Tank (Dark Falcons Book 2) Read online

  After that, they shared one more pitcher between them. Blade stood first. “Hate to break up the party, but I’ve been up since before dawn and I got another early one tomorrow.” He looked to Tank. “You on first shift these days?”

  Tank sighed. “Actually, no. The plant laid me off.”

  The guys grew silent.

  He shrugged. “I’m free any time you guys need me to lend a hand.”

  Blade clapped him on the shoulder. “Tough break, but it always works out. Don’t lose heart, man.” With those parting words, he took himself off for home. After that, several more members left and a few prospects as well, leaving a few members lingering at the table.

  Dixon twitched his head toward the brunette. Tank followed his gaze to see the girl twirling her straw in her drink.

  “She’d fit right in with us, by the looks of her, and she wants to be wrapped around you.”

  “Nah... I don’t know.” He considered it more. “Maybe.”

  Why did he hold out for a woman who thought of him as her best friend? He couldn’t think of being called anything worse.

  Pushing away from the table, he felt the effects of sitting so long with his still stiff muscles. “I’m gonna head out.”

  “Need a ride?” Dixon asked.

  “I got my dad’s old beater car. He loaned it to me earlier in the week until I get some wheels.”

  Dixon stood and gripped his hand, drawing Tank in for a bro-hug. “Gonna take the girl for a test-spin?”

  “Not tonight.” He chuckled even though he didn’t feel very amused. The other guys said their goodbyes, and on the way past the brunette, Tank gave her a nod. Tonight, he didn’t have more than that to give.

  Next time Catarina showed up on his doorstep wanting sympathy after her latest fight with her douchebag boyfriend, Tank would tell her to go home and fix it herself.

  Outside the Painted Pig he stood in the night air, filling his lungs with cool, deep breaths. Hell, who was he kidding? If Catarina showed up right this minute, he’d do his best to put a smile back on her beautiful face. Because he was fucking hooked on her.

  I must be fucking crazy.

  Catarina jumped into the passenger seat of the rescue unit and grinned at her friend behind the wheel. “We haven’t worked together all week. I’m so glad to see you.”

  Nicole grinned. “You too, girl. How’s your life been? And why does the boss man always split us up? Doesn’t he know women are always the hardest workers? Together, we get twice as much done.”

  “I hear ya. I personally think Charles asks the boss to put him with you.” Charles also worked for the EMS, which was how he and Nicole met.

  “Oh Lord. You’d think that man would quit being so lovesick after three years of marriage. But no, he wants to see me all day on the job and then go home together at night.”

  Catarina smiled. “I think it’s sweet.”

  Nicole got moony eyes. “It actually is. I love him so damn much, and I couldn’t ask for a better stepfather to Bryce. Now, it looks like we have one transport today so far.”

  “Yes, a patient being moved from the Mersey Hospital to Union.”

  “Little bit of a drive. Lots of time to catch up after we drop the patient off.” Nicole pulled out of the station and they headed to the hospital. Nicole didn’t take long to get to the nitty gritty and ask Catarina about Chad.

  “You back with him, or what? Charles said he saw you with him.”

  She sighed. “Did everyone see me with Chad? I’m starting to feel like the whole town comes out looking for me the minute I step outside.”

  “Somebody else saw you?”

  “Tank.”

  Nicole swung her head Catarina’s direction and gave her a pointed look. “Tell me you didn’t break up with Chad again and go running to Tank for advice.”

  She opened her mouth and closed it. A flush of embarrassment washed over her, and she brushed an errant curl off her face. “Actually, I did drop in on Tank, and found him in bad shape. He wrecked his bike.”

  Nicole nodded. “I heard. Charles knew the guy who drove Tank to the hospital.”

  “You didn’t tell me that.” Her stomach bottomed out at the thought of her big, virile, invincible friend lying helpless on the roadway. “I’m glad I wasn’t on the scene. I’m not sure I could have handle it.”

  Nicole shot her an appraising look but only tightened her lips in response.

