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“I’m going to keep my woman safe,” I replied, kissing the back of her hand.
After a few more minutes of talking, I finally convinced Alexandra I was well enough that she could leave. Reluctantly, she slid off the bed and met Tank at the door.
“I hear I’m moving in with you,” she said.
“For a little while,” Tank replied. “It’s not a pig sty, I promise.”
Alexandra laughed softly. I caught a glimpse of Tank placing his hand at the small of her back, guiding her down the hallway, before they vanished from sight. A moment later, my Sergeant at Arms, Crow, entered the room. He was lean and wiry, with a salt-and-pepper undercut. Sometimes, his soft-spoken ways seemed to put him at odds with the rough life of a motorcycle club member. But he had a cold, calculating side to him and it was bone-chilling to witness.
Crow set a bag of my clothes on the foot of my bed.
“The boys are waiting outside,” he said. “Do you want one of us to pay a visit to Stephen?”
I pulled a pair of jeans out of the bag, shaking my head. As tempting as it was to think about beating the living hell out of Stephen again, it clearly hadn’t worked the first time around. And he would likely have a security team at this point for protection.
“No, it might escalate things faster than we want,” I replied. “Stephen hired a gunman and that’s where we’ll hit him. He should have done the dirty work himself. But now, we can find that gunman, get proof that Stephen tried to have Alexandra killed, and finish him off for good.”
Chapter Nine
Everything about Tank’s apartment spoke of a man accustomed to control and order. The open-floor plan of his kitchen was a chef’s dream, decked out in white and stainless steel. Pots and pans hung from a rack overhead. An array of knives was neatly lined up along the wall above the counter. Small potted plants of basil, thyme, and rosemary were tucked into the window, gleaming a brilliant, rich green in the sunlight.
On the drive over, we had stopped at a convenience store to pick up anything I might need during my stay, mostly toiletries and clothes. I really wanted my personal things but Tank informed me that my motel room was a crime scene, which meant my belongings were all being packed up and cataloged as evidence.
Even after settling into Tank’s guest room – a neat and tidy room in shades of dark blue and black, with framed pictures of snow-capped mountains on the walls, and a handful of military thriller paperbacks on the nightstand – I felt exhausted and restless at the same time. I wanted to call Brewer, just to hear his voice. I knew he wouldn’t be in the hospital at this point anymore, and I couldn’t stop wondering…where was he now? He needed rest. He needed to heal.
But I’d seen the way his jaw clenched. I’d seen the glint in his eye when he looked at me. Brewer was pissed. I’d nearly been shot on his watch.
At last, unable to stand my solitude anymore, I wandered into the living room where I found Tank, seated on the couch. The television played some survival show, the volume turned down. On an end table at his elbow was a pistol. In his hand, he fiddled with his phone, the screen blank.
“Hey,” he said. “Everything comfortable in your room?”
I nodded. “It’s perfect. Thank you.” I gestured to his phone and held up my own phone. “Looks like we’re both antsy for news.”
“I hate waiting. Always preferred to be in the middle of the action instead.”
“Sorry you got stuck with me.”
Tank waved me off. “Brewer knew what he was doing when he told me to keep an eye on you. I’m happy to help.” He tipped his head toward the kitchen. “Can I interest you in something to eat? Or is that just me looking for an excuse to stress-cook?”
I laughed. After taking Brewer to the hospital, everything had happened so fast and I’d lost track of time. It was nearly 5pm by now and I hadn’t eaten a bite all day. My plans to have breakfast with Brewer never panned out.
“I would kill for some food right now,” I replied.
Tank eagerly rose to his feet and headed into the kitchen. I trailed after him, taking a seat on one of the bar stools at the counter.
“What are you in the mood for?” he asked.
“Surprise me.”
“You got it.”
As Tank started pulling out ingredients from the refrigerator – eggs and milk, butter and scallions and red peppers – I rested my arms on the counter. Even though Tank was doing his best to put me at ease, I was still aware that I was under lockdown. Stephen was so desperate to control me that he would rather have me killed than let me live my life. The thought left a sour pit in my stomach that threatened to ruin my appetite before Tank had even started cooking.
My phone rang, startling me from my thoughts. As I scrambled to answer it, Tank glanced at me, raising his eyebrows. A spark of hope burned in my chest, hoping it was Brewer. I didn’t recognize the phone number on the screen and I faltered. But then I remembered a majority of my belongings were bagged as evidence, except for whatever I’d been carrying to the hospital. Brewer’s phone might have been lost in the melee as well. He could have picked up a temporary burner phone to keep me in the loop. So I tapped the answer button.
“Brewer?” I asked.
“Oh, no, honey. Much better than that.”
