Page 70 of Tank
How the fuck can he think of accusing me of helping my brother? After everything I’ve been through, after the way Tank set my heart up to feel on the verge of being whole, of being loved, of beingme, to accuse me of helping my brother — of being like my brother — hurts as much, if not more, than any of the lies Tank has told me.
I swing again. Hit him. “Get the fuck away from me. I fucking hate you, and I would rather fucking die than see you again.”
He takes a step back. Hurt flashes across his face, quick and bright, but he tucks it away before it can land. I still see it, lingering in his eyes, so intense it makes my stomach turn to think I might have reached him. How did this soulless killer fool me so well? How did I ever think he was different? I feel sick, sick that I fell for him, sick that I let myself trust him, sick that I pulled him into the most intimate parts of my life. Sick that I let him into my bed. Sick that I gave him a piece of my heart. How did I not see this coming? How did I not learn my lesson? This is what trust gets you.
“I’m leaving,” he mutters, and then tosses it over his shoulder as he turns away. “And I’m letting you keep the pastry. You’re welcome.”
And then he’s gone.
The void he leaves swallows me whole, crushing in its emptiness. Caleb “Tank” Morgan is gone, and I’m left behind in the alley to pick up the shards of myself. I’m sobbing like a child, falling apart in the shadows, my body wracked with humiliation and grief, with anger and hurt. I'm a mess of shattered dreams, of broken hopes. I’m alone. Alone. And like everything else tonight, there’s no one to blame but me. I saw danger, and I ran right into its arms.
I’m alone.
I’m alone, and there’s no one to blame but me.
I’m still crumpled there when the door behind me creaks open.
Vanessa steps outside, a shaft of light spilling around her, and concern shades her face. “Bianca? What happened?”
I shake my head, my throat too raw to form proper words, my voice a whisper. “He’s gone. I broke up with him. I just... I couldn’t keep lying to myself.” I’m choking on my guilt, on the shame of this failure, this betrayal of everything I should have learned by now.
Vanessa kneels beside me, wraps her arms around me, and I sob into her shoulder. Her kindness makes it worse, somehow. I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve any of it. I trusted another dangerous man. Again.
Why can’t I learn?
Why do I always make this mistake?
Why do I keep falling for the same damned lies?
Where is my strength when I need it most?
Vanessa lets me cry, holding me as if I haven’t ruined everything, as if I’m not the colossal failure I feel like. She just waits, her patience unwavering, and finally she whispers, a gentle question. “You wanna walk? Just a few minutes. Clear your head?”
I nod.
We step off into the quiet side street beside the venue, arms linked. Just two tired women, trying to catch their breath.
We don’t make it far.
Two dark SUVs pull up beside us, gliding like predatory shadows. Their engines rumble low and ominous, vibrating through the cold air and through the marrow of my bones. I know them instantly. I could smell their cologne from a mile away, the noxious stench of greed and violence, even through the thick, tinted glass of their windows.
The front window rolls down, and my brother’s face appears, oily and grinning, a grotesque specter of power and betrayal. A lifetime of threats and coercion is carved into the sneer he delivers.
“Hey sis,” he says smoothly. “It’s time we talked.”
I grit my teeth and scream, the sound ripping from me like I wish it could rip through him. “Get fucked, you ratfucking bastard!”
He chuckles like it’s cute. “I always admired your mouth. And your tenacity. You always liked to do things the hard way.”
The doors open. Men pour out. My brother’s soldiers. Clubs in their hands. Burlap sacks. Vanessa screams. I swing at the nearest thug. It doesn’t do much. More bodies join the rush, a tide we can’t fight, and Vanessa’s cries pierce the air, desperate and gutting. Someone hits me in the ribs, then the side of the head. Pain blossoms, feral and searing, and my vision goes dark as a bag slams down over my face. I hear Vanessa’s voice, a ragged echo, before a new darkness overtakes me, before the crack of a club to my skull sends me hurtling into nothingness.
Then nothing.
My last thought isn’t even a thought, just the feeling of being ripped out of my body as the crack of a club to my skull sends me into blackness.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Tank
