Chaos Bound (18 page)

“Ella Masters. I’ve seen you on TV.” He held out a hand, hoped it was steady. What the hell was Conundrum’s top news reporter doing in the Sinners-owned Rider’s Bar? And what the hell did she want with him?

She shook his hand and almost broke his fucking bones. Crap. That was some handshake, but she was a tall, athletic woman with breasts a match for even Tank’s large hands.

She lifted a quizzical eyebrow. “You don’t remember the night we spent together?”

Holy shit. Had he slept with Ella Masters one of the many drunken nights he’d spent partying with T-Rex? “Uh … Sure I do.” Tank sipped his beer and prayed she would go away. He wasn’t in the mood to talk. For the last few hours, he’d been pulling in favors from all over the state, calling all the local businesses in Still Water, but so far no one had spotted two civilians in Bolton Beaver shirts on a shiny new Ultra Glide.

Ella laughed, her hair swinging along the soft edge of her jaw. “Your friend, Holt, spent an entire evening trying to get into my pants about a year ago at some dive in East Conundrum while you sat and watched. Now does it ring any bells?”

Fuck. Everything came back in a rush. T-Rex calling dibs on the cute blonde who was laughing it up with the bartender. Tank watching him chat her up wishing he had the balls and charm to go after a woman as famous as Ella. Startling when she dumped a beer on T-Rex’s head. And then his surprise when T-Rex told him he’d insulted her so she would chase him away.
She’s dangerous
, T-Rex said.
Steer clear
. Tank had figured he was pissed ’cause she was the only woman who had ever shot him down. But now, with his hand aching from her bone-crushing handshake, he wondered if T-Rex had been right.

“Not sure if I remember that night in particular. T-Rex tried to get into every chick’s pants.” He sipped his beer, tried to play it cool. He’d had no problem when T-Rex had called dibs on Ella. She wasn’t Tank’s type. Too tall, too curvy, too confident, too loud, and way too much of an ice queen. He liked the quiet ones, shy, reserved—women with a dark secret or hidden vulnerability that called to the damned protective streak that had seen him punch his dad the first and only time he’d hit Tank’s mom.

Her brow creased in a frown. “Tried?”

“He’s dead.” Tank downed the rest of his beer and nodded to the bartender, Banks, to give him another bottle. But instead of serving, Banks jerked his head toward the end of the bar.

What the fuck?
Banks wanted to talk? Now? Ex-military, tatted and hard, Banks ran the bar jointly with the Sinners, although he had refused Jagger’s attempts to bring him into the Sinner fold. He was taciturn, reserved and generally surly, but his sharp mind, underground connections, and military training made him one of the Sinners’ most trusted allies.

“I’m sorry.” Ella placed a gentle hand on his arm, and Tank jerked away. The last thing he needed was sympathy. Hard enough to keep it together without some chick breaking down his walls.

“Tank.” Banks barked his name and Tank scowled. Why the fuck was Banks bothering him? Couldn’t he see Tank was talking to Conundrum’s equivalent of a celebrity? Women like Ella Masters didn’t talk to guys like Tank. She was so far out of his league he would never have approached her if she hadn’t spoken first. He still couldn’t believe they were having a conversation since the bar was heaving tonight, and a woman as famous and pretty as Ella could have any man she wanted.

“Fucking busy talking to a lady here, Banks,” he growled.

“Saw someone sniffing around your bike out back,” Banks said. “Thought you might care since you are a damn biker.”

“Son of a bitch.” Tank pushed away from the bar. “Anyone touches my bike, they’re gonna fuckin’ die.”

“I’ll wait for you here.” Ella sipped her drink. “I get queasy at the sight of blood.”

Banks snorted in derision, and led Tank through the stockroom door. But when Tank headed for the back exit, Banks clapped his hand on Tank’s shoulder.

“Hold up. There’s no one around your bike. I needed to talk to you, and you’re so damn thick-headed you didn’t take the hint.”

Thickheaded. Numbskull. Dimwit. Lout
. Tank’s dad had an endless supply of insults for his son, and after years of being told he was stupid, Tank began to believe it. Even after he joined the Sinners, he stayed in the background, taking on missions that required brute force instead of those that involved strategy and planning. After years of being told he wasn’t the brightest light bulb in the box, he knew to keep his mouth shut and just do what he was told to do. At least that was the case until T-Rex showed up.

