Tank: Apaches MC (11 page)

Her thick thighs lurch up my legs towards my hips. I grab hold of both of them as she positions herself and then lowers down slowly. My cock stands straight, as it glides into her body as if it was made to do exactly that. Every inch of her fits perfectly against my large cock, though from the looks of her and how her hands shoot from her hips to her hair, I can tell that she feels she’s about to burst from my large girth.

Sierra stalls, but I take over. My hands guide her hips up and down slowly, teaching her how much delicious fun it is to take my cock almost all the way out of her pussy and then fall back down. She picks the lesson up quickly and uses her legs to dance on the edge of my cock. She turns out to be a smooth rider with a great sense of rhythm. And with each strong stroke, she gets more confident. I can even feel the start of her hips swaying in a small circle as she dips down again.

Once she’s got it, I let myself lay back on the warm sand and dirt and enjoy what she’s giving me. My hands wander the length of her body, from the round curve of her ass hitting up against my own thighs and hips to the small pouch of skin around her belly button. They find their way back up to her tits which are bouncing and circling with her movements.

As soon as my fingers touch Sierra’s nipples, she goes back into high alert. Her body lurches backwards, her hands grabbing at my ankles. I rise up so I can hold on, but her pussy has taken over. She is now practically jumping on my cock, her body cascading up and down my cock as fast it can possibly go.

I can’t control her. She’s close to orgasm, as her body starts to shake and clamp. I can even feel the heartbeat vibrate thickly through her folds, sending the blood to her trigger points. I grab her around her back and pull her back towards me. Her hair falls on my chest as she lets out a wild scream. I roll back with her as she lands on me with her hands at the sides of my head. My knees lift off the ground as a way to continue pushing my cock into her to her breaking point. As she cums, liquids and cries flowing out of her in one slow moment, I hear her whisper into my ear, “Thank you, Tank. Thank you.”  

“Wait. Say it again. Slower. I’m having trouble following you.” Carmen looks at me with those big green eyes. She hasn’t blinked in what feels like minutes now. She’s so engrossed in my story.

“Tank went to see a kingpin—you know, a drug lord—in Mexico. He had info for him on who did this to you. So he took me with him.” My voice slows to a snail’s pace. I wasn’t sure if telling her this story was going to do any good, but she was dying to get the details.

It had been almost a week and a half since Tank and I drove back into El Paso covered in dirt with our hair matted and oily. He dropped me back at my place, promising to meet up with me later that night to check in. But that all changed when I saw the message from Anthony on my voice mail.

Carmen was out of her coma. She was still not in the clear as doctors were running tests on her brain functions, but she was murmuring and making gestures. He even said she had given a nurse the middle finger after she attempted to change her bedpan.

This was now day five of me sitting vigil with her. Every day she had gotten better. Every day there was something new to share and celebrate. On day one, she looked directly at me with those sea green eyes and nodded her still-bruised and battered head slowly. The second day she squeezed my hand as I read to her out of a textbook. I thought she was telling me she loved it, but now that I’ve talked to her a bit more, she was asking me to shut up and let her get some non-school related rest and relaxation.

And today, she was talking. The doctors had removed the tubes in her throat just the day before so her husky voice was even hoarser now than usual. Still, I could make her out clear as can be when she screamed at me at the first mention of Tank’s name. Even recovering from a beating and just waking up from her coma, Carmen was a true Aztec loyalist.

“But you were basically kidnapped. He grabbed you and put you on the back of his motorcycle. Isn’t that the definition?”

I could see her point. Now that she was spelling it out for me, it all seemed a bit crazy.

Carmen adds quickly, “And that asshole stole my freaking tablet!” She was simmering as she shot me a look. “Please tell me you haven’t…?”

I blush and instantly give myself away. I wasn’t going to keep that part back from her when I told her this story. But I was certainly not going to emphasize it. I wasn’t stupid enough to think that she was going to approve of the whole Tank and me situation, especially since she woke up almost a hundred percent sure that the person who attacked her, despite wearing a black hoodie that covered his face, had to be an Apache.