  They arrived at the hospital, and Nicole remained at the wheel while Catarina went inside to see to the transfer paperwork. She approached the gurney the patient had been strapped to for transport.

  “Hello, Mrs. Burke. I’m Catarina, and I’ll be with you today on your journey. Are you feeling comfortable?”

  “Comfortable enough, yes.” The older woman looked about to fall asleep, and Catarina expected her to do so on the drive to Union Hospital.

  She patted the woman’s hand. “I’ll take good care of you.”

  One of the hospital workers helped her wheel the patient out, and Nicole had opened the rear doors of the unit. Once she had the woman fixed into place, Catarina checked her vitals and asked her if she needed anything. Then she chit-chatted with her for about two miles before Mrs. Burke’s eyelids grew too heavy, and she fell asleep.

  Catarina sat watching over the patient, which gave her mind time to wander. Over Chad. And over Tank. They hadn’t spoken since that night she showed up at his place. She texted him a few times to check on him and tell him she was busy, but he’d only given cursory responses to her texts.

  Could he be upset with her? If so, why? They were friends. He never had an issue with her stopping by to talk before. She’d chalked up his short behavior with her to the motorcycle accident, but could there be more?

  An hour later, they safely delivered their patient to the hospital with more extensive care facilities for Mrs. Burke. Catarina climbed into the passenger seat again, and she and Nicole took up right where they left off.

  “Look in that bag at your feet,” Nicole said.

  Catarina leaned forward and grabbed the cooler bag. “Is this your lunch?”

  “Uh-huh. But I didn’t pack it for myself.” Her brown eyes gleamed.

  “Charles sneaked food into the unit for you again? Damn, you’re the luckiest woman alive.” She unzipped the bag and peeked in at the sandwiches prepared on thick Italian bread. “Are these homemade potato chips? Oh my God, I’m breaking them open.”

  Nicole grinned. “Go on. There’s enough for us both.”

  “Charles is the best husband. Wait. Seriously? He packed brownies too!” Catarina pulled out two thick fudgy brownies wrapped in the paper from the Mersey Bakes & Treats, a place Catarina had to force herself away from or risk gaining back those ten pounds she’d finally worked off the hard way through cardio.

  She popped a potato chip in her mouth and savored the salty fried goodness. She reached for another, when her phone buzzed. As soon as she glanced at the incoming message, her stomach coiled with anxiety.

  “Uh-oh. I don’t like that look on your face, Cat. Is that Chad?”

  She nodded and read the text. Actually, he sent three texts—she’d missed a few during the transport—all asking her to see him again this weekend. He worked as a short haul truck driver, and he often couldn’t get free until weekends. Of course, her weekend shifts were hit and miss, but when she was most serious about Chad, she found some time for him despite her busy schedule.

  Did she want to make time for him?

  What would Tank say if he saw her with him again?

  “He wants to meet up this weekend,” she told Nicole.

  The woman swayed her head in an exaggerated shake. “Oh hell no, girl. I’ve been telling you for months to drop that loser. You deserve better. None of us can understand why you keep going back to him. He either has the best dick on the planet or you love to suffer.”

  She bit her lip. “Well, it’s not his dick.”

  Their gazes met, and they burs
t into laughter. After a minute, Nicole said, “Hand me one of those sandwiches.”

  Catarina loved her friend’s ability to drop the subject instead of beating it over and over again. As if she hadn’t already beaten herself up countless times for giving Chad another chance…and then another.

  She’d chewed a bite of her sandwich, her gaze fixed on the road. They rounded a bend in time to see an accident unfold before their eyes. A car sideswiped another, sending it careening into the guardrails. It whipped around, out of control, and shot into oncoming traffic—right into the path of a box truck with a furniture logo on the side.

  “Oh my God!” Catarina dropped her sandwich into the cooler bag and gripped the dashboard. She grabbed the CB unit and called in backup, including police and fire units.

  “Talk about good timing for these victims.” Nicole’s tone sounded grim as she guided the rescue unit into the fray of twisted metal and still-spinning tires.

