Page 107 of Tank’s Weakness

The way he’s talking makes it sound like he wants me to look like a doll. Like he wants to shape me into his preferred model of a bride. Doesn’t he know that’s not how that works? Has he really gone this far off the deep end that he’s forgotten that I have autonomy over myself?

“Maybe you could finally get that boob job. I know you are self-conscious over your chest,” he says, eyebrows raised.

“Maybe,” I lie.

I don’t have any issues with my chest and haven’t since high school.

This is insane. He doesn’t want me to be, well, me.

The sound of motorcycles catches my attention, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Not this time, at least.

Is it him? Is it Tank?

“See, Delaney, I knew you could be agreeable. It’s so much easier if you just do as I want,” he says, petting my hair.

“Of course.” I smile weakly. “I just want to make you happy.”

Please let Tank be here. Let this be over.

Blaine cups both sides of my face and moves to pull me in for a kiss. Only before his lips can touch mine, the door bursts open, and everything becomes pure chaos.

Tank

I kick the door open with such force that it ricochets back at me, and I have to stop it from slamming in my face.

The scene before me has me seeing red.

He has my girl backed up against the bed, shoulders bare, clutching a blanket to cover herself. Fear is written all over her face.

Not only did he take her against her will, but he also stripped her, cornered her, and is now about to force himself onto her?

Hell no.

“What are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be here!” Blaine rants.

He grabs ahold of her hair and pulls, making her cry out.

“Tank!” my girl cries out.

There is pain there, but also relief. She is happy to see me.

“Baby, are you okay?” I ask.

She chokes out a sob. “I’ve been better.”

He shakes her. “Stop. Stop talking to him, Delaney! You will submit to me! How many times do I have to tell you?”

“Let Delaney go,” Acid demands from behind me.

“Tell him you don’t want him, Delaney. Tell him you choose me.” He pulls her hair harder, making her wince.

“Back away,” Gunner demands.

I can’t tell you who else is in the room because everything around me goes fuzzy as I keep my eyes locked on the dipshit in front of me.

Dead.

He’s a dead man standing.