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“Yeah, I know what that means,” I growled, stepping closer. “You’re gonna dress like that, flirt with some assholes, and leave their pockets lighter. You know I hate that shit, Tank.”
Her expression hardened as she turned to face me. “What’s your problem, Boiler? This is what we do. It’s part of who we are.”
“It’s not who you are,” I snapped, grabbing her arm. “You’re better than this. You don’t need to hustle guys to make a living. You’ve got your shop, you’ve got me. Why do you keep doing this?”
She yanked her arm free, her eyes blazing in anger. “Don’t tell me what I need, Boiler. I’m a Hell on Heelz. I’ve been doing this long before you came around, and I’m not about to stop just because you don’t like it.”
The door slammed behind her, leaving me seething in the silence. I knew I couldn’t just sit around, so I headed out, planning to follow her and make sure she didn’t get herself into too much trouble. My bike roared to life, the engine’s growl mirroring my frustration.
I came across them at this swanky bar in the neighboring town, where wealthy dudes go to get wasted and hit on girls like Tank and her sisters. They were at a corner table, laughing and flirting with a couple of guys who were clearly smitten. I clenched my fists, forcing myself to stay back and watch.
It didn’t take long for the Heelz to work their magic. I watched as they took the guys for everything they had, using charm and seduction to bleed them dry. It was infuriating, watching Tank smile and laugh, knowing it was all a game. She didn’t act that way with me. And she was mine.
After they left the bar, I followed them back to Tank’s place. The moment she walked in, I was right behind her, slamming the door shut. She turned to face me, a look of defiance in her eyes.
“What the hell, Boiler? You followed me?” Her voice was higher than I’d ever heard it.
“Damn right, I did,” I snapped. I didn’t care if Pixie and Razor were watching. “I couldn’t stand the thought of you out there, all over those guys, just to make a dime. It’s fucked up, Tank.”
Her eyes narrowed, her jaw set. She marched the girls out the front door before she turned to me. “How dare you raise your voice in front of my sisters. Raise your voice at all.”
“How dare you act like a whore to line your pockets.”
“You knew what I was when you got with me. This is who I am. I’m a Heel and this is tradition. If you can’t handle it, then maybe you’re not as tough as you think.”
“Don’t give me that shit,” I growled, stepping closer. “I can handle a lot, but seeing you degrade yourself like that, it kills me. You’re worth more than that.”
She stepped up to me, her face inches from mine, anger radiating off her. “Don’t you dare judge me, Boiler. You don’t get to tell me how to live my life. You don’t get to decide what’s right for me. I’m a survivor, and I do what I have to do. Do you think Pix and I make shit at our little businesses?”
“And what about us?” I demanded. “What about me? I thought we were building something real here. I thought we had a future.”
She stared at me, her eyes searching mine, and for a moment, I saw a flicker of doubt. But then her walls came back up, and she shook her head. “This is who I am. Take it or leave it.”
I grabbed her shoulders, my grip firm but not painful. “I don’t want to lose you, Tank. But I can’t stand by and watch you do this. I can’t.”
She shoved me away, her eyes blazing with fury. “Then maybe you should leave, Boiler. Maybe you’re not cut out for this biker life.”
Fuck, those words really got to me. Not cut out. I stood there, my chest heaving, trying to control the storm of emotions inside me. I loved her, more than I’d ever loved anyone, but I didn’t know if I could handle this.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I said finally, determined. “I’m here, Tank. For better or worse. But this... this has to change.”
She stared at me, her eyes softening. For a moment, I thought she might give in, might see reason. But then she turned away, her shoulders stiff.
“Goodnight, Boiler,” she said, her voice cold.
I stood there briefly, then left, the door closing behind me. This wasn’t over, not by a long shot. But for tonight, we were at an impasse, and I had no idea how to fix it.
That fight seemed to reinforce Tank’s walls, and all week I struggled to get past them. At the Roost the sounds of laughter and clinking of bottles filled the air. Tank and I were seated at our usual spot, enjoying a rare moment of peace. We’d fought all week about her going out with the Heelz. Fuck, I didn’t mind her riding and doing her job, but her rubbing her body all over some man to steal his wallet. I drew a line.
Tank was looking especially beautiful tonight. Her blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her blue eyes sparkled with trouble. She was the perfect mix of toughness and tenderness, and I couldn't get enough of her.
As I reached for my beer, the door swung open, and a chill ran down my spine. Jeff, Tank's ex-husband, walked in, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on us. The smug look on his face made my blood boil.
Tank stiffened beside me, her grip on her glass tightening. "What the hell is he doing here?" she muttered under her breath.
I was out of my seat before I knew it, ready to confront him. But Tank grabbed my arm, stopping me in my tracks. "No, Boiler. This is my fight."
I clenched my jaw, hating the idea of her facing him alone. "Tank, you don't have to do this. Let me handle him."
