Page 1

Tank

I have to hand it to Chewy, when she throws a baby shower, she really goes all out. The pregnant women are all perched in their Game of Thrones-eque chairs, complete with dildos where the swords should be. Chewy is wearing her baby gator Chomper in a damn front pack and Lovely is crying over some baby motorcycle boots. So a pretty standard day at DRMC.

“Ah Pres, you have a visitor,” Jimmy calls out to Marx, everyones heads turning to the door.

“Moss? Did Chewy invite you?” Pres asks, shaking hands with Sergeant Davies who seems slightly distracted.

“Are those penis decorations?”

“Yup, and a vag cake,” Chewy answers.

Sergeant Davies stares at her and then points, “Is that an alligator?”

“Yup. His name’s Chomper. Cute, huh?”

He squints at her before shaking himself. “Sorry, Marx, this isn’t a social call. I need to take in one of your men.”

What the fuck?

Marx stands straight, larger than ever. The men with Ol Ladies all edge closer to their women, the rest of us closing ranks in case shit goes down.

“Who?” Marx demands.

“Tyson Sword. He’s been accused of assault and battery.”

What. The. Actual. Fuck?

There’s an uproar as the room loses it. My stomach drops into my ass, even though I know I haven’t been in a fight for fucking years. I work at Devil’s Big Tow, live at the clubhouse, and rarely go out looking for strange. The amount of opportunities I would have to beat someone to pulp is next to nil.

Marx lets out a piercing whistle, calling us to order. “Tank?”

I walk toward Davies and my Pres, coming to a stop in front of my friend and leader. “I didn’t do whatever I’ve been accused of.”

“I know, brother. We’ll get this sorted out.”

Pres turns to glare at Sergeant Davies who raises his hands, placating him. “I know Johnny, the source sounds sketchy, but we have to investigate no matter if it’s a nuisance call or not.”

“Take care of my man, you hear me? Anything less and I’ll be coming for you,” Pres says in all seriousness, holding Davies’ gaze.

A lesser man would have shit themselves by now. Instead, Davies just smiles. “I know you will.”

He turns to leave, indicating I take the lead, not even cuffing me. “Oh Marx?” Davies swings around once more, leaving me to wait for him. “Better call Maxine, so she can have my balls. Again.” He rolls his eyes and then gestures to the door.

“Wire?”

“On it already, Pres,” Wire replies, the phone held up to his ear presumably on the phone with his Momma.

Davies nods his head at them both and follows me out the door. I get a feeling the man knows this is bullshit, but is just doing his job. That’s why I don’t give him too much shit and decide to listen like a good little boy and follow all the instructions.

“I’ll try to get this sorted as soon as, OK?” he says, coming up alongside me before stopping abruptly.

I know exactly what’s stopped him in his tracks.

“What’s with the sand and dildos?” He asks, pointing to the area Chewy has cordoned off.

“It’s Chewy’s ‘dongsai’ garden.”

He stares at me like I’m nuts, so I shrug in reply.

“Wait, Chewy is Rhodes Paxton’s Ol Lady, right?” I nod at him, “Sidney Tombs’ granddaughter? The one with the gator?” I nod again and realization dawns across his face. “It’s all beginning to make sense now.”

“Can we-?” I ask, wanting to get this shit over and done with.

“Yeah, of course.” We move toward his cruiser, and he indicates the passenger side. “I’ll let you ride up front. DRMC is full of good men, no need to sit in the back. Besides, I don’t think I got all the vomit out from earlier.” He grins at me and gets in. Either he knows this is all shit, or he’s the worst sergeant on the face of the earth.

We travel to the station in silence. If I’m honest, I’m not a big talker anyway, but riding shotgun in a police car on my way to being booked for something I have no idea about? Yeah, words ain’t coming easy.

We pull into the small station, Davies studying me for a moment. “Right, let’s get you booked.”

He doesn’t waste much time after that. The easy going Sergeant Davies replaced with a serious professional. Paperwork gets done, I’m given a rundown of how everything is going to work and the next thing I know I’m sitting in a holding cell minus my wallet, my knives and my boots. Staring down at my feet, I decide that I’ll purchase new socks when I get outta here.

“Oh, hey, what are ya in for?” A peppy voice to my left asks. “Lemme guess. Hmmm, did you murder someone?”

Letting out a sigh, I don’t even look up. “Do you think it’d be a good idea to make small talk with a murderer?”

“So you DID murder someone? I knew it! How did you do it? Gun? Knife? Expanding foam in the rear end?”

