Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 28170 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 141(@200wpm)___ 113(@250wpm)___ 94(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28170 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 141(@200wpm)___ 113(@250wpm)___ 94(@300wpm)
We pulled out from the bar and down the road to the motel. When we parked up, Tank looked back at me and sighed. “Why do I get the feeling you’re trouble?”
I smiled and winked. Because I fucking was.
I slid from the motorcycle and tapped Tank’s shoulder. “Come on, big boy. Gotta get you cleaned up.”
“Nah, I’ll do it—”
I swung to face him, hands on my hips. “Now I ain’t gonna take no for an answer, darlin’. Get your hulking muscles off that bike and follow me.” I ducked into the reception on the way. A young kid was behind the desk. Maybe sixteen. I leaned on the desk. His eyes immediately went to my tits. Always happened when you had a rack this size. Goddamn beacons on my chest. “You got a first aid kit I can borrow, sweetie?” The kid scrambled beneath the desk and put one on the top. “Thanks, darlin’.”
Tank huffed a laugh behind me. “You’ll be the one he jerks off to tonight,” he muttered under his breath as I passed him.
I laughed, and saw something spark in Tank’s blue eyes when I said, “Hope he ain’t the only one.”
He laughed louder. There went that damn light feeling in my chest again.
The blood on Tank’s face made him look like something from a horror movie. I tapped his chest. “Let’s get that blood off your face before you give the kid nightmares.”
I walked to my room. Tank followed. I could see the hesitation on his face when I looked back. He clearly didn’t want to come with me.
Tough shit. He was coming.
As we entered my room, I pointed to the end of the bed. “Sit down. Shirt and jacket off.”
Tank stalled. His jaw clenched. I was opening the first aid kit when I noticed. His eyes bored into the threadbare red carpet. I walked over and made him face me. “I’ve already seen the white power and Nazi tattoos, darlin’. So get the shirt and jacket off and show me those muscles. Those tats don’t scare me. You don’t scare me.”
“I should.”
I moved to the kit, ignoring his muttered words. It was a couple of minutes before I heard Tank sigh and start to shuck off his clothes. When I lifted my head, I was met with a wide chest littered with tattoo after tattoo. Scars were everywhere. White and red raised slashes, slicing through his black tattoos, making his skin look like a faded road map. No part of me thought Tank had had an easy life.
“You still in?” I asked as I guided him back to the bed. My hand barely covered even a quarter of his bicep. He was tall enough that his face was almost in line with mine when he sat down. He shook his head. I let out a quiet sigh of relief. He was out of the Klan.
We were quiet as I started wiping the blood from his head. There was a large gash on one side. On the opposite side to the shank scar. This close I could smell him again. He was like a walking extension of his bike—oil and leather and so damn good. The guy made my pussy clench. I was a sucker for the shaved-head, tattooed, muscled god look.
“You’ve been around the Klan?” Tank finally asked, his voice husky. His words snapped me out of my head.
“Family,” I said. “Cousins and shit. I went to a few parties at their place in Waco as a teen.” I shrugged. “Mamma and Papa were close to some Klansmen too. They weren’t members on paper, of course, but they sure as shit would have killed me if I’d come home with a black or Mexican boyfriend.” I looked down at Tank. “Papa died years ago, but Mamma probably would have approved of you.”
“Good to know.”
I poured some peroxide onto a cotton ball. “This will sting.” I pressed the cotton ball to his cut. Tank didn’t even flinch. But I did when his hands came to my waist. His thumbs ran over my hips. I could talk for Texas, but the touch of this guy took my voice the hell away.
Eventually I asked, “You get this scar with the Klan?”
Tank looked up at me. His hands stayed on my hips. “Prison.”
I nodded. “You been out long?”
“Two days.”
My eyes widened. “And you’ve already left the Klan?”
“Yesterday.”
“Ah.” Things were starting to make more sense. “You in prison long?”
“Three years.”
I stepped back, moving to the cut on his cheek and lip. He’d taken a few punches to the face. “You want a drink?” I didn’t even wait, just got the vodka from the mini fridge. I’d bought some supplies with some of the money Tank had given me. Well, I’d bought clothes and liquor.
Tank unscrewed the top and drank a few mouthfuls. He held the bottle out to me. “Shots? Always up for getting wasted, darlin’.”