Текст книги "Tank"
Автор книги: Carmen Jenner
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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 16 страниц)
Once we’re done in Kmart, he drives me down the tiny main street of Leura and pulls into a car park in front of a row of boutique shops. Tank grabs my hand and leads me into a lingerie shop that’s interior is done up like the boudoir of a French whore. Everything is a wash of soft pinks, white and black. The woman behind the counter looks up from her paperwork as the bell jingles above us, and I half expect her to threaten to call security, but instead she smiles widely and says, “Mr Whitecross, it’s been a long time.”
Whitecross? I mouth at him, but he just smiles and turns his attention back to the woman.
There’s an air about her that I don’t like, and I can’t put my finger on it. I’m sure it’s not the platinum gold hair that’s pulled back into a chignon so tight it practically gives her a facelift, and it’s not the tasteful pencil skirt and crisp pressed linen shirt she wears—it’s the familiarity with which she embraces Tank that has my hackles standing on end. It’s the way she makes me feel: small, and insignificant, with her polished presence alone. I’m threatened by her. But why? Having stuffy bitches look down their noses at me has never bothered me before, but she’s slept with him—I can tell that by their body language, and that irritates me so much I find myself fantasising about leaning over and ripping out her neat coif, though that would probably just be a huge turn-on for Tank.
“Good to see you, Karina.”
“And who is this?” Karina says, stepping around Tank and offering me her dainty, delicate hand with its perfectly polished fingernails and simple, expensive rings. I can’t help but notice how dry and unkempt my own hands are in comparison. How chipped my black polish is, how jagged and dirty my fingernails are.
“Ivy,” I snap, before Tank can introduce us. And when I meet her gaze she’s not looking at me like a bug under her foot, but has kind, patient eyes and her smile, full of perfect white teeth—while annoying—isn’t unfriendly. It’s warm.
Interesting.
“I’m Karina. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ivy,” she says, and releases my hand after shaking it twice. “So what brings the two of you in today?”
Tank grins and gives her a look that pretty much says, Do we need to draw you a fuckin’ diagram? and for the first time I realise that the saleswoman is just as nervous, if not more nervous, than I am. “Well obviously you’re here for lingerie for Ivy, but what kind? Are we thinking sexy, comfortable—”
“Sexy. Definitely,” Tank interrupts, and I roll my eyes as he wanders around the store, picking up panties off of tables and stretching the delicate fabrics, as if he’s testing their durability and calculating how long it would take to ruin each item.
Karina looks to me for reassurance, and I say, “Whatever he wants. I’m only here for the coffee and free food.”
She raises her brows, as though she hadn’t expected that at all. “Alright then. Let’s get a few things together and try them on, shall we?”
I shrug and turn to a rack of overpriced bras in floral prints. I balk at the price tags on some of the items. I’ve never been showered with lingerie or expensive jewellery. I’ve never been showered with anything that wasn’t bodily fluids, and I appreciate the thought, and the expense, but I can’t let him buy me nice things like this. I’m just about to turn and tell him we’re getting the hell out of here when a sheer white lace negligée is dangled before me and Tank whispers, “This. No objections.”
I give the thing an accusatory glare and say, “You really think I’m the virginal type?”
“White doesn’t have to be virginal,” he growls, and I feel like a gazelle, frozen by the weight of the lion’s stare. My body breaks out in goosebumps, because his hand at my waist and his warm breath on the back of my neck cause my nipples to harden.
“Does it come in black?” I whisper. I’m afraid of raising my voice because I know it will sound weakened and husky with lust.
“Maybe,” Tank says. I bite down hard on my lower lip, because Holy Christ. Why didn’t anyone ever tell me that lingerie shopping was the best form of foreplay?
“Get black and I’ll consider wearing it.”
“Done,” he says in his low gravelly tone that makes me want to get naked and go at it in the middle of Karina’s store. It also makes me wish that he’d give in that easy when it came to giving me drugs.
Before long, I’m ushered into a changing room and buried beneath a mountain of thin wisps of expensive fabric and little clasps and straps and bones and lace to try on. I don’t make a decision on anything, Tank makes it for me, and it’s far too much.
“Will that be all, Mr Whitecross?” Karina asks after she rings up the items.
“That’s all we need, darlin’,” he says, and he doesn’t bat an eyelid when she tells him the total. Me, on the other hand? I practically faint. He hands over the money, all cash. Tank never leaves a paper trail. I don’t even think he owns a bank account. He probably just stores all his money in several hollowed out old mattresses stashed somewhere on his property.
Karina passes Tank the bags and thanks him for his business, and then he’s ushering me out the door.