Still, Carmen had also always pushed me to be more adventurous and to give boys like Abe a chance. I’m young, I have potential, and I could have any man I wanted if I worked at it… that sort of stuff. I thought part of her would be proud of me for bedding such a guy, especially one in power. But she had seen Tank before at a motorcycle convention outside of Houston. While he was certainly her type, she was not about to let me know that.

“How could you betray me… us? That giant bastard ordered this. He’s just playing you so he can launch his attack on the boys. And you’re just going to fall for it because he’s got a huge dick on him? Come on Sierra.” She reaches over and smacks me lightly on the forehead with a bandaged hand still covered in wires. I laugh as I push her away. I want to keep this as light as possible.

“It’s not just that…though it is true. His cock is the biggest I’ve ever seen and those muscles… oh my goodness.” I look back down at Carmen who was quickly losing all patience with my antics. I change tactics. “He cares about this. I am not sure I really understand why, but he wants to make it clear to you and to the rest of the Aztecs that he’s not responsible for taking a hit out on you or trying to get to Anthony. And I believe him. Would he have brought me back from Mexico alive if he was trying to knock us off one by one?”

Carmen hesitates as her eyes drift to the Spanish telenovela playing in the background. Her fingers wrap around one another as she tries to sigh but instead coughs. I can tell that she is getting tired and the heavy painkillers the docs have given her are kicking in again.

“How about you just lay back, and we can talk about this a bit more when I come see you tomorrow?” I stand up, grabbing the latest trashy gossip magazine and throwing it into my backpack. “I’ll pick you up another
Celeb Times Magazine
when I head to the grocery store, okay?”

Before I can turn to go, I feel her cold, clammy hand grab my wrist, pulling me back in towards her large metal bed. “Sierra, I just want you to listen to me for once. I know you think you’re the responsible and smart one. And that’s probably true. But on this stuff, I know better than you. I know what these guys are like these days, and they aren’t like our papas. They are evil, and they don’t care about what happens to bystanders and civilians like us.” Her hazy eyes squint at me as they push through the pain and medicine haze. “Promise me that you’ll be careful? Please?”

I silently nod, as her words of warning play over in my head. I walk out of her room and past the security guard. When Carmen had awoken from her coma, she gave the cops all the information she could on who had done it to her, and they’d downgraded her from twenty-four-hour police watch to a visiting-hours hospital security guard. I’m not exactly happy about that move. Still, I’m grateful that there is someone there to watch out for her. It’s a luxury we both need right now. And I have Tank to stand guard over me.

Every night since we had made it home from Mexico, he’s been there. He’s learned my schedule quickly and adapted it to his own. When I finished with classes and visiting Carmen, I can always expect his motorcycle to be around the block from my complex. He waits until I pass by in my beat-up Chevy to head towards my apartment. Tank doesn’t even have to knock; I’ve gotten used to just leaving my door open for him.

I have to admit that it’s starting to feel almost like a real relationship. Not that I would know, really; I haven’t had a serious boyfriend since I started college. Every contender just disappeared in the background or was dismissed after a few dates. No one has been worth my time. But seeing Tank at my doorway with a six-pack of beer and a bottle of wine (he remembered how I complained about beer the night before) makes it feel more significant than it probably is—at least to him.

Everything about it is comfortable though—how he throws his jacket on the back of my couch, how he walks back and forth from bathroom and bedrooms knowing where everything is, how he wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me in so close that I can smell the hint of rubber and oil on his skin. I want to freeze every moment we have together in time so I can analyze it when he leaves in the morning, exhausted and satisfied. 

“How was your day?” I always ask when he walks in through my hallway.

“The same old business day in and day out,” Tank answers quietly, as he unscrews the cap on his glass bottle with his bare hands. He takes a large chug, as he settles down at my kitchen table.

I ask him that question to see if there is any news about Carmen’s attacker. But each day, the answer is the same, nothing having to do with her. He has told me about the supply he had to move in exchange for the extra protection, but honestly, I couldn’t care less about that. Worse, he consistently shuts down the conversation whenever I try to dive into Apache background and politics.

Still, I have to try. “I saw Carmen today,” I tell him. “The doctors say she is doing amazing. She was even talking.”

