I’ve been holding together, everything I’m trying to be. She’s looking at me like she wants this to end another way. Like she wants more out of this life than just violence and blood. Like she wants me to be more.
And fuck me sideways, fuck me because — even though I know who she is, even though I have this grand fucking opportunity with Victor standing right in front of me — I want to be better for her. Something more than a killer. Something more than revenge on two legs.
So instead of stepping out and wrapping my hands around Victor’s throat, I do something that costs me more than pulling the trigger ever would. Something that challenges my pride. Something that makes me grit my teeth and wonder just who the fuck I am.
I step out of my car, and I take out my phone.
Victor’s smirk falters the second I lift the phone and start dialing.
I keep my voice calm, measured, while every muscle in my body screams for war.
"You have two choices, asshole," I say, thumb hovering over the call button. "You can get in your car and drive the fuck away, or we can see how you look in a mugshot when the cops find you harassing a woman in the parking lot of a domestic violence shelter."
Victor’s smile disappears entirely.
I see it — the crack in his confidence, the flicker of realization. He may own half the scum in this city, but an arrest outside a women’s shelter? That’s not just bad PR. That’s the thing a jury loves to sink its teeth into.
His goons shift, uncomfortable.
He knows I’ve got him pinned.
I don’t blink. I don’t move. I hold his gaze, let him see exactly what I mean; I came here to kill you, Victor, you motherfucker, but now I’m going to let you walk away right now, and that should scare you more. Because I know it doesn’t matter whether it happens here or somewhere where else, it’s only a matter of time before I get you alone and get to watch the light out of your eyes.
Victor stares at me a beat longer, and then his expression smooths over. And he laughs.
"Not bad," he murmurs. "Not bad at all." He takes a calculated step back, then another. But as he turns toward his car, he pauses just long enough to throw one last glance at Bianca. "This isn’t over," he says in a voice as slick as crude. "You and I both know that."
Then, without another word, he gets into his car. The engine starts, and that black blight of a vehicle leaves at a pace that would make a snail feel like Usain Bolt.
The moment he’s gone, Bianca releases the breath she’s been holding. Her whole body shudders, her shoulders sagging with relief. She turns to me, her eyes searching, unreadable.
"Why are you here?" she asks quietly.
I don’t hesitate. "For you."
