Page 42 of Tank’s Weakness

I wink at him.

He reaches across the table, grabbing my hand. “No way am I sharing that with him. That’s only for me.”

I light up at his words. This feels more than just friends with benefits, but part of me wonders if I’m imagining it. A man like him doesn’t seem like the type to settle down.

Clearing my throat, I change the subject. “So what was your childhood like?”

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret them. Not because I don’t want to know, but because it’s such an abrupt change of subject. In true Tank fashion, though, he rolls with it.

He pulls back, focusing on his food as he answers. “My young childhood was great. Some of my best memories.”

I hum under my breath. “You were rebellious as a teen?”

He shakes his head with a small smile. “Nope, obedient, but by then my mother learned she could profit off of me.”

“That’s why you talk the way you do. You sound much more educated than what I imagine bikers sound like.”

He nods.

I give him a small smile. “When did things change for you?”

“It started when I was thirteen. One of her friends mentioned what a handsome young man I was becoming. She hinted at not minding looking at me. My mother joked that she should pay for the pleasure. The woman pulled out her checkbook right then and wrote Mother a check. From then, it only got worse.”

My heart breaks from the sadness on his face. To have to go through all of that as a teenage boy. It’s disgusting.

“She deserves to be in prison. Please tell me she’s locked up.”

He laughs, but it’s humorless. “Yeah, right. She still lives in Boston. Has a nice mini-mansion and all the friends she could want. All it cost was her precious son.”

“You don’t see her anymore then?” I ask, needing him to say no.

“Not since I turned eighteen. I joined the Saints, then did this to my face and body. I took away what she profited on.”

I look down at my plate, my stomach sour now.

“Is that why you enjoy me ordering you around? Because your mother did?”

“No.” He reaches out and grabs my hand. “I don’t exactly know why I enjoy it. I never got a hard-on from my mother ordering me around, but her friends? That was a different story. It might have stemmed from the trauma, or maybe I was always like this and they unlocked something inside of me. Either way, it’s not something I’m ashamed of. I just like to keep it close to the vest.”

“Do you think your friends would judge you for it?”

He thinks a long moment before he answers. “No. They would be there for me. Maybe make a few jokes to show that they won’t treat me any differently. I never told them, though. I have never told anyone about my childhood. I pushed it so far into the back of my mind. What am I going to say? I was a teenage boy being pursued by multiple rich and gorgeous women? That’s some men’s dream.”

“You were a kid though, and it wasn’t your dream. Was it?”

He shakes his head. “It’s in the past, and I’ve moved on, though.”

I nod. “Well, if you ever want to talk about it, I’m a safe place. You can talk to me.”

“I know. I feel at ease with you,” he admits.

I feel like I’m on cloud nine.

“What about your childhood?” he asks, pushing his now clear plate away.

“My mother was more of a friend than a mother. She wasn’t bad per se, but she was fifteen when she had me, so really we grew up together. Unfortunately, I grew up more mature. It went from her taking care of me to me taking care of her. Making sure the bills were paid and such. As soon as I turned eighteen, she told me she loved me, but she needed to go live her life now. I still talk to her and see her a couple times a year, but she’s out chasing the life she feels she missed out on.”

“That’s sad.”