Tank, page 7
I grab a few black T-shirts and singlet tops, some jeans and a couple of jumpers. It’s all hideous generic shit, stupid sayings, too much colour, and ugly as all fuck, but it’s not like they have a clothing line for club whores in Kmart.
I wander over to the underwear section and pull a pair of pink panties with little white printed bows decorating them off the nearest rack and look them over. Who even comes up with this shit? I mean, I know plenty of men who dig the little schoolgirl vibe, but still, even they have to find panties like this insulting. I shove them back on the rack and head into the section where they keep the bra and panty sets. Picking up a black lace bra and panties in my size that I think Tank will like, I throw them over my arm with the rest of my finds.
“No,” Tank says, startling me so I jump and almost lose the cargo in my hands. I whack him with a plastic coat-hanger. “We go somewhere else for lingerie.”
I laugh and shoot an incredulous look at him. “Lingerie? Since when do you shop for lingerie? Since when do you even like lingerie, much less use the word?”
“I like ruining ling-er-ie.” He draws it out as if it’s a dirty word, and he’s a prepubescent boy who’s having way too much fun with it.
“All the more reason for you to buy it cheap,” I say, placing the underwear back on the rack. Tank takes the clothing slung over my arm and throws it in the trolley.
“That’s all you’re getting?”
“Oh no, we’re stopping by the sanitary items aisle too.”
He frowns. “You mean I gotta put up with you on withdrawals as well as your fuckin’ rag? Jesus Christ, there better be a fuckin’ big-arse bottle of Black Label at the end of this shit with my name on it,” he mutters, and then he appears to be thinking hard about something, because his eyes shoot skyward and he gets this adorable furrow in his brow. “You’ve never had your period around me before?”
“That’s because they have these magic little red sugar pills that I skip every month. When you take away the birth control, they tend to come on pretty hard and fast.”
Tank’s eyes widen. “You’re not on birth control?”
“Nope,” I say, with a look that pretty much says well duh, meathead. “My pill is back at the clubhouse, and you won’t let me go there. You also won’t let me put anything in my mouth that isn’t some kind of fruit or vegetable, remember?”
“We gotta get you a doctor’s appointment then.”
“You mean you’ll let me take a pill?”
“No,” he says, pushing the trolley into line behind a young family. “You can get one of those things in your arm, like Brooke and Neischa have.”
“Oh goody, there’s nothing like having some arsehole jam a rod in your arm so some other arsehole can fuck you anytime they want without the risk of knocking you up.”
“Better than a screaming baby tearin’ up your shit nine months later.” He raises his eyebrows and tilts his chin toward the screaming kids in front of us who are fighting over the last chips in the bag, their frazzled mother ignores them as she simultaneously pays the cashier and barks sharp commands into her phone.
“You know you could always wear a condom,” I suggest, but I find my nose wrinkling in a mirror of Tank’s even as I say it. “Doctors it is then.”
I don’t really know why we’re even having this conversation. It’s not like we’re having sex.
Not for a lack of trying on my part.
Tank is a fantastic lay; he’s attentive and able to lift me like a ragdoll, which always makes for interesting shower, wall or anywhere-at-all sex, and his thick cock has just the right amount of curve and length to both make it hurt and keep me coming all night long. But it’s a bad idea. I know it as well as he does. I’d be replacing one addiction with another, and Tank? Well, I don’t want him to get too comfortable. I’ll do as he asks, because not drying out means being out on my arse, where he can get to me, and I can’t let that happen. I need time and money first, and I need a plan.
Tank pulls out his phone while we wait in line and barks a few monosyllabic responses into it. When he hangs up, he tells me he got me an appointment for later this afternoon with the Butcher, and all my hopes that I can somehow swindle the doc into a prescription for pain meds dies with his I-know-exactly-what-you’re-planning smile.
Tank, killing junkie’s dreams since 1982.
I should have known he wouldn’t take me to a real clinic. Stupid of me to think for even a second that he’d risk me getting my hands on anything that wasn’t approved by Health Nuts ’R’ Us.
Once we’re done in Kmart, he drives me down the tiny main street of Leura and pulls into a car park in front of a row of boutique shops. Tank grabs my hand and leads me into a lingerie shop that’s interior is done up like the boudoir of a French whore. Everything is a wash of soft pinks, white and black. The woman behind the counter looks up from her paperwork as the bell jingles above us, and I half expect her to threaten to call security, but instead she smiles widely and says, “Mr Whitecross, it’s been a long time.”
Whitecross? I mouth at him, but he just smiles and turns his attention back to the woman.
