Page 3 of Tank's Temptation

Of course not. That might give me the illusion I’m doing any part of this willingly.

I place my hands against the sides of his cut instead. Tank starts the engine, and the vibration rises through the bike into my body. When he pulls away from the motel, the sudden force slides me forward. My arms lock around his waist on instinct.

His stomach tightens beneath my hands.

The knowledge that he feels me too does nothing useful.

We turn away from the highway and take a narrow road through wet woods. Tank rides fast but not carelessly. He slows before every blind curve, keeps the bike steady over slick patches, and shifts his body to shield mine when a truck throws spray across our lane.

He is careful with me while carrying me somewhere I don’t want to go. The contradiction makes anger sit like acid in my stomach.

Ransom appears in pieces through the rain. Dark storefronts, a gas station, old brick buildings facing the river. We pass through town without stopping, then turn onto a road that climbs between thick trees.

A high metal fence emerges ahead. Cameras sit above the gate, and a man in a black cut watches from beneath a covered guard post with a rifle hanging easily at his side.

The gate rolls open, revealing motorcycles lining the wall of a long garage. Light pours through the open bays onto wet concrete where men in Kingdom Come colors work around stripped engines and tool chests. More brothers stand outside the clubhouse, some armed openly, all turning to watch Tank bring me inside.

The gates close behind us with a mechanical screeching clang.

Whatever chance I had of walking away disappears with them.

Tank parks near the clubhouse and removes my camera bag before he lets me off the bike. My legs shake when my boots hit the ground, from adrenaline rather than the ride, and he notices that too. His hand comes toward my elbow, then stops before touching me.

A dark-haired man waits beneath the clubhouse awning with another broad man beside him. The first wears PRESIDENT over his chest and KANE on the opposite side. He isn’t as heavilybuilt as Tank, but the compound seems to arrange itself around his stillness.

Tank carries my bag to him. “Found her at the Starlight.”

“Harlan killed Daniel Morrow,” I say before either man can discuss me like freight. “I photographed it.”

Kane studies me, then the bag.

“Do you know Harlan?”

“I know he did business with this club before I took over the club.”

“And that’s enough to have me dragged out of a motel against my will?”

His jaw hardens, though his voice stays level. “It’s enough to verify what happened before anybody gets your files or puts a hand on you. I know what I’ve been told, that’s all.”

“Your enforcer already put his hands on me.”

Kane’s gaze shifts to Tank. Something passes between them too quickly for me to read.

“Secure her until morning,” Kane says. “Harlan gets nothing until Cash verifies his story.”

The man beside him, Judge, according to his patch, looks at my bruised wrist, then at Tank. He doesn’t question Kane’s order or offer empty reassurance. He only steps aside when Tank motions me toward the clubhouse.

Inside, music plays low behind a crowded bar. The room smells of beer, engine oil, and damp leather. Men stop talking as I pass. A huge Kingdom Come emblem covers one wall, surrounded by photographs of brothers beside bikes, graves, and one another.

This isn’t a gang meeting in somebody’s back room. It’s a whole world with its own gates, rules, and weapons.

Tank takes me down a hallway and opens a plain door near the end. His room is cleaner than I expect and almost aggressively simple. A made bed, one chair, a dresser with alocked metal box on top, and boots lined beneath the window. The only personal things are a framed photograph of several younger men in cuts and a silver chain hanging from the corner of the mirror.

He sets my camera bag beside the bed but keeps himself between me and it.

“There’s a bathroom through there,” he says. “You take the bed.”

“How generous.”