Tank (Dark Falcons Book 2) Read online

  Her high heels crunched on the gravel in the parking lot as she made haste to her car. At least she’d been smart enough to meet Chad at the diner and could leave when she wanted.

  “Catarina!” he called after her.

  She kept walking.

  “Dammit,” she heard him mutter.

  A light wind that always blew in from the Smokies sent a curl of hair into her eyes. She brushed it back and hurried on to her car. One of their most common arguments had to do with her working odd shifts as a paramedic. While she was one hundred and ten percent committed to her work in helping people, Chad regularly accused her of running around on him.

  Why did she even put up with his crap? She was smarter than this.

  She climbed into the car and started the engine. A glance in the side mirror showed her Chad was walking to his truck.

  When they weren’t arguing, things were great. They had a lot of fun hiking in the mountains together and enjoyed the same music and movies. But when the time came for her to work, his controlling side broke free and they got into another argument.

  She sighed and drove away from the diner. After this many fights, she wasn’t feeling all that broken up right now so much as she was frustrated.

  When she turned into the street where Tank lived, she didn’t even consciously think about where she was headed—only that she needed a friend right now, and he was the best a girl could ask for.

  How many times had he held her while she cried and handed her tissues to mop her face with? He had a whole drawer full of her favorite junk foods and all her favorite movies in his video library for times when she needed distractions.

  Tank might not even be home. She lost track of his shifts lately, since he sometimes worked swing shifts or took on extras for cash.

  Looking at the blinds drawn over the windows, she questioned if she should even knock on the door. But in the end, she did. He opened it immediately, and her gaze lit on his face…his bruised and cut face.

  “Oh my God! What happened to you?” She pushed her way inside and stared up at him. He didn’t have on a shirt and from the looks of him, she understood why. Even the scantest brush of fabric against his bruised body would hurt like hell.

  “What in God’s name…?” She dipped her gaze over the shades of blue and purple on his side to where it disappeared in his low-slung jeans.

  “Wrecked my bike,” he said.

  Her gaze shot back to his. “Tank! Why didn’t you tell me? When did it happen?”

  “Last night.” He turned away, leaving her to shut the door and giving her a view of his back, which wasn’t in better shape than his side.

  The paramedic side of her kicked in. Quickly, she rushed into the living room after him. He dropped to the couch with a wince, and she settled on the coffee table in front of him.

  “Did you go to the hospital?”

  “Yeah, not by choice. A driver stopped for me. They wanted to call the ambulance, but I knew I was okay more or less, so he drove me himself to the ER.”

  Her brows shot up. “You were at the ER? I wasn’t working last night.”

  He didn’t respond to that statement.

  “Why didn’t you call me?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were back with dick wad?” His grumbled words reminded her that she was ticked off at Chad too.

  “How did you know that?” She reached for his hand to inspect the bandages on his knuckles.

  To her surprise, he let her check the bandage. “I saw you together just now at the diner. You looked cozy enough. So why are you here?”

  She turned his palm over to see more cuts that must be road rash. “This bandage needs changing. Did they send you home from the hospital with supplies?”

  “On the bathroom sink.”

  She got up and went into his bathroom, which he always kept strangely clean for a man. The towels were neatly hung up on wall hooks and the vanity top tidy. She grabbed the supplies and returned to where he still sat on the couch.

  “Give me your hand.”

  With a sigh, he offered it.

  As she proceeded to remove the tape holding the gauze in place, she took in his injuries. “That must have been one hell of a wreck. What happened?”

  He grunted. “Lost control. Hit a guardrail.”

  She gasped. “How the hell are you alive? Are you like a cat or something?”

  Finally, he threw her that crooked smile. “Yeah, I got eight left now.”

  She unwound the bandage from his knuckles, taking care when she pulled it away from the deep scores in the skin. “Jesus, Tank. Do you have any idea what could have happened to you? How are you acting so calm?”

  He simply stared at her.