My head snaps to the side. “What the fuck?”

“What?” Wide green eyes stare back at me. “People never think to use mundane DIY products in their murders. It’s always the same unimaginative carp.”

“Did you just -”

“Yes sir, clean mouth here. No cursing, that’s what my nana taught me. Well, no cursing out loud. In my books, I curse all the time.”

I raise an eyebrow at her, and she raises one back. This woman is probably crazy. Which would make sense because she’s the hottest woman I’ve laid eyes on in a long ass time. She’s sitting on the crappy wooden bench in the cell next to me, so I can’t tell how tall she is exactly, but from what I can see she’s curvy as hell. Big tits, cleavage peeking out from the top of her pinup type dress, thick thighs, soft belly. Blonde curls, big green eyes and pink pouty lips.

“I write romance novels. But not the usual stuff. My ones have murder in them. Sexy murder romance. Or romantic, murder sex.” She frowns at this.

“So, which one is it?”

Her head snaps up as if she forgot I asked her something. She squints at me, then waves a hand dismissively. “All the above. Maybe?” She shrugs and keeps talking. “So, was I right? Did you murder someone?”

The amount of words that keep spilling out of her is a little overwhelming, but I can’t imagine she’s going to be quiet anytime soon and I have no idea how long I’ll be in here for, so I may as well make the best of it.

“I was accused of assaulting someone.”

She nods as if that all makes sense. “I mean I get it. Your hands are the size of hams. The ones with the bones in.”

“Thanks?”

“You’re welcome,” she beams at me. “Wow, you’re really good looking. Such a sharp jaw. I bet you could grate cheese on that jawline. A total grater face. And your body looks like the muscles are really meaty. Like whole slabs of muscles instead of little piddly individual ones. What size are you exactly? Like how big are you? Height, weight, all that stuff. You’d make a great book character.”

“Excuse me?” I gape at her. There is no way in hell I’m going to be a sexy murder romance character. Instead of giving her my stats I decide to distract her. “So, what are you in for? Did you murder someone?”

She snorts as if that’s the funniest thing in the world, “Puhlease. I’d never get caught if I did. But no, I’m in for harassment and indecent exposure.”

My brows hit my hairline. This somewhat sweet looking, maybe crazy lady went down for harassment and indecent exposure?

She lets out a sigh, her breasts heaving under her pretty dress, “Yeah, I approached a man, big, like yourself. I wanted to know if he’d be strong enough to lift me up and bang me against a wall. With clothes on. It was strictly for research, to see if it could be done. Anyway, I may have gotten a little dog and bone-ish and may have not taken no for an answer. So I followed him a little pleading my case and then, THEN when I finally decided to give up I slipped on an actual banana peel, ramming into him, taking him down landing with my face in his junk.”

I try not to laugh at the visual, but she keeps going.

“And to make matters worse this dress was not built for falling and my girls popped clean out of the top.”

“Hence the indecent exposure?”

“Bingo.” Her shoulders slump a little at this before she brightens. “Hey! So we’re both in the same boat! Wrongly accused! This could make a good story.”

She pulls a notepad and pen out of that amazing cleavage of hers and starts mumbling to herself, taking notes.

“Tyson? You’re up,” Sergeant Davies steps up to my cage and unlocks it, looking over at the blonde next door. “Back again, huh, Mira?” He smiles at the bombshell still muttering to herself.

She looks up at him before grinning, “Yeah. You know how it goes.” Her eyes flick to me standing outside my cell. “Good luck Biker Man!”

“You too, Writer Lady.”

Mira

“Well, there’s all your paperwork, and now you’re free to go.” Officer Robbie says, pushing all my belongings across the desk.

“Thanks, Officer Robbie.” I reply, dropping my ladybird ballet flats on the floor and stuffing my feet into them.

“You know you really should call me Officer Graham, Mira.”

“Why? You were Robbie when we went to school with each other, and let’s face it, I see you more now than I ever did at school.” I shrug.

“Yeah, maybe you should think about your life choices,” He replies, his pale blonde brow raised.

“It’s all in the name of research, good sir.”

He shakes his head at me as I hook my handbag over my arm, spin on my cute little flats and flounce out of the station, coming to a stop on the steps when the first drop of rain hits me. Looking up at the threatening sky, I let out a sigh. Of course I’d get kinda arrested and then have to walk home in the rain in my best dress. The one that goes a little see through when it’s wet. On the day that I had to wear “laundry panties”. The ones with busted elastic. The ones my thick thighs have to keep up.

