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Walking back to my bike, I knew Tank was much more than a tough chick on a bike. But for now, all I could do was respect her wishes and leave her be.
But as I got on my Harley and rode away, one thing was clear—I wasn’t giving up on her. Not yet. I was gonna dig deeper into her, get her backstory, and prove I'm worth it.
The ride back to the clubhouse was long, my mind racing with thoughts of Tank. When I finally arrived, the familiar sounds and smells greeted me, but they did little to ease the turmoil inside me.
Bull was waiting for me, a knowing look on his face. “How’d it go?”
“Talked to Lisa?”
He hung his head. Guilty. I wish he’d leave my sister alone. Piss or get off the pot. And I wish Lisa would quit telling him my business.
“Not good,” I admitted, parking my bike. “Tank kicked me out.”
Bull chuckled, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “So, it’s Tank. She’s a tough one, Boiler. But don’t give up. Women like her, they’re worth the fight.”
“Yeah,” I said, thinking about Tank’s fierce spirit and the way she made me feel alive. “She is.”
The rest of the evening flew by with club stuff and brotherhood, but my mind kept going back to Tank. I was determined to win her over, to break through those walls she’d built so high. And I was willing to do whatever it took to make that happen.
Chapter 11
Boiler
As the sun rose, I prepared for the day. The roar of my Harley beneath me felt like a steady heartbeat as I tore down the open road. Threatening the riding clubs into showing up for the Hell on Heelz charity run wasn’t exactly what I’d pictured myself doing, but hell, here I was.
I never thought I’d be doing anything for the Hell on Heelz, let alone riding in a charity run for breast cancer. But if it meant proving to Tank that I was serious about us—about her—I’d do it without hesitation.
My mind wandered to the previous night. Tank’s walls had shot up faster than I could blink, and she’d pushed me away like I was the fucking plague. But I saw something in her eyes, something that told me she wasn’t as sure about her decision as she wanted to appear.
As I rode into town, I thought about my brothers. Not all of them were on board with the truce. Riptide might be getting hitched to Brat, but that didn’t mean everyone else was ready to cozy up to the Heelz. I needed to talk to them, convince them that riding in the charity run wasn’t just about the truce—it was about something bigger.
I pulled up to the first club, a group of weekend warriors who called themselves the Iron Riders. Their clubhouse was a converted gas station, the walls covered in graffiti and their bikes lined up outside like a display of half-assed masculinity. I strode in, my presence commanding immediate attention.
“Boiler!” the president, a scrawny guy named Creature, greeted me with a forced smile. “What brings you here?”
“Cut the bullshit, Creature,” I growled. “You and your boys are gonna be at the Hell on Heelz charity run next week. No excuses.”
Creature’s smile faltered. “Look, man, we got other plans—”
“Plans?” I interrupted, stepping closer, making sure he felt every bit of my towering presence. “Your plans just changed. You’re showing up, and you’re donating. Understand?”
He gulped, nodding quickly. “Yeah, okay. We’ll be there.”
“That’s what I thought,” I said, turning on my heel and heading out the door. One down, a few more to go.
As I made my rounds, each conversation went similarly. Some tried to protest, but one look at my pissed-off face shut them up real quick. By the time I finished, every riding club in the surrounding area knew they’d better be at that run, or they’d have me and the Slayers to deal with. And trust me, nobody wanted that.
Back at the clubhouse, it was time to rally the Slayers. Our weekly meeting, or church, as we called it, was in full swing. Riptide was talking about our upcoming run, illegal shit, but I had something else on my mind.
When Riptide finished, I stood up. “Alright, listen up, you sorry bastards. We’ve got a charity run coming up, and I expect every single one of you to be there.”
The room fell silent.
“We?” Bull, our VP, raised an eyebrow. “Boiler, why the hell should we ride for the Heelz?”
“Because it’s the right thing to do,” I snapped. “And because we need to honor the truce. We’re not just riding for them. We’re riding for a good cause. Breast cancer, remember? Y’all have women in your lives.”
A few of the guys grumbled, and Bull smirked. “You’re just the latest to fall into the Heelz trap. It’s a honey trap, and you’re all tangled up in that pussy juice.”