“How do you know her?” I ask Tank as the door closes behind us with the muted jingling of a bell.
He stops and gives me a sly smile. “Why?”
“I’m just curious how a degenerate criminal like yourself is on first-name basis with a woman who owns a fancy lingerie store?”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really.” I frown.
“’Cause it sounds to me like you’re jealous, darlin’.”
Scoffing, I give him a look and make a show of rolling my eyes. He’s right. I am jealous. And I don’t like the feeling one bit. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it? You know, Ivy, I’ve known you a lot longer than the rest of my brothers. Either they don’t know or they don’t care, but I can read you like an open fuckin’ book, baby.”
“Whatever, Mr Whitecross,” I mimic the soft feminine tone that Karina used when I say his name. “It was just a stupid question.”
He chuckles and leads me along the street. “She had some trouble with an ex-husband. Caused a lot of problems for her. I made that problem disappear.”
I stare up at him. “Did you know her? Before that, I mean?”
“Nope,” he says, and when I give him the stink-eye for not elaborating he rolls his eyes and finishes. “I saw her sometimes, around town. She looked at me like I was shit on her shoes. One night I pulled into the street as she was closing up shop. He was bangin’ down her door. I didn’t think nothin’ of it. Not my business. And then I ran into the two of them in the parking lot outside the supermarket. He had her bailed up against the car and there was some heated discussion going on about their kid. Still, wasn’t my business. Made it my business when he threw her across the lot, though. I stop in from time to time to check on her. Karina’s good people.”
“Is Karina a good lay too?”
Tank chuckles. “The best.”
Jealousy slices through my chest like a blade. I scowl, and I’m just about to call him every name under the sun when he throws his head back and laughs, a full bellied, deep-throated laugh. I stand there, glaring at him. “You should see your face.”
“Fuck you, arsehole,” I snap.
I attempt to walk past him, but he grabs my arm and tugs me to his side, leaning down to whisper in my ear, “Yeah, I fucked that bitch several times. Made her come hard, fast and slow. Even made her forget her own name a time or two. But there’s only one woman that can make me do that, and I’m lookin’ right at her.”
Heat licks at my cheeks as I stare up into his eyes. He isn’t teasing. There’s no humour left in his gaze at all. Tank doesn’t say shit he doesn’t mean, and I haven’t a clue how to respond to that.
“Now if you’re done throwing a hissy fit ’cause I fucked some bitch a lifetime ago, can we eat?”
I nod. I don’t have anything to say in my defence, because I am jealous that they slept together, and it doesn’t make any sense. Not after what he just told me.
“One question?”
“What?” he says, impatient now.
“Did she call you Mr Whitecross while you were fucking her?”
He grins, and nods. “Yes, she did. It was awkward as fuck.”
I smile, because if there’s anything I know about Tank it’s that he likes sex as hard and dirty as I do, so I know he’s not lying about it being awkward. Feeling marginally better, I let him take my hand and lead me to a quaint little chocolate shop. The smell hits me before we’ve even entered.
“Tank, what’s happening, man?” A hipster-looking guy with jet black curls and an olive complexion greets us.
“Louis,” Tank says gruffly, thrusting out his hand to shake. He’s not pissed or anything—this is just how he talks to everyone who doesn’t have a vagina. Tank and Louis talk for a bit about why he hasn’t dropped by recently and I watch on in interest. Mostly to hear what he says about what’s been keeping him busy, but also because aside from the brothers at the club, I’ve never seen Tank with friends. I didn’t know Tank had friends.
Louis looks around Tank’s huge frame and says, “Oh hey, shit. Sorry. I didn’t see you there. Can I help you?”
He glances back at Tank with his eyebrow raised and a smile so wide I’m afraid his face might split.
“She’s with me,” Tank says, and Louis pales.
“Shit. Sorry, man,” he says, and extends his arm for me to shake. “I’m Louis, welcome. It’s so nice to meet a friend of Tank’s.”
“Ivy,” I say, shaking his hand, and then I add, with a mischievous grin, “Friend and fuck buddy.”
Louis laughs and turns to Tank. “Jesus fucking Christ, are you one lucky bastard?”
“Louis, could you quit hitting on the biker’s old lady?” a woman’s voice, young and yet equally stern, shouts from behind the counter, and I see a mop of wiry red curls pop up. She’s cute and freckle-faced, and her little button nose is covered in flour. She doesn’t look a day over eighteen.
“Hey Tank,” She says, swiping the flour from her face. She follows the trail down to her apron-covered chest and blows a bright orange curl out of her eyes. “We haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Been busy,” he replies.