I let out a growl and shake my fist in the air, a deep voice interrupting my silent cursing.

“What are you doing?”

I don’t even turn toward the voice. I know it’s the big, sexy, wrongly accused biker. I committed that voice to memory to call upon during private times.

“I’m cursing the weather gods.”

“Why?”

“Because I have to walk home in this weather and my dress is a little see-through when it gets wet and I have bad underpants on.”

“Um. Right. Is there anyone you can call?”

“Nope. They’re all dead. I didn’t do it.”

He inhales sharply before coughing. “Wow. OK. Do you want a ride?”

I whip around to stare at him. “Like on your bike? You bet your sweet fanny I do!” I shuffle around in excitement, looking for said bike, seeing nothing but a blacked out SUV

His lips tip up when I turn to him with a frown. “Sorry babe, my brother is picking me up. Come on, let’s get you home before the rain really comes in and we get an eyeful.”

“It’s probably two eyes full, but alright. I guess.”

He gestures for me to go first and I approve. Not many men these days have such manners, so it’s nice to find the giant, blonde biker does. His dark blonde hair is shaved around the sides and the longer top length is pulled back into a small ponytail thing. Not hipster, more utilitarian to keep it out of the way. He also has super kind eyes and hands the size of boxing gloves. I bet he could do loads of damage with those things. He opens the door to the SUV for me and I climb in the back before he pulls his bulk into the front passenger seat.

“Writer Lady, Judge. Judge, Writer Lady,”

“Hi Bald Biker Man,” I wave to our driver, give him my address and settle back into the nice leather seats.

I watch as the town whizzes by the window, content to think through the upcoming scenes in the book I’m writing. It doesn’t take much for me to fall into my own world, lines of dialogue running through my mind.

“Yo, Writer Lady, this your place?”

Blinking, I realize we’re idling outside my grandmother’s cute little cottage. Well, mine now. She left it to me when she passed away and I love it here.

“Whoa, that was fast! I was away with the fairies that whole time. Well, thanks bikers, I’ll see you around,” I say, unbuckling my belt and hopping down out of the SUV.

I make my way up my cute little path, weaving through the funny garden ornaments dotted around the place.

“Wait!”

I spin around, startled by the big biker shouting at me.

“Your door is open. Did you leave it like that?” He’s right next to me and he smells distractingly good. He’s also bigger up close than I thought he would be. I’m a tall woman and I only come up to his shoulder. He could most definitely lift me up I decide. “Hey, was that you? That left the door open?”

Oh, yeah, the door. I squint at it and go through my morning routine, trying to remember if I locked it or not.

“I’m gonna be honest with you, I’m not sure. But it’ll be fine. This is a quiet neighborhood and all that.” I shrug and carry on up the steps when I’m stopped by a massive warm hand wrapping around my chubby upper arm.

“Ah, there’s a bleeding box on your doorstep.” He points at what does actually appear to be a bleeding box. Biker Man moves me out of the way and steps up to it, flicking one of the flaps open with a penknife he pulled out of who knows where. “Looks like meat. Butcher meat.”

“Sounds about right. I’m an author that writes sexy murder. I get sent all sorts of weird and wonderful stuff from my readers,” I give him a shrug before peering into the box. “Oh yay! Liver. My cat LOVES liver.” I collect up the box and head toward my open door.

“Wait! Wait here. I’ll do a quick check of your house, make sure it’s safe.”

“Dude, it’s fine, trust me.” I decline his offer but he doesn’t listen, cautiously walking into my home.

I turn toward the SUV and Judge, the man waiting in the idling car. He gives me a questioning look so I give him a shrug and a smile. I would wave but my hands are full with a leaking box of liver.

“Everything looks clear inside. I think you’ll be safe.” Biker man frowns down at the box in my hands.

“Thanks, mister, although I could have told you that. These types of things happen to me all the time. Leave the door open, the taps running, things on the stove. Busy, mind you see.” I can’t tap my temple to illustrate, so I just dart my eyes toward my temple a couple of times. He frowns down at me like I’m a crazy person, then turns to walk down the steps.

Once at the bottom, he turns to look up at me. “Hey, if you need anything, just call the Devil’s Big Tow and ask for Tank.”

“Sure thing. Have a good day. Oh, and thanks for the ride!” I smile huge so he knows I’m grateful. I need to get rid of them both because I’ve just had the best idea and I need to get it on paper, stat.

“See ya round, Writer Lady.” He throws up a wave as he gets into the SUV and they pull away, leaving me to the new book series forming in my mind.