  “I could have lost my best friend.”

  He dropped his eyes. “I’m fine, Catarina.”

  She shook her head at the mess of his hand. Some places looked worse than simple cuts. “Did they clean these out well in the emergency room?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Where did this happen?”

  “Last curve leading into town.”

  “And your bike?”

  “Destroyed. Saw it this morning.”

  “Crap.”

  “Yeah. Then I went into work just a bit ago and—”

  Her eyebrows hiked up another notch. “You went into work? In your condition?”

  “I can still run a machine, and it feels better to stand than sit down.” As if to prove it, he shifted to the edge of the couch. His legs were so long that his knees projected to the coffee table, crowding her in. She didn’t mind and continued examining his hand.

  When she dabbed some more antibiotic ointment on the cuts, he didn’t even flinch. She knew this man was tough—the toughest, biggest and most bad-ass she’d ever known. But he was just crazy enough to ignore his own well-being.

  She looked up at him. His dark blue eyes traveled over her face, and she dropped her stare over his too, noting how the big scrape on his jaw extended into the beard on his chin.

  “Why aren’t you at work then?” she asked.

  “Laid off.”

  Her eyes flew back to his. “Seriously?”

  “Wish I wasn’t serious.”

  As she unrolled the gauze, anchoring it in place on a part of his hand that miraculously wasn’t cut, she said, “So you wrecked your bike and lost your job in the same twenty-four hours.”

  He sighed. “That sums it up, yeah.”

  “I’m so sorry, Tank.” She finished with his one hand and reached for the other. He lay it on her palm, his own dwarfing hers.

  “You didn’t answer my question about dick wad.”

  Long ago, she’d stopped trying to convince Tank to call Chad by his name. He didn’t like the guy, and she knew he was being like a big brother. Protective of her.

  “What you saw at the diner was me walking away from another fight.”

  Tank shook his head. “Why do you keep putting up with his shit? What’d he do this time? Accuse you of stepping out on him?”

  She bit into her lip. “He wanted me to spend the night and I told him I work tomorrow and then the girls invited me out for drinks.”

  He issued a low noise that sounded like a growl. While she swiftly changed the bandage on his hand, he remained silent, and she didn’t want to invite more backlash from him about Chad.

  She finished his hand and started to pull away. He grabbed her fingers, and their gazes met.

  “Why do you put up with him? You deserve so much better.”

  “I’ve heard this before. Let me check your jaw.”

  He dodged her touch. “It’s fine.”

  She couldn’t tell by his mood if she should stay or not. She cleaned up the supplies and placed them back in the bathroom. When she returned, he reclined on the sofa with his feet up.

  That almost alarmed her more than seeing the deep cuts and bruises marring his body.

  “Maybe you should go back to the ER,” she said.

  “Lik
e hell. I’m gonna get some sleep, Catarina.”

  “Yes. You should sleep. I’ll go. Make sure you drink lots of water. It will speed up the bruising process.”

  “Thanks, medic.” He cracked a smile at her, and relief flooded through her at seeing it.

  She moved to the door and threw a look back at him before she walked out. He didn’t budge from the couch, and she didn’t expect him to. But this was a change—she usually needed his help. So doing something for Tank, even bandaging his cuts, gave her a feeling of giving back for once. It felt good.

  Chapter Two

  Sports night at the Painted Pig meant the place was packed with fans and people who made sports a good excuse to drink more beer. Tank, standing heads above most everyone else in the place, spotted Fiona behind the bar and made his way to it for a drink.

  “This place is nuts,” he said to her.

  Dixon’s ‘old lady’ turned to him with a grin. “I know! Great night! Dixon’s in the back.”

  “I figured. He got the pitchers ready?”

  “Unless the guys drank them already.”

  “Guess I’ll be back if they did.” He gave her a see-ya-later chin raise.

  “Tank!” she called out.

  He turned back to the bar.

  “Good to see you’re feeling and looking better.”