“I can see that,” she says, and I’m beginning to feel like some kind of lab rat that jumped through their hoops and finally reached the cookie at the end of the maze with the way these two are studying me.
Tank is clearly aware of it too, because he shakes his head, throws an arm around my shoulder and leads us over to a table by the window. He pulls my seat out and waits. I just stare at him.
“What? I can’t be chivalrous?”
“You know what chivalry means?” I tease, but I sit down and allow him to push in my chair. Tank takes the seat opposite and Louis arrives with menus before Tank can hit me with some witty comeback.
“So, the usual?” Louis asks.
“Yeah.” Tank intervenes by knocking Louis’ arm away when he tries to hand me a menu.
I glare at the obnoxious arse. “I don’t get to decide what I want?”
“Nope.” He smirks, and it’s quite possibly the millionth one I’ve seen today. “I know exactly what you want. You just need to trust me.”
“Okay then,” Louis says. “Coffee?”
“Yes,” I practically shout. “The strongest you have.”
Tank shakes his head. “Get her a latté.”
I swear if looks could kill, Tank would be burnt to a char right about now. No one takes my coffee from me and lives to tell about it.
“Your system doesn’t need any more stimulation.”
“It’s caffeine, Tank, not cocaine,” I argue. “I’m pretty sure I’ll be okay.”
He shrugs, and Louis glances nervously between us again. He looks as though he wants to flee. Tank has that effect on a lot of people. Then again, it could be the fact that I just admitted to being a junkie and at any second he’s expecting me to break out my stash and start snorting lines off of his fancy table. Louis says, “Okay, so latté it is then.”
“No, I want—”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but your man is too scary to say no to.” He backs away from the table, shouting, “But don’t you worry, it’ll be the best latté you’ve ever tasted. You just sit tight.”
“He’s not my fucking man,” I shout back, drawing the attention of every patron in the room, which is really only two other people, not including Louis and the redhead. I look around sheepishly and then wrap my arms around myself, turning my attention back to Tank. “Stop fucking smirking, you arsehole, or I’m walking.”
“Try it and see how far you get, Warrior Princess.”
“I’m betting I’d at least get halfway down the street before you caught up to me.”
“You wanna test that theory?” He challenges with a grin, though his gaze warms me head to toe with its intensity. “My money says you’ll make it to the door before I drag you back to the table, put you over my fuckin’ knee and spank your arse ’til it’s red raw.”
I let out a deep, shaking breath and lick my lips. Jesus Christ do I want that. I want it so fucking bad. My nipples turn rock hard and Tank’s gaze drops to my black singlet. I’m suddenly hot, wet, and hyper aware of his lingering gaze. This man is going to be the death of me. I don’t even care about my stupid oath that I’d withhold sex as long as he withheld my drugs. All I care about right now is how much I want his huge, thick cock inside me right here on this table, in front of everyone.
Louis returns with our coffees and gingerly sets them down in front of us. I don’t look at him because my gaze is firmly fixed on Tank. “Ah …you two know you can’t have sex here, right?”
Tank stares back at me, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a lopsided smile.
“Right?” Louis prompts again.
“Yeah, we got it,” Tank says, picking up his coffee. “We might need that breakfast to go though.”
“No. We won’t. I’m not fucking you, Tank,” I say, but at this point I’m not sure I believe it. I don’t want to believe it, but I know it’s the right thing to do. I can’t give him hope that there’s a future for us.
His smile quickly disappears. A muscle in his jaw ticks. “Fuckin’ little cock tease,” he mutters under his breath.
“Alrighty then, two orders of chocolate pancakes with burnt maple glazed butter,” the redhead says, placing the plates down in front of us.
“Wow, that looks—”
“Like a heart attack waiting to happen, right?” she says. “I know, but it tastes so good you won’t care if you die from it, trust me.”
I smile up at her and she thrusts a hand towards me. “Kerri. It’s nice to finally meet one of Tank’s old ladies.”
“Oh, I’m not his old lady.”
“You can’t have old ladies, Kerri. It’s one. Not the plural,” Louis says, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “Sorry, she watches too much Sons of Anarchy. Thinks she’s got wicked street cred ’cause she feeds a biker chocolate pancakes once a week.”
“He’s right, Red. You care enough ’bout a woman to make her your old lady, you ain’t lettin’ no other bitch ride on the back of your bike.” Tank looks at me while he says this, those cunning blue eyes of his stirring up too much emotion. Too many promises, too soon, too late. Too … wrong. I can’t let him think that there’s a chance of that happening for us. I can’t be his old lady. I can’t be anyone’s, because it will only wind up getting them killed.