T-Rex never made Tank feel stupid. He came to Tank for advice. He listened when Tank talked. He followed Tank’s suggestions. He made sure the brothers knew that Tank had good ideas, and if anyone tried to put Tank down, T-Rex was right in their face. With T-Rex by his side, Tank began to speak up and earned the respect of his brothers. Tank could never repay T-Rex’s faith and friendship, but he could give him his loyalty and have his back. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for T-Rex. And there was nothing T-Rex wouldn’t do for him.

Tank looked at the back door, then back to Banks. “What the fuck is this all about?”

Banks gave an exasperated sigh. “Ella Masters has been here all week asking questions. When I pulled her aside, she said she’s got a thing for bikers. Well, I got thing against reporters, and something about her sits wrong with me. She reminds me of those female black widow spiders that eat the males after sex.”

Tank’s face twisted in disgust. “I’m a fucking Sinner. I’m not afraid of that tiny blonde bitch.”

“She’s a sinner, too,” Banks said. “The kind that fucks with the Devil and then eats his head. You don’t have T-Rex anymore to watch your back. I’m trying to do you a favor. You’re a good guy, Tank. Probably one of the most loyal, trusting guys I know. And that’s not always a good thing when you’re alone.”

Christ. This was all he needed. Yet another reminder that T-Rex was gone when he’d come to the damn bar to forget. “Are we fucking done here?”

Banks nodded. “Said my piece. Can’t do more than that.”

Tank returned to his seat. Ella smiled when he sat down, like she was happy to see him again. Tank’s stomach knotted. It was damn hard to believe this beautiful woman could do anything more than smile for the camera and read the news off cards someone held in front of her, like he’d heard all reporters did.

“Was your bike, okay?”

A poor liar at best, Tank froze for a heartbeat and then quickly recovered. “Uh … Yeah. Must been a cat he saw or something.”

“Sure.” She gave him a warm smile. “I was worried I’d said something wrong when I brought up your friend. I didn’t know he’d passed. I’m so sorry. I’d forgotten about it, but I remember now one of my colleagues reported on his funeral. It was a huge affair. He must have been well liked. What happened?”

Tank’s reticence after Banks’ warning warred with his desire to share his pain with someone—anyone—not inside the club. But it wasn’t like the funeral was a secret. There had been all sorts of reporters there. “Jacks got him. Tortured him for months in their dungeon.”

To her credit, she didn’t gasp or cover her mouth with her hand, or do any of the things people did when they heard a horror story like he’d just told. But then she’d reported the death of Wolf, president of the Devil’s Brethren from the scene of the crime, among other grisly murders in Conundrum, so he shouldn’t be surprised.

“He seemed like a good guy,” she said, and then she gave him a rueful smile. “Now I kinda wish I hadn’t dumped that beer on his head. I could tell you two were close.”

“He’s not really dead.” He lifted the bottle, startled when he saw it was empty. That sure had gone down fast. How many had he had since coming to the bar? “They got it wrong. I saw him the other day in Still Water. I know it was him.”

Her face softened, and she slid a beer over to him. “I ordered another one from the waitress for you in case you came back. Looks like you need it.”

“Appreciated.” Tank nodded and lifted the beer to his lips. The taste was slightly off, flat and bitter, but maybe that was because it had been sitting while he talked with Banks.

“Maybe you just imagined seeing him,” Ella said.

“No!” Tank slammed his beer on the counter, drawing a scowl from Banks at the other end of the counter. “I know T-Rex. I know him like I know myself.” He thudded his fist against his chest. “Nothing has hurt as bad as losing him. I can’t fucking sleep at night for the fucking pain, but I always knew it wasn’t right. I knew he couldn’t be dead.”

He shuddered, realizing he had never really spoken about T-Rex’s death to anyone. Not to the brothers or any of the sweet butts. Not even to the club doctor when he’d gone to him for sleeping pills. But now it had spilled out, and to a fucking stranger who didn’t even know the life, a woman both Banks and T-Rex had warned him about. Hell, she’d probably call the cops on him for the things he’d already told her.

“I lost someone close to me, too,” she said. “Years ago. And it still hurts. You never stop thinking maybe someone got it wrong. That maybe he’s still out there and he can’t come home, or he has amnesia or he’s lost his way. You think because you hear his voice in coffee shops and bars, or you turn a corner and you’re sure he was just there. You think maybe they buried the wrong guy. Maybe it was someone else in the plane that crashed and not the man I’d loved since I was fourteen years old.”