  He held back his grunt, not that she’d hear it above the noise of fans cheering for their team anyway. Looking better he could confirm from a glance in the mirror. His bruising had faded to a greenish yellow, and the worst of the cuts were healed. But feeling better? Not damn likely. After spending a week sitting on his damn couch, he couldn’t account for his state of mind.

  As he moved around groups of people standing around with beers in hand and tables crowded with too many people, he considered where his life was at a week ago compared to now.

  Beer. What I need is a drink with my bros.

  Dixon glanced up from the head of the table where he held court among the Dark Falcons. “Well, look who finally left his house.” He stood to greet Tank, and all the guys got to their feet as well.

  They gripped Tank’s hand and slapped him on the back, and he had to admit the welcome felt good.

  “Got a beer for me?” he asked.

  “Pour this man a beer!” Dixon called out.

  Someone thrust a draft into Tank’s hand, and he guzzled it in one long swallow, which brought about encouragement from his brothers, so loud that it rose over those of the sports fans.

  He drained the glass and slapped it down on the table. “I’m back, gentlemen.”

  Laughter sounded as they all sank to their respective seats around the table. Tank looked around. “I see we won’t be conducting any business tonight, brothers.”

  Dixon shook his head. “Most we’ll discuss at this table tonight is which pretty girl you boys will be taking home.” He cocked a brow at Tank.

  He reached for the near-empty pitcher and dumped the last of the contents into his glass, ignoring Dixon’s far from subtle nudge to get into the game.

  Luckily, Patriot interrupted with talk about Tank’s bike and when he planned to rebuild, and he didn’t need to think about women—or his lack of one—for the time being. Motorcycles he could handle.

  “Man, you missed a great ride yesterday. We were bummed as fuck that you didn’t get a chance to join us.” Patriot received his nickname because he always fought for the underdog anywhere, anytime. Tank guessed that underdog right now was him.

  He kicked back in his seat. “I’m sorry I missed it too.”

  “When do you plan on getting to work on your bike?” Patriot ran his fingers through his short hair.

  Besides Dixon and Rio, Tank hadn’t told anyone that he was part of the wide layoffs at the plant. Saying so now would make him sound whiny, and no one had called him that since he wore diapers.

  Also, admitting he didn’t have funds to fix his bike didn’t set well with him, so he just shrugged in response to Patriot’s question.

  He scratched his jaw with a big thumb. “Say the word and I’m there to help.”

  “Appreciate it, man.” Glancing up, Tank caught Dixon’s stare. He knew his friend registered at least part of what Tank had going on in his mind, but neither of them said a word about it.

  Dixon cleared his throat, which caught the table’s attention. They quieted to hear what he had to say. “As much as I love this place, I think we’d better start looking for a new place to hold our meetings.”

  “Your old lady won’t like that.”

  Automatically Dixon looked toward the bar where Fiona stood racking up drinks on trays that the waitresses delivered as fast as possible. He nodded. “She’ll understand, though.”

  “What kind of place are we looking for?” Rio set his empty glass on the table.

  “Not sure yet. Maybe some old warehouse or garage.”

  “Haven’t heard of anything like that available in Mersey,” Rio said.

  “I’m not against looking outside the town limits.”

  “Out of town has some rundown places. With this many members, we can fix something up in no time,” Tank added.

  A group of girls had edged closer and closer to their table, and he noted one kept looking his way and touching her long brown hair, flipping it over her shoulder and then pulling it forward again. Catarina once told him that girls did that when they were feeling flirty.

  He caught her staring again and when she noticed him noticing, a pink blush covered her cheeks.

  He ducked his head to hide his smile and focused on the discussion about properties.

  “My uncle and I recently logged out a nice patch of land on the west side of town. Would make a perfect plot to build, and he’d give us a good rate.”

  “Not sure how much money we could raise to buy land plus build, but we’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, Rio.” Dixon raised his jaw toward the group of girls. “That brunette’s had her eye on you since you walked in the bar, Tank.”

