Chaos Bound (Sinner's Tribe Motorcycle Club #4)(26)

TANK


Tank wandered into Big Bill’s Custom Motorcycles and Artwork dazed and floundering, his senses numbed by alcohol and lack of sleep. In all his imaginings, he had always pictured himself picking up T-Rex’s bike because his friend had come home. He had saved it from the original Big Bill’s shop after Viper burned it down, and brought it to Evie after she’d rebuilt the business in a new location. He’d made sure it would be as good as new and ready for T-Rex to ride. And then Snake had ruined everything.

Dax had worked him over the way only Dax could, and Snake never changed his story. T-Rex had survived three months in Viper’s dungeon. Three months in pain. Three months in agony. Three months alone and believing until the end the Sinners would come for him, that Tank would have his back.

Tank pulled out his flask and finished the last of his whiskey. Hope no longer burned in his chest, but the whiskey soothed his pain.

“Hey, Tank. How can I help you?” Evie looked up from the counter and Tank forced a smile. It wasn’t Evie’s fault that Viper had become obsessed with her, or that Viper had gone to the shop that day because her former boss, Big Bill, had tried to rip Viper off. And it wasn’t Evie’s fault that T-Rex had saved her from Viper by offering himself in Evie’s place.

“I came for T-Rex’s bike.”

Evie’s smile faded and pain flickered across her face. “I’ll tell the guys in the garage to bring it round.”

Tank checked out the bike gear as he waited for her to return. Evie had kept everything from the name to what was left of Big Bill’s inventory when she rebuilt the shop. She sold everything from new and used bikes to gear and parts. Out back, the mechanics did fixes and tune-ups, and Evie did custom paintwork. He’d thought about getting some artwork for T-Rex as a welcome home present, but now he knew his buddy was never coming back.

“They’ll have it for you in a few minutes.” Evie came around the counter and held out a folder. “These are the designs I had worked up after we talked about artwork for the bike. I thought you might like to have them.”

His hand shook as he took the folder and he held it against his chest. If he looked at them now, he’d embarrass himself and dishonor T-Rex’s memory, just as he had done at the funeral three months ago. He sniffed, inhaling the scent of leather and the new bike smell that T-Rex loved. Tank had gone with T-Rex to pick out a bike the day after T-Rex had patched into the club, and T-Rex had cracked him up breathing in the new bike smell so deep he’d choked himself. That was the same day Tank had given T-Rex the knife his grandfather had given him, repaired, polished, and sharpened to celebrate T-Rex’s patch-in. He’d had a message engraved on the hilt. Something straight from the f*cking heart.

“I heard about Snake,” she said softly, pulling him back into the moment. “I’m so sorry, Tank. I knew from the fact you hadn’t picked up the bike that you still hoped.”

Fuck. He wished she’d stop being nice. Zane’s old lady was T-Rex’s type, slim and pretty with dark hair and green eyes. T-Rex had tried to hit on her when they were first assigned to protect her, not realizing she’d been the woman Zane had held a torch for all the years they’d known him.

He nodded his thanks, unable to speak for the lump in his throat, and headed outside where Shooter, the newest full-patch member of the Sinner’s Tribe, was loading T-Rex’s bike into the trailer under the guidance of Shaggy, the oldest member of the club.

Stocky, and broad-shouldered, with a short blond buzz cut, Shooter looked like he should be playing high school football instead of running with an outlaw MC, but he knew his way around a gun and was one of the best marksmen in the club, albeit a little out of control.

“Careful,” Tank shouted. “Don’t scratch the paint.”

“What are you going to do with it?” Shooter grunted as he pushed the bike up the ramp.

“Not up to me. It’s club property now that…” Tank choked on his words. He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t say that T-Rex was gone because he still didn’t believe it. T-Rex had been closer to him than a brother. They had a bond, and that bond was still there. He could feel it, taste it. If T-Rex were dead, he would be dead, too, like those old couples who died within days or hours of each other because they couldn’t bear to live without their partner. Not that he and T-Rex were together in that way, but they were as close as friends could be. Closer.

What the f*ck was he doing? His head said it was over, but his own damn heart was still beating. He couldn’t give up. Until he laid his eyes on an actual body, he just wouldn’t accept that T-Rex was dead.

“You gotta let it go, man.” Shaggy clapped him on the shoulder, the ring on his finger digging through Tank’s shirt. “I lost a lot of brothers over the years and at some point, you gotta tell hope to take a hike and move on with your life.”

Gray and grizzled, with a bushy silver beard, Shaggy had been with the Sinners almost since the club’s inception, and yet he had never run for any of the executive positions, preferring to remain a member-at-large. As far as Tank knew, Shaggy had no kids or old lady, although he enjoyed the attention of the sweet butts, and would take two or three to his bed at a time. Jagger often bounced ideas off him and he was well respected in the club. But his biggest claim to fame was that he hadn’t cut his beard in twenty-two years. Tank didn’t know how long a beard would be after twenty-two years, but it sure as hell smelled like it had never been washed.