Tank wasn’t good with words, but he understood her pain. “You sure you don’t want a drink?”

“Actually, I do.” She dabbed her eyes with her napkin. Fuck. He hadn’t even noticed any tears.

“Patrón,” she said. “Neat. But only if you’re having another beer. I don’t like to drink alone.”

He ordered the drinks from a scowling Banks, tossing him a few bills when he returned a few minutes later.

“Hard liquor,” Tank said when she took her first sip. “My kinda girl.”

That got him a smile and the mist cleared from her eyes. “Why are you so sure your friend is alive?”

“I saw him.” He fingered his phone, itching to show her the video. But he wasn’t stupid. T-Rex had taught him that. He’d stolen that tape at gunpoint, and he knew better than to serve up that kind of story to a reporter. And, although Banks’ warning had ruffled his feathers, he respected the bartender enough to be careful around Ella, especially when he had a real serious buzz going after an evening of drinking. “It was at a gas station, and I played the scene over and over in my head. It was the little things—the way he moved, the tat on his arm, the pizza he was eating—it’s hard to explain.”

“Sounds right up my alley.” She smiled—a real smile, and not the fake one she used on TV—her eyes crinkling at the corners. Damn she was pretty.

“I thought you were a news reporter.”

“My big dream was always investigative journalism.” She sipped her drink, leaving a pink lipstick print on the glass. Ella had nice lips, full and lush. Tank imagined Ella in her tight suit on her knees, looking up at him with those big, blue eyes, those beautiful lips wrapped around his cock. His blood rushed to his groin, and he tried to pay attention to her words and not the images in his head of him with this classy chick, showing her a bit of rough and making her scream with pleasure.

“Unfortunately, the powers that be needed a new face for the evening news, and they liked mine,” she continued.

“You’re good.” Tank didn’t usually throw out compliments, but Ella was good. Damned good. And he would know since he had watched her on the news every night for a couple of weeks after T-Rex’s big strikeout. Who knew she’d turn out to be so nice and easy to talk to, or that she’d even want to share some of her personal life with a guy like him? Even if they didn’t wind up in bed together, he was just happy to share his grief with someone who understood exactly how he felt, and the fact that she was attractive made it that much more enjoyable.

“Thanks.” Her face lit up with her smile. “I actually think you mean that instead of just saying it to get into my pants.”

“I do mean it.” His body warmed with the knowledge he had pleased her. “And I wouldn’t try to get into your pants ‘cause you’re wearing a skirt.”

She laughed, her eyes sparkling, like he’d said the funniest damn thing in the world, and Tank felt the first stirring of something akin to pleasure, a feeling he hadn’t had since T-Rex disappeared.

“I have ambitions beyond the local Conundrum news.” She drummed her thumb on the counter. “Getting the scoop on one of the country’s biggest outlaw MCs would open those doors. What if I help you find your friend? I meet a lot of people doing what I do. I’ve made a lot of contacts…”

Aha. So this was what she wanted. He felt a stab of pride at the thought he’d so quickly discovered what Banks had been dying to know, and he imagined Banks’s face when he told him Ella Masters was after a story about the Sinners. But his imaginary pride quickly faded when he thought about telling Jagger and the executive board. No doubt they would do something to ensure that kind of story never made the news, and after hearing about Ella’s loss, he didn’t want her to get hurt.

“Sorry, love. Club business stays in the club. If Jagger ever caught me sharing club information, friend or not, he’d have my head.”

Her beautiful lips turned down at the corners, and she stroked her finger over his knuckles. Damn she had soft hands, and her nails were painted the same hot sunglow red as T-Rex’s bike.

“Not even something small?”

“I’m not the talker T-Rex was … is,” he said, his brain fuzzed by the gentle stroke of her hand and the knowledge that Ella Masters was touching him. “Never had his ability to charm women into my bed.”

“His charm didn’t work with me.” She finished her drink, licked her lips. Tank’s gaze followed her little pink tongue, imagining the things her tongue could do in the same place he wanted her lips to be.

“He wasn’t my type.” Her words came out in a soft murmur that he could feel in his cock.

“What is your type?” T-Rex was every woman’s type so he couldn’t figure out what kind of dude Ella would want.