Beauty Found (Hades Hangmen 6.5)

“Nah, I’ll do it—”

I swung to face him, hands on my hips. “Now I ain’t gonna take no for an answer, darlin’. Get your hulking muscles off that bike and follow me.” I ducked into the reception on the way. A young kid was behind the desk. Maybe sixteen. I leaned on the desk. His eyes immediately went to my tits. Always happened when you had a rack this size. Goddamn beacons on my chest. “You got a first aid kit I can borrow, sweetie?” The kid scrambled beneath the desk and put one on the top. “Thanks, darlin’.”

Tank huffed a laugh behind me. “You’ll be the one he jerks off to tonight,” he muttered under his breath as I passed him.

I laughed, and saw something spark in Tank’s blue eyes when I said, “Hope he ain’t the only one.”

He laughed louder. There went that damn light feeling in my chest again.

The blood on Tank’s face made him look like something from a horror movie. I tapped his chest. “Let’s get that blood off your face before you give the kid nightmares.”

I walked to my room. Tank followed. I could see the hesitation on his face when I looked back. He clearly didn’t want to come with me.

Tough shit. He was coming.

As we entered my room, I pointed to the end of the bed. “Sit down. Shirt and jacket off.”

Tank stalled. His jaw clenched. I was opening the first aid kit when I noticed. His eyes bored into the threadbare red carpet. I walked over and made him face me. “I’ve already seen the white power and Nazi tattoos, darlin’. So get the shirt and jacket off and show me those muscles. Those tats don’t scare me. You don’t scare me.”

“I should.”

I moved to the kit, ignoring his muttered words. It was a couple of minutes before I heard Tank sigh and start to shuck off his clothes. When I lifted my head, I was met with a wide chest littered with tattoo after tattoo. Scars were everywhere. White and red raised slashes, slicing through his black tattoos, making his skin look like a faded road map. No part of me thought Tank had had an easy life.

“You still in?” I asked as I guided him back to the bed. My hand barely covered even a quarter of his bicep. He was tall enough that his face was almost in line with mine when he sat down. He shook his head. I let out a quiet sigh of relief. He was out of the Klan.

We were quiet as I started wiping the blood from his head. There was a large gash on one side. On the opposite side to the shank scar. This close I could smell him again. He was like a walking extension of his bike—oil and leather and so damn good. The guy made my pussy clench. I was a sucker for the shaved-head, tattooed, muscled god look.

“You’ve been around the Klan?” Tank finally asked, his voice husky. His words snapped me out of my head.

“Family,” I said. “Cousins and shit. I went to a few parties at their place in Waco as a teen.” I shrugged. “Mamma and Papa were close to some Klansmen too. They weren’t members on paper, of course, but they sure as shit would have killed me if I’d come home with a black or Mexican boyfriend.” I looked down at Tank. “Papa died years ago, but Mamma probably would have approved of you.”

“Good to know.”

I poured some peroxide onto a cotton ball. “This will sting.” I pressed the cotton ball to his cut. Tank didn’t even flinch. But I did when his hands came to my waist. His thumbs ran over my hips. I could talk for Texas, but the touch of this guy took my voice the hell away.

Eventually I asked, “You get this scar with the Klan?”

Tank looked up at me. His hands stayed on my hips. “Prison.”

I nodded. “You been out long?”

“Two days.”

My eyes widened. “And you’ve already left the Klan?”

“Yesterday.”

“Ah.” Things were starting to make more sense. “You in prison long?”

“Three years.”

I stepped back, moving to the cut on his cheek and lip. He’d taken a few punches to the face. “You want a drink?” I didn’t even wait, just got the vodka from the mini fridge. I’d bought some supplies with some of the money Tank had given me. Well, I’d bought clothes and liquor.

Tank unscrewed the top and drank a few mouthfuls. He held the bottle out to me. “Shots? Always up for getting wasted, darlin’.”

I followed suit, taking a few huge mouthfuls, then handed it back to him so I could work on his cuts. I could feel Tank’s eyes on me the entire time. “There,” I said and took another few swigs of vodka. I lifted my hand and stroked the shank scar.

“Prison fight?”

“More a Klan goodbye.” My eyes widened. “Should’ve helped in a prison killing. I didn’t. This was my reward.”

“Shit, hon.” I shook my head and sat down beside him. “So? The Klan after you now or something? Is that why you ran?”

