Page 9 of Tank's Temptation

He calls Kane, tells him the truth in two clipped sentences, then waits while I gather my things. He doesn’t direct me into the hallway. I walk out under my own power, and the distinction matters even if it erases nothing.

Kane meets us in the common room with Judge and Cash. He studies the photographs without making me repeat the story, while Cash explains that Harlan’s men tore apart my motel roomafter Tank left, my car is still at the Rivermark and two men searched my apartment in Springfield an hour ago.

“They were clearly looking for something, and I think it was this laptop and camera,” Cash says.

Kane closes the laptop. “Harlan sold us a lie and counted on this club taking her and not asking questions. We put you behind a locked door because of it. His deal is dead, the advance goes back, and nobody in Kingdom Come will hand you or your evidence over.”

“Does that include your enforcer?”

Tank doesn’t flinch, and Kane answers immediately. “It includes every man wearing this cut. You’re under club protection for as long as you need it. We don’t hand over the innocent to be killed. That’s not what we are about now.”

“And if I leave?”

“The gate opens. Cash can put you in a vehicle, but Harlan knows your address, your car and the motel. Until we locate his men, staying here is the safest move whether you like it or not.”

For the first time since Tank entered the motel, the gate is available to me. I can demand it and risk Harlan’s reach, or stay behind the walls of the club that took me because they’re now the only protection Harlan hasn’t already reached.

“I’ll stay tonight because it’s safer, not because any of this is forgiven.”

Kane accepts that. Cash will secure copies, but I keep the original card in my camera bag. Tank walks me back down the hallway until we reach his door, where his palm settles briefly at the small of my back. The contact is light enough that I could step away, but I don’t.

Inside, Tank leaves the door open and moves aside so I can see the hallway. I set down my bag and face him. “Opening that door doesn’t undo you taking me. You carried me out ofthat motel while I fought you and treated Harlan’s story as if it mattered more than mine.”

“I know. Kane gave the order, but I’m the one who put you on my bike and brought you through those gates. That’s mine.”

The simple ownership knocks some of the anger sideways. I’d prepared to tear apart excuses, and he doesn’t offer any. “You don’t get to call the whole thing protection now.”

“I won’t.”

“Then what happens?”

Tank stops one step away from me. “Harlan never gets near you. That’s what happens.”

The promise is blunt, and I believe it. My gaze drops to his mouth as the earlier kiss surges back. My fists in his cut, his hand at my neck, his thigh between mine.

Now the door is open and freedom only sharpens what I want.

“You stopped before because I couldn’t leave,” I say. I glance toward the hallway. “And now?”

“Now you can.”

The answer runs through me like a lit match. I could walk into the clubhouse, and Tank wouldn’t stop me. Instead, I cross the room, curl both fists into his cut and yank him down.

My mouth hits his hard. Tank doesn’t touch me for one suspended heartbeat, letting me set the pace—my anger, my hunger—before one thick arm bands around my waist, hauls me against him, and he kicks the door shut behind him.

The first grind of his body knocks the breath from me. He kisses with brutal focus, no careful testing, his mouth taking mine open and deep while one hand spreads across my back. I bite his lower lip, and the low, dangerous sound he makes sends heat straight between my legs.

“There,” I whisper. “That’s the man you keep pretending not to be.”

Tank walks me backward until the wall meets my shoulders. He braces one forearm beside my head rather than pinning me with his weight, but there’s no mistaking the power surrounding me. His thigh pushes between mine, exactly where it did before, and I grind down without shame.

“You’ve been thinking about that,” he says, jaw tight.

“I’ve been thinking about a lot of things I shouldn’t.”

“So have I.”

I strip off his cut and shirt. Tattoos spill across shoulders and muscle, broken by a puckered scar above his hip. When I trace it, he traps my hand against his skin and tells me it came from a knife.