“Let me guess.” He stands and walks slowly towards me. His hands wrap around me, pinning me to the kitchen countertop. He leans in as he asks in a whisper, “She thinks I had something to do with what happened to her.”

I nod slowly, gulping in air, and he spins away more annoyed at me than her.

“I don’t know what to say to you, Sierra. I had nothing to do with this. Why the fuck would I be here with you if I had something to do with her?”

I can feel my blood boiling as he says those words. He has asked the question that I had been turning over in my head since Carmen asked it earlier. Why is he here? What does he need from me? Am I just some pawn or puppet in this stupid game between him and Abe?

I snarl at him, “You tell me! But wait, you never tell me anything, Tank. I’m sick and tired of being kept in the dark. What am I supposed to think or say to you? I don’t have any information for you so what good am I? What
are
you doing here?”

“I’m here because you need protection. Someone crossed a line when they went after uninvolved girls, and I’m not letting them strike twice. Why am I protecting you? Because you need it, sister.” He sits back down and drinks the entirety of the beer in two huge gulps. I watch him, both tired and disgusted. Tank looks back up at me, wiping the drops of liquid off of his stubbly beard. “I know you don’t know anything, Sierra. But the men you and your roommate hang out with do. So if you’re asking me if I’m using you, then in that case, I am.”

He said it. He finally said it. This whole thing—the sex in the desert, the romantic night in Mexico, the late night visits and embraces in my bed—they were all for nothing but to boost his own power.

I look back down at him with new eyes and grab the bottle of wine sitting out on the counter, still waiting to be opened, and thrust it at him. “I would like you to go now.”

He sets it back down and looks at me as if I’m crazy. “I’m not fucking leaving you unguarded and alone in this apartment.” He stands up tall only inches from me. It’s an intimidation tactic I know he loves to use. It forces me to stare at him from way below. But I grit my teeth and turn away from him. He is not getting the best of me, not tonight.

“Get out, Tank. I don’t need your help. I don’t need your protection. If something happens, I have people I can call.”

“Like who? That little bitch Abe and his band of young cowboys? What the hell do you think they are going to do for you? And what do you think they are going to do when they find out you’ve been spending every night for the last week with an Apache?”

My stomach rolls over into somersaults. He is right. This is not going to go well if it comes out that I let Tank in like this. I can practically see the fallout in fire and chaos with people I love choosing to never speak to me again.  

“Do you know who your lover boy Abe actually is? He’s an Apache, Sierra. He’s a damn Apache whom I kicked out after he tried to overthrow me years ago. And when he couldn’t get his way, the crybaby was banned. Your Aztecs were started because Abe couldn’t handle riding with big guns like me.” He holds out his arm and points towards the tattoo on his arm. I had seen it before when we were having sex in his Mexican villa. It was an emblem all us girls were told to recognize and fear. Two feathers—one red and one black—joined together.

“Check his arm the next time he tries to sleep with you. You’ll see it. It may be covered up or faded, but the proof is there. And then we will see whom you trust. If you think I am using you, wait until you see what Abe probably has in store for you.” He puts down the empty bottle and walks off. He doesn’t even bother turning around or coming back after shaking it off. He does a very Tank-like thing and storms off and out of my home.

I sink into the chair he just vacated. My head dips down towards my knees, and I run my fingers through my hair in frustration. That certainly didn’t answer any of my questions or the ones that Carmen had made me ask. And now I was even more worried about Abe and his role in this. While I just instinctively still trusted the Aztecs more, I had never known Abe to talk about being a former Apache. But it was clearing everything up for me. It would make sense to want Tank gone and out if Abe was on the vengeful warpath.

My head reels. I stand up and head for the cabinet to pull down an old plastic cup from the top shelf. Using my teeth, I unleash the cork on the wine and pour myself a full glass of the white Moscato. After I finish the first cup, I take the bottle and head towards my bedroom.

I’m only in my pajama pants when I hear the knock. It’s loud—and terrifying. It shakes the entire apartment. It has to be Tank, back to apologize, or to at least try to salvage the night. I skip off towards the door, unsure of what I want to feel in that moment. Part of me is oddly giddy at the thought of us still having a night in the sheets together.

I open the door as I called out, “So you’ve come ba—”