Page 68 of Tank
Then she moans.
Out loud.
So fucking loud.
Heads turn. Eyes open. A couple people gasp, their attention snapping to us like we've shouted fire in a crowded theater. The entire room seems to pause, a record-scratch moment where everything stops and all you hear is them waiting for her next sound.
I blink, then grin wider than my face knows how.
She opens her eyes, still dazed, caught up in a fresh swirl of sugar and salt and fat.
“Okay. That might be the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”
I can’t help myself, can’t stop the laugh that bubbles up. “I’ll never get over the fact that you’re such a moaner.” The words escape before I can even think to censor them, hanging in the air for a beat too long before they catch up to her.
She slaps me on the shoulder, laughing, a sound that spills out of her like music, then pulls me into a quick, fierce kiss. It’s long enough to make me forget how to breathe, how to think, how to be anything but hers. Just short enough that it leaves me desperate for more of her, of everything, of a life I never thought I could have or even want. She smirks, her eyes alive with mischief as she pulls back, leaving me with the taste of her still on my lips, bittersweet and addictive.
For the first time in a long time, maybe ever, I feel something like peace. Like I’m exactly where I belong, doing exactly what I’m meant to do, exactly who I’m meant to be.
Bianca’s thriving, and the Safe House might actually survive this mess. Ricky’s acting like a grown-ass man, like a fucking hero. Vanessa’s smiling like she might forgive him. The food is perfect. The night is beautiful. And I have a gun strapped to my spine with a clip of bullets meant for Victor Moretti.
I’ve been waiting for this. Plotting every second with the calm precision of a man for whom failure is not an option. And now that the world around me feels like it’s finally coming together, like the universe has decided it might be on my side for once...
I’m going to end the man who’s been tearing Bianca apart. The man who tried to kill my family in Ironwood Falls. The bastard who’s turned this whole town into a playground for his poison. It’s my chance to make this right, to give Bianca more than a fucking spoonful of sweet before it all comes crashing down.
I smile.
That’s when Bianca’s phone rings.
She walks a few steps away to answer it, her hand pressing tight to her ear. I keep arranging plates, not paying it much mind until I glance up and see her face.
She’s pale. Stiff.
Like the air got sucked right out of her lungs.
I take one step toward her. “What’s wrong?”
She turns slowly, eyes locking with mine. She holds up a finger that locks my feet to the floor. Her mouth opens. And all she says is: “We need to talk.”
Everything in me stills.
Because I’ve heard that tone. I’ve seen that look. And I know that whatever’s coming isn’t about dessert trays or donor lists.
It’s war.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Bianca
Tank’s voice is still echoing in my ears—“What’s wrong?”—but all I can hear is Detective Liam Carter’s voice, confirming what I already feared:
Caleb Morgan is a patched member of the Twisted Devils MC.
Tank is in an outlaw biker gang.
A gang suspected of going to war with my brother’s empire.
A gang just as steeped in blood, in crime, in violence.
