Beauty Found (Hades Hangmen 6.5)

My gut squeezed as I realized she was serious. That she was offering me something I’d always wanted. So

mething I wanted to do, not something I was being forced to do, or had to do just to get by. “Thank you . . . I . . . I don’t know what to say.”

Marie pointed to Tank. “He’ll hopefully be one of us soon. Which means you will be. Gotta keep all our businesses in the family.”

Family. As fucked-up as this place was, I guessed it was one.

I hadn’t realized Letti had got up until a bottle of wine was put down in front of me. “Might be shit. I found it in the back of the cellar. No fucking idea how old it is. No other asshole I know drinks that prissy shit.”

“Thanks, darlin’,” I said, truly touched.

“So, come on then, Beauty, tell us how you two met,” Lois said, and I started the story. I held Tank’s hand throughout. With every sentence spoken, I realized how lucky I was, and how much I loved the guy.

I’d never been so damn glad that I’d jumped on the back of his bike.

*****

One month later . . .

I shut the door of my truck behind me and ran my hand over the blue paint. Tank had bought it for me so I could get to and from work. I’d never owned my own truck before. She was my baby. I squinted up at the bright sun, then around the deserted compound. Tank lifted his head from a bike as I approached the shop. My heart clenched when he stood, wearing nothing but his jeans and boots, oil smattered all over his abs and chest. Shit, he was ripped and huge and all fucking mine.

“Baby?” Tank said, confusion on his face. I lifted the Franklin’s Barbeque bag so he could see. I looked behind him for Bull but couldn’t see him. “Fuck. Yes,” Tank said, taking the bag. He wrapped an arm around me. “You lined up all morning at Franklin’s to bring me this?”

I hugged him back. “Sure did.” I cast my eyes around the garage. “Where the hell is everyone? I bought enough to feed a friggin’ small army.”

Tank laughed as he put the barbeque down on the table. He hooked his arm around my waist. “They’re all out on a run.” I sighed when I saw the jealousy in his eyes. He wanted to be a prospect so fucking bad. But some of them still couldn’t get over his Klan past. Marie had told me that certain members didn’t trust that he wouldn’t turn coat. Didn’t trust he would protect the club against his old Klan buddies. Until they got a full house of yeses, Tank wouldn’t ever be in. “They should be back soon.”

Tank’s head dropped. I stepped closer to him and ran my long red nails down his chest. “Then”—I slipped my leg between his, and my thigh grazed across his cock—“we have the place to ourselves?”

Tank smirked and pushed down the straps of my Ride tank. My bra strap came next. He had just pulled one cup down, exposing my right tit, when a loud smashing sound came from the shop’s main entrance . . . at the gate. Tank lifted me out of the way and rushed to the front of the shop. He stilled, muscles bunching, then he spat, “Fuck!” He turned and pushed me to the back office. There was a door at the back that led to the Hangmen part of the compound. “Leave. Run!” Tank said, just as I heard a truck door opening.

My heart thudded in my chest. “Tank? What’s happening?” My voice was shaking.

His eyes met mine. “Beauty, fucking run!” He went to turn away, but then pressed his mouth to mine and rasped, “I fucking love you, woman. Know that. I fucking love you.” He shut the door to the office and turned the key. I tried the handle, but the fucker was locked. Pure fear lacing my veins, I ran to the window, hitting the glass, only to see three tatted-up skinheads walk toward Tank. My heart cracked, fucking splintered, then fell to the floor as I saw the looks on their faces . . .

. . . saw the guns and knives in their hands.

“Trace,” Tank said. I was silent. Stock still as I listened through the glass.

“You fucking traitor. You motherfucking turncoat.” The biggest of the three men—Trace—lifted a gun to Tank’s face. I stopped breathing, was paralyzed as everything seemed to stop around me. Tank jumped forward, but the gun went off. Tank hit the floor, and I screamed a silent scream. Blood pooled under Tank, and the three Klan assholes started kicking him, punching him . . . killing him. I turned, not knowing what the hell to do. In panic, I punched through the exit door and out into the compound. I needed a gun. I needed something to help Tank.

I’d only taken a single step when I heard the deafening roar of motorcycles. Following the sound, a flicker of relief starting to build inside me, I sprinted to the front of the compound, heart thundering in my chest. Every rapid beat made me feel more and more sick.

The Hangmen were rolling in. “Help!’ I screamed, my voice shaking. ‘It’s Tank! The Klan . . . they’ve found him . . . they’re killing him!” My voice broke off just as Reaper, Big Poppa, and Bull all jumped off their bikes and a gunshot echoed around us, birds fleeing from the surrounding trees.

My heart fell. In that second I was sure I heard my soul scream out in agony.

“No . . . ” I whispered.

Reaper pulled his Glock from his cut and smiled as he ran toward the bike shop. I ran too. I didn’t give a shit if I wasn’t supposed to. That was my man, the fucking love of my life, and I wasn’t going anywhere.