“But Jax has—”
“Alright, Kerri. Let’s not talk to the real biker about fake ones, okay? They tend to not love that so much,” Louis says, as he steers Kerri away from the table. I laugh and Tank shakes his head as he attacks his pancakes. I glance down at mine, stabbing a piece of the fluffy rich chocolate pancakes with my fork and stuffing it in my face. I’ve never been big on sugar, I prefer to get my fix elsewhere, but my body has been so starved of anything indulgent these last few days that it only takes one bite and I’m hooked. I dive into the food with abandon.
“Slow down there, Princess, or else these people are going to think I don’t feed you.” Tank says.
“You don’t feed me. Unless you count that rabbit food you’re always trying to shove down my throat.” I frown and set my fork down, sipping the warm coffee from my mug. I don’t know when last I had coffee that tasted like this. I can’t remember the last time I ate like this.
“Jesus, is it wrong that seeing you devour your breakfast that way is getting me hard?”
I smile through a mouthful of foamy coffee and set it down, wrinkling my nose when Tank reaches across the table to wipe away my latté moustache. “I didn’t know you got off on pigging out.”
“There ain’t nothing wrong with a beautiful woman havin’ a healthy fuckin’ appetite, Ivy. You gotta start feeding your body better.”
“And get fat with chocolate pancakes? No thanks. At least drugs kept the weight off,” I say, and despite the offhanded tone, I feel shame steal over my face. We both know my habit has nothing to do with keeping my body slim and tight, and everything to do with the memories I bury beneath an avalanche of bad decisions.
“Yeah, they kept you from doing anything fuckin’ useful with your life too,” Tank snaps.
He’s right. Of course he’s right. But it doesn’t change a thing. I avoid his gaze and glance down at my plate, pushing the pancake around in the chocolate syrup with my fork.
Tank sighs and tosses his napkin onto the table. Shoving the plate aside, he rests his huge forearms on the table, palms up, relaxed. It would be nothing to reach out and place my hands in his, to reassure him that I know he only has my best interest at heart, but I don’t. Because the truth hurts, and the truth is that there is no future between us. There never was, and there never will be. “I’m not the enemy here. I’m just trying to help.”
“And yet you still won’t tell me why,” I challenge. What he’d said earlier about no one else being willing to help me is true enough, but it isn’t the only reason I’m here with him.
“I’m responsible for you. Have been since the day you walked into that club. You came there looking for me, and all you got was an addiction you can’t slay on your own, and a heart full of hurt.”
“I had the addiction long before I came to your club, Tank.”
He nods. “That may be true, but coke wasn’t accessible to you then like it is now.”
“Well, it’s no longer accessible at all. Is it?” I say, pushing my plate away and glaring up at him, though I know he doesn’t really deserve my bitch fit. “Besides, I doubt Prez will let me set foot in his club again.”
“Prez is the one who asked me to get you straightened out. I don’t think you’ve done your dash with him yet, but you fuck up again and you can bet your sweet fuckin’ arse he’ll wipe his hands clean of ya, darlin’. He doesn’t need your death on his hands.”
“It wouldn’t be on his hands. It’d be on mine,” I say solemnly.
“No, it would be on all of us,” he says, and I raise a brow. “The club looks after family.”
“Right. I don’t think the biker creed really applies to whores, Tank.”
“You’re not a whore, Ivy. You’re just a little lost right now.”
I shake my head and turn away from him. I can’t look into those bright blue eyes and see the sincerity in them. Because I know that even though he may believe what he’s saying, it’s not true. I’m not that girl. I can never be that girl.
I’m a whore. I was born innocent and my father corrupted me—he stripped away all of the goodness within until there was nothing but rot left on the inside. I wasn’t born a whore, but I’ll die one. Just like I’ll die a junkie, because no matter how many promises I might make those around me, I’ve never been able to give it up. If I do, I start to remember everything. And being someone’s whore and being high all the time is far better than remembering.
Anything is better than that.
When we return to the cabin Ivy goes to her room to sleep and I put the groceries away that we’d picked up after breakfast, and then I head to the gym to work out. I’m three rounds in to hitting the bag when I turn and see her sitting in the corner of the room. Her thin jumper is stretched over her knees as she balls herself up.
“Thought you were sleepin’?”
“I don’t sleep well,” she confesses, and her eyes are dark and shadowed. “It’s part of detoxing. Restless legs. And I still hear it, you know? The sound of his heavy boots thudding on the stairs, the locks, and the creak of the door. When you’re faced with that every night, you kinda train yourself to sleep lightly.”
I slam my fists into the bag and then lean my forehead against it. “Give me a name, Ivy.”
She gives me a sad smile. “Can’t do that.”
