Killer. Criminal. Sociopath.
All of these words have been used to describe me, and for the longest time I believed that that’s all I was.
I’m the man you call in to clean up your mess, assuming your mess is a guy who needs a bullet to the head. I’m the man the MC calls when they want their dirty work done.
I’m the man who doesn’t feel.
Now my mess is a woman who won’t save herself. I’ll fight like hell to save her, but at what price to the club? And at what cost to me?
Warning: TANK contains graphic violence, profanity, drug use, and explicit sexual situations that may be a trigger and cause some readers emotional discomfort. Intended for an 18+ audience only. Not intended for pussies.
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About the Author:
Carmen Jenner is a thirty-something author, doctor, pilot and CIA agent.
She's also a compulsive, flagrant prevaricator who gets to make things up for a living.
While Sugartown may not technically exist, Carmen grew up in a small Australian town just like it, and just like her characters, she always longed for something more. They didn't have an Elijah Cade, though. If they did, you can be sure she would have never left.
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“So, the usual?” Louis asks.
“Yeah.” Tank intervenes by knocking Louis’ arm away when he tries to hand me a menu.
I glare at the obnoxious arse. “I don’t get to decide what I want?”
“Nope.” He smirks, and it’s quite possibly the millionth one I’ve seen today. “I know exactly what you want. You just need to trust me.”
“Okay then,” Louis says. “Coffee?”
“Yes,” I practically shout. “The strongest you have.”
Tank shakes his head. “Get her a latté.”
I swear if looks could kill, Tank would be burnt to a char right about now. No one takes my coffee from me and lives to tell about it.
“Your system doesn’t need any more stimulation.”
“It’s caffeine, Tank, not cocaine,” I argue. “I’m pretty sure I’ll be okay.”
He shrugs, and Louis glances nervously between us again. He looks as though he wants to flee. Tank has that effect on a lot of people. Then again, it could be the fact that I just admitted to being a junkie and at any second he’s expecting me to break out my stash and start snorting lines off of his fancy table. Louis says, “Okay, so latté it is then.”
“No, I want—”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but your man is too scary to say no to.” He backs away from the table, shouting, “But don’t you worry, it’ll be the best latté you’ve ever tasted. You just sit tight.”
“He’s not my fucking man,” I shout back, drawing the attention of every patron in the room, which is really only two other people, not including Louis and Kerri. I look around sheepishly and then wrap my arms around myself, turning my attention back to Tank. “Stop fucking smirking, you arsehole, or I’m walking.”
“Try it and see how far you get, Warrior Princess.”
“I’m betting I’d at least get halfway down the street before you caught up to me.”
“You wanna test that theory?” He challenges with a grin, though his gaze warms me head to toe with its intensity. “My money says you’ll make it to the door before I drag you back to the table, put you over my fuckin’ knee and spank your arse ’til it’s red raw.” I let out a deep, shaking breath and lick my lips. Jesus Christ do I want that. I want it so fucking bad. My nipples turn rock hard and Tank’s gaze drops to my black singlet. I’m suddenly hot, wet, and hyper aware of his lingering gaze. This man is going to be the death of me.
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