As I rounded the corner, my feet stumbled at what I saw. Tank was on his feet, every inch of his bared flesh covered in blood. His right arm hung at his side, blood pouring from the gunshot wound and stab wounds that peppered his body. Two of the men were lying on the floor. One had a knife sticking out of his heart, and the other had a bullet in his forehead, his eyes open in death.

Trace was still in front of him. His gun was nowhere in sight, but his knife was in his hand and he was closing in on Tank. My baby was weak, his legs shaking and almost giving up on him. My hands covered my mouth as Trace lunged right at Tank’s heart, but before Trace could get there, Reaper fired a shot straight into Trace’s thigh. Trace fell to the floor. Tank looked up, eyes fucking blown and wild, until he saw the Hangmen closing in and me standing behind them. He seemed to take a long breath as he fell to the ground. I ran up to him, pushing past all the brothers in my way. I grabbed his hand. My vision blurred with tears.

Tank turned to Reaper. “Explosives . . . in the truck . . . were going to . . . blow . . . the club.” My face paled. Reaper nodded, and a couple of the other guys dragged Trace away.

“Baby?” I whispered as Tank’s eyes started closing. “He needs help!” I cried, inching closer to him and pressing my hand to the gunshot wound.

“Doc’s on his way.” Bull leaned down to press his hands to two of the biggest knife wounds. Leaning forward, I kissed Tank’s lips, not giving one fuck if I got blood in my mouth. I kissed him and told him he was gonna be okay. He wasn’t going anywhere without me.

I loved him. He had to survive.

I could no longer breathe without him.

Chapter Five

Tank

No fucking way. It couldn’t be him.

Trace looked me dead in the eyes, and I saw the hatred, the fucking betrayal in his. “Trace.” I stood my ground.

I knew this day would come. I knew that someone would have been pissed I was working for the Hangmen. I knew Tanner wouldn’t have been able to keep them all off my back. My heart fucking fell when I wondered if Tanner knew about this? . . .

“You fucking traitor. You motherfucking turncoat!” My hands fisted at my side as Trace lifted his gun and pointed it right at my face. The veins in his neck stood out as he shook with red-hot anger. He spat at my feet. “Turning from your white brothers for these impure cunts?”

“Yeah. I did.” I saw the moment he made up his mind to shoot. I saw his snarl of pure disgust and just acted. Jumping forward, I knocked his hand enough to get it from my face, but the asshole managed to shoot and I felt the slug sink straight into my shoulder. I fell back from the force of the bullet, the fucking blistering pain slicing through me.

Trace and two other assholes I didn’t even know let their boots fly, their fists. “No one fucking leaves the Klan alive,” Trace spat as the back of his gun sliced across m

y face. He bent down and stared me right in the eyes. “You’re gonna die, cunt. You’re gonna die for turning your back and joining a club that lets in the impure—blacks and spics and motherfucking browns.” I took a breath, glancing at one of the dicks to my side. His knife hung loosely in his hand as he rammed his boot into my side again and again.

I flexed my hand, then got ready. When he knelt down again, Trace’s fucking mouth spurting shit I wasn’t even hearing, I lurched, grabbing the guy’s knife and stabbing him straight through his heart. The fucker fell above me, knocking his friend and Trace back. His mouth landed near my ear. He coughed and sputtered, his blood joining mine on my chest. So I shoved the knife deeper, twisting so the asshole would feel every single thing as the life drained from him.

Taking a long breath, I slid from under the asshole and got to my feet. His friend gave me no time to get my shit together. He flew at me, gun held out. But I’d been fighting for my fucking life since I was a kid whose pop wanted to use him as a punch bag. I’d taken out blacks and Mexicans and a whole bunch of Catholics and Jews under Landry. He’d made me his perfect solider. This asshole was nothing.

Slamming my elbow down on his arm, I grabbed the gun from his hand. I didn’t even blink as I turned the gun on him and sent a bullet straight into his head. The asshole dropped, leaving me looking right at Trace. He was shaking with rage. “I fucking recruited you. Landry chose you over his soldiers who’d been with him longer, and you turned on us all, for what?”

“It’s bullshit,” I hissed out, blood and spit spraying from my mouth onto the ground. “It’s all bullshit.” I shook my head. “They just take in loser kids like us and fill our heads with bullshit.”

“Traitor,” Trace growled as he launched forward. He tried to grab me, but his hands slipped off my blood-soaked skin. His gun clattered to the ground, but when he came at me again, my strength faded and my gun slipped from my grip. Trace pulled a knife from the waistband of his jeans and launched himself at me. I stepped back, but it wasn’t enough to completely get away from the blade. The steel sank into my side, and I heard a hiss of satisfaction slip from Trace’s lips. The pain wasn’t as great this time; my body was getting numb.