  Catarina’s training kicked in, along with a wallop of adrenaline, and she whipped open her door. With her bag of supplies slung over her shoulder, she ran to the scene.

  She skidded to a stop at the sight of a motorcycle beneath the wheels of the furniture truck.

  Panic swept through her. A cry tore from her throat as she dropped to her knees to the man curled on his side, his leg at an odd angle.

  Oh God. “I…I’m here to help. Can you tell me your name?”

  Even as she looked at his body size, she knew it wasn’t Tank. Yet her logical mind had been swallowed up by her very raw emotions.

  He only groaned.

  “I’m here. Someone’s coming to get you out.”

  Minutes later, the sound of sirens couldn’t have offered her more relief. She watched the man being removed from under the truck. A sickening amount of guilt dropped into her stomach when she didn’t recognize the biker’s face.

  He’s not a Dark Falcon. He’s not Tank.

  Quickly, she stabilized him and assessed his injuries. Compound fracture of his femur, possible broken pelvis and road rash that would require some skin grafts, if she knew anything from past accidents.

  After she got this man into the back of another ambulance bound for Mersey Hospital, she and Nicole turned to the other nine patients involved. More medics arrived on the scene and took over with a few victims. Catarina found a young woman’s pulse slow and her breathing uneven.

  “This one needs transported immediately! Nicole, help me stabilize her.” Catarina’s fears for those she rescued always threatened to take over her training, and she often had to calm herself. She did so now by taking a couple deep breaths. Looking into the woman’s wan face, she offered her most comforting tone. “Hold on, honey. We’re taking good care of you. You’re going to be all right.”

  The woman gave her the faintest of nods, which bolstered Catarina’s heart.

  Minutes later, they were on the road with her seated next to the young woman in the rear of the unit and Nicole rushing her to the hospital.

  How quickly life turned on a dime. One minute, her only worries were getting that delicious sandwich into her belly and what to do about Chad . But seeing that biker under the tires of the truck had shaken her.

  The man was lucky to be alive. So was Tank.

  Seeing the mangled steel of that motorcycle didn’t help ease her mind about what his bike must look like. Dammit, she knew he was building another right now. Could she talk him out of it?

  No way. Tank and his steel were inseparable. As long as she’d known the guy, he’d been riding, and in the warmer climate of Tennessee, he got a lot of months on the road—more road time that could end in tragedy.

  She hadn’t been that great of a friend to him lately. Maybe she should grab some sub sandwiches and they could sit at the edge of the fairgrounds to look at the lights and listen to the music from the nightly live band drift across the field.

  If today reminded her of anything, it was that she needed to show the people she cared about how important they were. Oddly, she wasn’t thinking about Chad at all.

  Chapter Three

  Tank walked to the back door of his rental house. He opened it and looked out at the alley and a crumbling brick wall of the opposite building. Shit around here was going downhill, and if he didn’t find another job soon, he wouldn’t even have this dump to live in.

  Fog rolled in from the mountains. Often it covered the ground in the mornings, evenings and sometimes both. He always loved driving in it, despite the dangers of another driver possibly not seeing him. What he wouldn’t give to have his bike right now.

  With all the guys offering to help him rebuild plus all the free time in the world right now, he could be on two wheels again in no time. But until some money started rolling in again, he couldn’t spend any.

  Deep in the pocket of his leather cut—the vest he wore over his T-shirt that bore his Dark Falcons patch—his phone buzzed. He pulled it out and brought it to his ear without glancing at the screen.

  “Tank.”

  “Get your ass over here. I need to show you something.” Dixon’s voice filled his ear and brought him out of his depression just a fraction.

  He shoved away from the open door, closed it and felt in his pocket for car keys. “What’s happenin’?” he asked as he moved to the front door and the street where his dad’s car was parked.

  “Just get over here.”

  “Be there in a few, man.”