There’s an air about her that I don’t like, and I can’t put my finger on it. I’m sure it’s not the platinum gold hair that’s pulled back into a chignon so tight it practically gives her a facelift, and it’s not the tasteful pencil skirt and crisp pressed linen shirt she wears—it’s the familiarity with which she embraces Tank that has my hackles standing on end. It’s the way she makes me feel: small, and insignificant, with her polished presence alone. I’m threatened by her. But why? Having stuffy bitches look down their noses at me has never bothered me before, but she’s slept with him—I can tell that by their body language, and that irritates me so much I find myself fantasising about leaning over and ripping out her neat coif, though that would probably just be a huge turn-on for Tank.
“Good to see you, Karina.”
“And who is this?” Karina says, stepping around Tank and offering me her dainty, delicate hand with its perfectly polished fingernails and simple, expensive rings. I can’t help but notice how dry and unkempt my own hands are in comparison. How chipped my black polish is, how jagged and dirty my fingernails are.
“Ivy,” I snap, before Tank can introduce us. And when I meet her gaze she’s not looking at me like a bug under her foot, but has kind, patient eyes and her smile, full of perfect white teeth—while annoying—isn’t unfriendly. It’s warm.
Interesting.
“I’m Karina. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ivy,” she says, and releases my hand after shaking it twice. “So what brings the two of you in today?”
Tank grins and gives her a look that pretty much says, Do we need to draw you a fuckin’ diagram? and for the first time I realise that the saleswoman is just as nervous, if not more nervous, than I am. “Well obviously you’re here for lingerie for Ivy, but what kind? Are we thinking sexy, comfortable—”
“Sexy. Definitely,” Tank interrupts, and I roll my eyes as he wanders around the store, picking up panties off of tables and stretching the delicate fabrics, as if he’s testing their durability and calculating how long it would take to ruin each item.
Karina looks to me for reassurance, and I say, “Whatever he wants. I’m only here for the coffee and free food.”
She raises her brows, as though she hadn’t expected that at all. “Alright then. Let’s get a few things together and try them on, shall we?”
I shrug and turn to a rack of overpriced bras in floral prints. I balk at the price tags on some of the items. I’ve never been showered with lingerie or expensive jewellery. I’ve never been showered with anything that wasn’t bodily fluids, and I appreciate the thought, and the expense, but I can’t let him buy me nice things like this. I’m just about to turn and tell him we’re getting the hell out of here when a sheer white lace negligée is dangled before me and Tank whispers, “This. No objections.”
I give the thing an accusatory glare and say, “You really think I’m the virginal type?”
“White doesn’t have to be virginal,” he growls, and I feel like a gazelle, frozen by the weight of the lion’s stare. My body breaks out in goosebumps, because his hand at my waist and his warm breath on the back of my neck cause my nipples to harden.
“Does it come in black?” I whisper. I’m afraid of raising my voice because I know it will sound weakened and husky with lust.
“Maybe,” Tank says. I bite down hard on my lower lip, because Holy Christ. Why didn’t anyone ever tell me that lingerie shopping was the best form of foreplay?
“Get black and I’ll consider wearing it.”
“Done,” he says in his low gravelly tone that makes me want to get naked and go at it in the middle of Karina’s store. It also makes me wish that he’d give in that easy when it came to giving me drugs.
Before long, I’m ushered into a changing room and buried beneath a mountain of thin wisps of expensive fabric and little clasps and straps and bones and lace to try on. I don’t make a decision on anything, Tank makes it for me, and it’s far too much.
“Will that be all, Mr Whitecross?” Karina asks after she rings up the items.
“That’s all we need, darlin’,” he says, and he doesn’t bat an eyelid when she tells him the total. Me, on the other hand? I practically faint. He hands over the money, all cash. Tank never leaves a paper trail. I don’t even think he owns a bank account. He probably just stores all his money in several hollowed out old mattresses stashed somewhere on his property.
Karina passes Tank the bags and thanks him for his business, and then he’s ushering me out the door.
“How do you know her?” I ask Tank as the door closes behind us with the muted jingling of a bell.
He stops and gives me a sly smile. “Why?”
“I’m just curious how a degenerate criminal like yourself is on first-name basis with a woman who owns a fancy lingerie store?”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really.” I frown.
“’Cause it sounds to me like you’re jealous, darlin’.”
Scoffing, I give him a look and make a show of rolling my eyes. He’s right. I am jealous. And I don’t like the feeling one bit. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it? You know, Ivy, I’ve known you a lot longer than the rest of my brothers. Either they don’t know or they don’t care, but I can read you like an open fuckin’ book, baby.”
“Whatever, Mr Whitecross,” I mimic the soft feminine tone that Karina used when I say his name. “It was just a stupid question.”