  “Nah, man. She’s just hanging with the ladies, enjoying her night.”

  “Bet if I called her over here, she’d watch you the entire way.”

  Why did Tank feel annoyed by that statement? He was unattached in all ways and hadn’t been laid in six months. He should be hitting that woman up and take her straight home to his bed.

  Fucking Catarina. For the past few months, he found himself comparing every woman to her. Nobody had her exact shade of green eyes, like a smoky jade hue he’d only ever seen in a few trinkets in souvenir shops. Or her thick strawberry blonde curls that she often wore pulled back for work, but when she let her hair down, it tumbled in corkscrews to her shoulders. And those freckles…

  Some guys didn’t like freckles, but Catarina’s entire face sported so many he couldn’t possibly count them all if he sat and stared at her all day. They distracted the hell out of him with their cuteness. And don’t even get him started on her body. Even in the coverall-type EMS uniform he often saw her in, he couldn’t stop his body from responding.

  Dammit. He really had a thing for her. No denying that fact—but he planned to keep suppressing the fuck out of it.

  The night continued on, with people coming and going. Fiona must have served so much beer and so many baskets of wing-dings that there couldn’t be any supplies left. And the girls who’d stood so long in a group finally moved to a table and the brunette sat in a position where she could glance up at him every so often.

  A shout sounded from the front of the joint, followed by a crash. Tank shot to his feet, along with a dozen other Dark Falcons. He moved first. People said he was fast for such a big guy, and he used it now to reach the fistfight.

  “Get the fuck off him!” a woman yelled from the side.

  Tank put out an arm and forced her to back up a step as Dixon, Patriot, Blade and Diesel shoved into the middle of two guys duking it out, possibly over this woman Tank guarded.

  One guy rushed another. Dixon put a hand against his ch
est and held him back using very little force.

  “Who the fuck are you?” he yelled in Dixon’s face.

  Fiona leaped over the bar and landed by them, her famous baseball bat in hand. In total opposition to her threatening stance, her voice came out sweet as peach pie. “Dixon, get these assholes outta my bar, would ya, baby?”

  He cocked a grin. “Can’t I fuck with them a little bit?”

  “Only if you take it outside.” Fiona waved the bat at the people within her reach. “Anybody wants to fight, take it outside and my boyfriend and his buddies will join you!”

  “No thanks, Fiona. I like my teeth too much,” one man joked, and a bunch of laughter followed.

  The woman behind Tank popped out next to him and started forward. He stepped into her path. “Don’t get in the middle of that, lady. Let them fight it out. Why don’t you call a friend to take you home?”

  “Dammit, Brian! You told me no more fights!” she screamed around Tank.

  He gently took her by the shoulder and turned her around. He spotted a neighbor of his that lived down the street and tipped his head to him. “Why don’t you take her on home?”

  “Sure thing, Tank. C’mon, lady.”

  After Tank watched her leave with his neighbor, he held the door open for the guys to march through with the two fighters. As soon as they hit gravel, one lunged for the other. Tank and his brothers stood back to watch for a minute, but as soon as it became evident that the odds weren’t even, Tank grabbed one guy by the nape and forced him away from the man he attacked.

  Tank gave him a light shove. “Get on home. And you better not be drunk driving. My buddy’s making a call to the sheriff right now, and he’ll pick you up.”

  The other guy stalked off toward his truck, climbed in, slammed the door and then backed out at lightning speed. He peeled rubber on the road and gunned it away from the Painted Pig.

  They all watched the other guy move more slowly to his car. He didn’t sway on his feet, so he didn’t appear to be drunk. As soon as he drove out of the parking lot, the Dark Falcons all went back inside.

  Fiona looked up, a smile on her face for her man that left Tank wondering why the fuck he never found a woman who looked at him that way. Instead, he got friend-zoned. Motherfuck.