Tank (Rebel Saints MC, Cutover Chapter, Motorcycle Club Book 4) by Lily J. Adams

Author:Lily J. Adams [Adams, Lily J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-05-22T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine: My Fair Lady

Tank

Time escaped us, inside the walls of that hotel room, we were irrevocably lost in each other. I sat at the edge of the bed, hanging up the phone with Joy after hearing Claire’s sleepy voice on the other end of the line. I couldn’t help but be completely enthralled by the woman before me.

She held the sheet over her bare chest, her dark hair spilling into her face while she thumbed through the pages of the room service menu.

“What are you in the mood for?” I asked.

“Is everything an option?” she teased.

“Worked up an appetite, huh?”

“Maybe,” Ro replied, her cheeks turning pink. She turned the menu over to me, pressing her lips together, like she wanted to leave the decision in my hands. “How about you pick?”

“Nope. I’m having whatever you’re having,” I said.

“Alright, I’m settling on chicken tenders and fries.”

“Now you sound like Claire.”

Ro shoved me playfully.

Damn it, she’s adorable. I rested my fist over my heart, pretending like it hurt. “Chicken tenders and fries it is.” I made my way over to the hotel landline, calling the number for room service. I placed the order along with a bottle of wine and some water for the room.

Ro sunk right back into the mattress, turning to me the moment I joined her.

I could look at that beautiful face of hers forever. She had a bright twinkle in her eyes, thick, dark eyelashes, and the sharpest cheekbones I’d ever seen. I brushed my fingertips along them.

She smiled at me. “So, Tank, will I ever have the pleasure of knowing what your real name is?”

“My real name?”

“Well, I’m sure it isn’t Tank. Is it?”

My body tensed and for a split second, my breathing suspended. I thought about the day I was awarded that nickname, how Bear had chosen it specifically because of the way I carried myself out on the battlefield. It became synonymous with my role in the Saints. They called me a powerhouse, the man that got shit done, but I’d been through hell to even get there.

I gazed at the beautiful, innocent woman staring back at me. Ro, the florist whom I met when I brought my daughter in for a bouquet, the one that probably knew nothing about my line of work. I remembered how hesitant she was when she spotted my bike, like it triggered something inside of her.

I can’t tell her about any of this. At least not yet. What if I scare her off?

“No, ah-actually my name is Chris. Chris Horton,” I said.

“Chris. I have to say, I think I like Tank better.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah. It suits you,” she beamed.

I lifted her chin, indulging in the softness of her lips while I kissed her. After a long moment of tasting her mouth, I broke the kiss.

“You know,” she spoke softly. “Tank sounds like the kind of name an MC biker would have. It’s short, direct, just like my best friend’s boyfriend. You’re not an MC member, are you?” she asked with furrowed brows.

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