“Why are you still afraid of him? You don’t need to be afraid anymore. You’re in my house. Under my protection—under the club’s protection. He can’t ever get to you.”
“I’m not afraid for me. I’m afraid for anyone who gets too close to me.”
I unwind the hand wraps from my fists and walk over to her side of the room. She’s already on her feet, ready to flee.
“Have I ever given you reason to doubt me? To doubt that I could protect you?” I say, pressing my hand to the middle of her chest and pinning her to the wall. Beneath my hand, her heart beats like the rapid thrum of a hummingbird’s wings. She’s so fragile, and I feel that with the sick sense of nausea of someone who wants to both hurt her and soothe her all at once. She makes me so fuckin’ crazy.
“What do you want from me, Tank?” she whispers.
I trail my rough hands over soft, milky skin, up to her neck where I grasp the base of her skull in my hands. Time and time again, I keep coming back to this place. To this thought: It would be so easy to take what I want from her. But I can’t, because nothing worth fightin’ for ever came easy.
I want her submission. I want her heart. I want her to look at me and not wish I were someone else. More than anything though, I want to rid her of the belief that to love is to hurt, to feel pleasure is to hurt. And I want to wring my hands around her bastard father’s neck for making her believe it is. I want to squeeze the life from him and savour the sound of his last breath rasping through his clenched teeth.
That’s what I want.
I want her, and I can’t do a fuckin’ thing about it. That shit is what eats me the fuck up inside, because just like she said, it’s not safe. It’s not smart to make her my world when it could so easily be ripped away from me, when it gives my enemies leverage. She’d be a tithe for the horrible shit I’ve done, collateral damage, and fuck me for being a selfish prick because a part of me doesn’t care. A part of me wants her, has always wanted her, no matter the cost, and that Tank doesn’t give a shit about the consequences.
“I want you,” I find myself saying. Ivy’s eyes widen, her brows shooting upwards with surprise, and then her expression turns cold, removed.
“No,” she says, as if that’s the end of it. As if I’m a kid and she’s telling me I can’t have ice cream before dinner. She shrugs out of my embrace. Brushing past me, she heads to the door.
“Why?” I demand, and she pauses.
For a long time she just stands there with her back to me, and when I think she’s not going to answer, her response has the hair on my arms standing on end. “Because he always finds me.”
She turns, and her eyes are haunted. I’ve seen her on a bad trip. I’ve seen her wake, panicked and stricken with fear, running from the monsters that haunt her dreams. I’ve seen her throwing up her guts and begging for crack, and I’ve seen her completely destroyed by Kick, but I ain’t ever seen this Ivy. I ain’t ever seen anyone’s eyes so haunted, and I’ve been present in the last moments of a lot of lives. I know fear. I’ve governed it, grown it, and sometimes even revelled in it. But not this. I’ve never seen Ivy like this.
“He always brings me home,” she says, and there’s resignation in her voice, as though everything she’s saying is inevitable. “Why do you think I’ve spent the better part of three years inside that clubhouse, Tank? I may be an addict, but I’m not an idiot. There’s a reason I followed you there, and there’s a reason I’m addicted to cocaine.”
“Because you’re used to your life being fucked up, so what does it matter if it gets fucked a little more?”
“It has nothing to do with that,” she says.
“Bullshit,” I snap. “You gotta deal with this shit, and you gotta deal with it now. Snortin’ another line ain’t gonna change what happened to you. And it ain’t gonna help you protect yourself when I ain’t around.”
“No, it won’t, but it helps me forget. And every second I spend sober is another second I want to peel off my skin. I need to forget the things he did to me, Tank. I use to forget, and that shit is the only thing keeping me glued together.”
“Bullshit.” I step closer and snag her around the waist. She fights. I wrap my hand around her delicate little throat. Ivy stills. Desire flares in her eyes, and I bring my lips to her ear.
“Let me be your cocaine.”
She laughs humourlessly. “You can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because you don’t want to hurt me,” she says. Tears escape the corner of her eyes, and she shoves out of my embrace and leaves the garage.
I may not want to hurt her, but someone’s gonna pay for this shit. I’ll find out where this fucker lives, and fear will be my tithe for every second he made her suffer, hate herself, or doubt how fucking incredible she is. I’ll make him pay with the worst pain imaginable. I’ll set fire to his flesh, and rejoice in the screams.
There is only one god in my world, and it’s the fear in a man’s eyes as he looks on your face and knows with one hundred per cent certainty that it’s the very last thing he’ll ever see. It’s the swift cold hand of death as she grasps you by the throat and doesn’t let go. And I have every intention of introducing that sick fuck to my god, and makin’ the two of them real fuckin’ cosy.