He chuckles and leads me along the street. “She had some trouble with an ex-husband. Caused a lot of problems for her. I made that problem disappear.”
I stare up at him. “Did you know her? Before that, I mean?”
“Nope,” he says, and when I give him the stink-eye for not elaborating he rolls his eyes and finishes. “I saw her sometimes, around town. She looked at me like I was shit on her shoes. One night I pulled into the street as she was closing up shop. He was bangin’ down her door. I didn’t think nothin’ of it. Not my business. And then I ran into the two of them in the parking lot outside the supermarket. He had her bailed up against the car and there was some heated discussion going on about their kid. Still, wasn’t my business. Made it my business when he threw her across the lot, though. I stop in from time to time to check on her. Karina’s good people.”
“Is Karina a good lay too?”
Tank chuckles. “The best.”
Jealousy slices through my chest like a blade. I scowl, and I’m just about to call him every name under the sun when he throws his head back and laughs, a full bellied, deep-throated laugh. I stand there, glaring at him. “You should see your face.”
“Fuck you, arsehole,” I snap.
I attempt to walk past him, but he grabs my arm and tugs me to his side, leaning down to whisper in my ear, “Yeah, I fucked that bitch several times. Made her come hard, fast and slow. Even made her forget her own name a time or two. But there’s only one woman that can make me do that, and I’m lookin’ right at her.”
Heat licks at my cheeks as I stare up into his eyes. He isn’t teasing. There’s no humour left in his gaze at all. Tank doesn’t say shit he doesn’t mean, and I haven’t a clue how to respond to that.
“Now if you’re done throwing a hissy fit ’cause I fucked some bitch a lifetime ago, can we eat?”
I nod. I don’t have anything to say in my defence, because I am jealous that they slept together, and it doesn’t make any sense. Not after what he just told me.
“One question?”
“What?” he says, impatient now.
“Did she call you Mr Whitecross while you were fucking her?”
He grins, and nods. “Yes, she did. It was awkward as fuck.”
I smile, because if there’s anything I know about Tank it’s that he likes sex as hard and dirty as I do, so I know he’s not lying about it being awkward. Feeling marginally better, I let him take my hand and lead me to a quaint little chocolate shop. The smell hits me before we’ve even entered.
“Tank, what’s happening, man?” A hipster-looking guy with jet black curls and an olive complexion greets us.
“Louis,” Tank says gruffly, thrusting out his hand to shake. He’s not pissed or anything—this is just how he talks to everyone who doesn’t have a vagina. Tank and Louis talk for a bit about why he hasn’t dropped by recently and I watch on in interest. Mostly to hear what he says about what’s been keeping him busy, but also because aside from the brothers at the club, I’ve never seen Tank with friends. I didn’t know Tank had friends.
Louis looks around Tank’s huge frame and says, “Oh hey, shit. Sorry. I didn’t see you there. Can I help you?”
He glances back at Tank with his eyebrow raised and a smile so wide I’m afraid his face might split.
“She’s with me,” Tank says, and Louis pales.
“Shit. Sorry, man,” he says, and extends his arm for me to shake. “I’m Louis, welcome. It’s so nice to meet a friend of Tank’s.”
“Ivy,” I say, shaking his hand, and then I add, with a mischievous grin, “Friend and fuck buddy.”
Louis laughs and turns to Tank. “Jesus fucking Christ, are you one lucky bastard?”
“Louis, could you quit hitting on the biker’s old lady?” a woman’s voice, young and yet equally stern, shouts from behind the counter, and I see a mop of wiry red curls pop up. She’s cute and freckle-faced, and her little button nose is covered in flour. She doesn’t look a day over eighteen.
“Hey Tank,” She says, swiping the flour from her face. She follows the trail down to her apron-covered chest and blows a bright orange curl out of her eyes. “We haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Been busy,” he replies.
“I can see that,” she says, and I’m beginning to feel like some kind of lab rat that jumped through their hoops and finally reached the cookie at the end of the maze with the way these two are studying me.
Tank is clearly aware of it too, because he shakes his head, throws an arm around my shoulder and leads us over to a table by the window. He pulls my seat out and waits. I just stare at him.
“What? I can’t be chivalrous?”
“You know what chivalry means?” I tease, but I sit down and allow him to push in my chair. Tank takes the seat opposite and Louis arrives with menus before Tank can hit me with some witty comeback.
“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 the redhead. 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. I don’t even care about my stupid oath that I’d withhold sex as long as he withheld my drugs. All I care about right now is how much I want his huge, thick cock inside me right here on this table, in front of everyone.
