Home > The Wicked Aftermath(2)

The Wicked Aftermath(2)
Author: Melissa Foster

“What kind of trouble are you stirring up?” Tank asked as they all sat down.

“Just deciding who I want to take home tonight.” Gunner was as much of a woman whisperer as he was an animal whisperer.

“I’m thinking the brunette.” Zander smirked. “Did you see the rack on her? Give me one hour, and…Mm-mm.” He had the same short dark hair and blue eyes as all of his brothers, but that’s as far as the similarities went. Zander had no filter and enjoyed riling people up. “Or maybe I’ll go for the blonde.”

“Why choose?” Baz chuckled.

“Do not egg him on.” Zeke shook his head. He’d been Zander’s wrangler since they were kids. Zander had learned early on that joking around and getting into trouble could deflect attention from his learning disability. Zeke had taken it upon himself to try to keep him in line. Zeke pointed to Baz. “And women call you husband material?” He scoffed. “You should probably set them straight.”

Baz splayed his hands, flashing his dimples. “Who am I to kill their fantasies?”

Blaine laughed. “You’re about as likely to settle down as Tank is to hold a real conversation.”

“Some of us have better uses for our mouths.” Tank smirked.

“Speaking of which.” Baz turned his attention to Gunner and Zander. “I’m always amazed at how many women you two pick up with the shit you say.”

“That makes two of us,” Zeke said under his breath.

“Hey, man, I keep it real. They know what they’re getting because of the shit I say. When we hook up, I won’t need to speak.” Zander flashed a cocky grin. “My body will do all the talking.”

Baz looked across the table at Gunner. “You do that shit, too, Gun?”

“Hell no. I’m as smooth as butter. But not everyone can be a catch like me.” Gunner pushed to his feet, arrogantly showing off his heavily muscled biceps. “Six-plus feet of hard-bodied, talented-tongued business owner.” He made a lude gesture with his tongue.

“Sit your ass down.” Tank yanked him down to his seat. “Jesus. You’re animals. I need a drink.” He liked giving them hell, but the truth was, every guy around that table would give their lives for each other.

“Like you’re a saint?” Gunner said sarcastically.

“I never said I was, but I’m not an asshole.” Tank had his share of women, but he didn’t make a public game of it the way some of the younger guys did. He turned to flag down a waitress, but Leah was already on her way to the table, her slim hips swaying in curve-hugging jeans, her Salty Hog T-shirt straining across her perky breasts, and her eyes pointedly avoiding him.

She turned to Baz and Blaine. “What can I get y’all?”

Her Southern drawl drew Tank in every time he heard it. He watched her as the others ordered. Her expression morphed to a more serious one as she studied Zander’s face the way she always did, like she was trying to figure him out. “Would you like a refill?”

“I’d like your number,” Zander said with a wink.

Tank glowered at him.

Leah wrinkled her nose. “I’m not on the menu, but I’m happy to get you a drink.”

Everyone chuckled as he asked for a refill and tried again to get her number. She turned toward Tank with her gaze trained on the order pad. “And for you?”

“Whiskey, neat,” Tank said.

Her eyes flicked up to his, and in the space of a second everything else failed to exist except that thunderous roar, and just as quickly, the little color Leah had drained from her face.

“You okay, darlin’?” Tank touched her hand.

She pulled it away, stumbling backward, and scurried off toward the bar.

“Dude, are you sure something didn’t happen between you two that we should know about?” Blaine asked.

Tank leveled him with a dark stare.

As his brothers and cousins joked about him scaring Leah off every time she looked at him, he watched her heading for the bar, eyes downcast, as though she wished she were invisible again. Maybe she was just a quiet girl who liked her privacy, but that didn’t explain her reaction to him. He’d missed signs of trouble with Ashley, and he wasn’t about to let that happen again. Not to her or anyone else.

 

LEAH FELT TANK watching her as she dragged air into her lungs and tried to calm her racing heart. She remembered the first time she’d seen the bearded, tattooed mountain of a man with piercings in his ears and nostril, coal-black hair, and eyes to match. He’d rolled into the bar with a group of Dark Knights, all of them banged up and bleeding like they’d come from a fight. She’d been curious about the intimidating and ridiculously hot biker who wore metal rings and leather bracelets and whose watchful eyes held so much grief it was palpable. But that was before their gazes had met. She’d heard her boss, Ginger Wicked, call him Tank, and later that night she’d learned just how fitting his name was. From the very first time their eyes had connected, and each and every time thereafter, he’d stolen the air from her lungs, as if she’d been run over by a tank. Only it wasn’t her own suffering she’d felt. It was him suffocating, weighed down by an unimaginable burden. The idea that anything could be too much for such a powerful, confident man had shaken her, and even now, four months later, it was still there.

She’d always had a sixth sense. The night her father had been killed, he’d come to her in a dream, telling her to take care of her younger brother, River, and that he’d always be watching over them. She’d woken up screaming, begging him to come back. The police had shown up a little while later to notify her of his death. That was six years ago, when she’d been eighteen and River had been thirteen. She’d been raising River ever since. She’d understood why that vision and many others had come to her, but she’d never experienced anything like her reaction to Tank. When it had first happened, she’d feared he might be dangerous, but according to Starr, the waitress who had trained her, Tank was a great guy who would never hurt anyone unless they deserved it. From what Leah had witnessed since, everyone seemed to respect and trust the gruff biker who rarely said much, and though she took comfort in that, it didn’t lessen her reaction to him. She’d briefly considered looking for another job, but she loved working at the Salty Hog. She’d finally learned the ropes and felt comfortable enough to joke with customers, and nothing could beat the fantastic tips she earned. Last week she’d even given up her other part-time job to work there full time. Ginger and Conroy Wicked were great bosses. They allowed her to work flexible hours, and after thirty days of full-time employment she’d be eligible for employer-paid health insurance, which would save her hundreds of dollars every month.

“Hey, you okay?” Starr asked as she sidled up to Leah, pulling her from her thoughts.

“Yeah, thanks.” Leah lowered her voice. “This is so embarrassing. He’s our bosses’ son and I can’t even talk to him.”

“Don’t sweat it. Tank’s a scary-looking guy. I’ll take his table, and you can take table three.” She flipped her long blond hair over her shoulder and pointed to a table full of preppy guys. “I’ve primed them for you. They’ll tip well.”

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