  Maybe Dixon had club business. Lately, they’d been dealing with some sluts coming around the garage, hanging around hoping to get a chance to dig her claws into one of the brothers. The age-old problem of women wanting to attach themselves to men who wore leather hadn’t been something he or Dixon considered when forming the Dark Falcons.

  Of course, more than one of the guys didn’t mind the women parading through the garage in their skimpiest skirts and lowest cut blouses. But Dixon made it clear they needed to keep their sexual escapades out of his garage and out of sight. They ran a respectable club. They didn’t go for breaking laws or bad reputations, and if any of the members failed to understand this, then Dixon ripped their patches off.

  When he drove up to the Rothchilds’ garage, Dixon came to the open door, wiping his hands on a grease rag. Tank climbed out of the car, unfolding himself from his bent position that made him miss the fuck out of his bike even more.

  He lifted his chin to Dixon in greeting. “Hey, man. What’s up?”

  Dixon returned his chin lift. “You really got nothin’ happening right now, do you? You got here in—”

  “The six minutes it takes to drive? Yeah, I really got nothin’ happening right now. Thanks for reminding me.”

  Dixon flashed a grin. “Take a walk with me.”

  Tank arched a brow. “Is this where you break up with me? Because I can’t take one more damn thing, Dix.”

  His buddy’s shoulders shook with laughter. “You know I couldn’t finesse my way through a breakup if I tried. C’mon.” He tossed the rag toward the barrel filled with other dirty rags in the corner of the garage and took off in long strides around the corner of the garage.

  The business sat on the edge of his parents’ property where Dixon had grown up. Since returning from his tours in Afghanistan, he took over the mechanic work from his father, and he and Fiona lived above the place.

  “Grass needs cut.” Tank scuffed his steel-toed boot in the thick patch.

  Dixon threw him a sideways glance but continued walking. They moved into the middle of a large expanse of uncut lawn.

  Dixon stopped. “What do you think of this?”

  Tank looked around. Trees surrounded the place but there was plenty of useful open land. “It’s great, but what’s it got to do with me?”

  “I’m thinkin’ of buying this land and putting up a motorcycle shop.”

  Brows lifting, Tank looked to his brother. “A shop?”

  “Yeah. There’s not one within miles of Mersey. Anybody with a bike has to take it into t
he next town to get it serviced. And with all the bikers rolling through Mersey and into the mountains all the time, I think it will be a decent income for us.”

  His brows hiked even higher. “For us?”

  Dixon hitched his thumb in the front of his jeans. “You’re better at building bikes, so you’d be the primary operator of the shop.”

  Annoyance burned all the way up his throat and came out in his words. “You’re giving me a job.”

  Dixon met his accusing stare. “No. I’m looking for a mechanic who knows bikes inside and out. Nobody knows their way around motorcycles better than you.”

  Twisting away, Tank looked at the land, seeing a two-story house across the unkempt lawn but considering what his brother was saying. A motorcycle shop, here in Mersey. The chance to do something he loved, rather than grinding away for some other man’s dream.

  He dropped his head. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful.”

  A rough chuckle escaped Dixon’s lips. “I didn’t expect you to jump up and down and thank me.”

  Their gazes met. Tank nodded at what he saw in his long-time friend’s face—a genuine desire to work together.

  How could he back down from that?

  Holding out a hand, he said, “I’m in. But you treat me fair. I expect fair wages and not special treatment.”

  “You’re not special, dickhead. Why would I give you special treatment?”

  They clasped hands and shared a laugh at the insult. When they broke the handshake, Tank looked around. “What kind of building you thinking of? Metal building would be cheap and quick to put up.”

  He nodded. “My thoughts too.”

  “I know a guy who deals in them. Sells them wholesale to dealers.”

  “Get in touch with him. See what kind of deal you can make.” Dixon scuffed his knuckles over his jaw.

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  “If we put it over that direction on the plot, we can link the parking lot to the garage’s.”

  “Great idea,” Tank said, picturing it.

  “I thought you were going to suggest we put the club here.” Tank shifted his weight onto his other foot, still a little stiff from all his lazy hours on the couch.