“No. I have a buddy who helped me leave. My best friend. He got them all off my back. Didn’t expect it.” He took the vodka again and slugged it back. The room was starting to spin . . . I loved this feeling.

It made me horny as fuck.

I lay back on the bed. Tank looked at me and leaned back too, resting on his elbow. He had questions in his eyes. “You going back?”

“Fuck no,” I said, and smiled when Tank immediately handed me back the bottle. I must have had a desperate-for-alcohol tone in my voice. I sipped at the good stuff and shuffled closer to Tank. I stared at a huge SS sign in the center of his chest. I reached out and traced the black lettering with my finger. His skin bumped under my touch. When I looked up at his face, he ran his tongue along his lower lip. I liked it. So I kept circling the letters. “My mamma is a psycho. She always has been. But it got worse when my papa died.” I lifted my tank and showed him my stomach. Tank’s eyes hooded at the sight of my body, and I saw his dick harden in his jeans . . . until I lifted it high enough for him to see. He froze when he saw the purple bruising. “It’s amazing what makeup can cover these days.” I licked my thumb and ran it down the side of my eye. I knew the makeup would’ve given way to that bruise too. Just as I was about to lower my top, Tank ran his fingers over the skin on my ribs. I bit my lip, but not at the pain. It was at how much my pussy throbbed under his touch.

Those fingers, the vodka, and the sight of his muscles and tattoos were fucking turning me on. I was a girl with a healthy appetite. Liked to get my pussy stroked and filled. And right now, I was getting real messed-up thoughts about Tank.

“Why did you stay?”

I shrugged. “I didn’t want her to be alone after Papa. His death destroyed her. She had a shitty life growing up. Wasn’t much better as an adult. I wanted to make it better for her. She wanted me to be Miss America so bad. So I went along with it all to make her happy. Devoted my life to it, hoping she’d just love me, treat me better.” But that sympathy I’d once felt for her no longer existed. “Now I’m done giving a shit. That bitch can rot in hell. There are only so many chances someone can have before they deserve nothing else.” Tank’s fingers started moving across my stomach . . . and lower. My breathing hitched. “You going somewhere with that finger there, darlin’?”

His lip kicked up at the side. “You’re fucking beautiful, beauty queen.”

I took hold of his hand and sat up.

Tank watched every movement I made. The guy had been locked up for three years. He got out two days ago. He must have been bursting for a fuck.

I kissed each finger, then, when his mouth was just an inch from mine, pushed his hand to the crotch of my jeans and said, “I like having my stomach stroked as much as the next girl, darlin’, but I’d rather feel those fingers all up in my pussy.”

Tank paused, his mouth parting at my words. Then he did exactly as I said. He ran his fingers over my jeans, cupping my pussy through the denim, the feel of his fingers between my legs sending shivers all over my body. I hooked my hand around the back of his neck, and our mouths crashed together. I tasted the slight tinniness of blood on my tongue, but it disappeared, taken over by tobacco and liquor. Tank didn’t give me the control for long. He rolled me onto my back and smothered me with his huge muscles. I wrapped my legs around his waist, arms clasped around his neck. Tank’s tongue fought against mine, our breathing heavy.

The alcohol sailed through my veins. Breaking from his mouth, I moved to straddle him. He smiled as I sat on his waist and looked down. “How old are you, darlin’?”

Tank smirked. “You think I’m jailbait?”

I crawled over his naked torso. Tank groaned and gritted his teeth at the sight. “Twenty-three.”

I smiled. “Then I hope you like older women.”

Tank grabbed my waist and flipped me onto my back again. “Fucking love ’em.” Then he kissed me. Tank’s lips were soft against mine. It surprised me how soft. He was so big and rough, with that deep graveled voice. He tasted of mint and liquor.

I was instantly addicted.

Tank broke away from my mouth, leaving me desperate to have him back. He smirked, clearly seeing my need for his taste back in my mouth. But he didn’t kiss me again; instead, he pulled my tank over my head to reveal the black bra that barely held my tits. “Fuck,” he groaned. He cupped one breast with his hand, then reached between them to unhook the front fastening.

Damn, he knew what he was doing.

My tits sprang free, and he immediately took my right nipple into his mouth. I held him tighter as the wet lashes of his tongue made me moan. His dick rubbed against my clit.