I nod, though the knot in my chest doesn't loosen.
“Thank you for this,” I say. “For helping.”
He shrugs. “Rhodes has the respect of the club. And you're my main priority.”
“I just need him to be okay.”
“We'll get him back,” Tank says. “One way or another.”
Silence settles between us, but it's not uncomfortable.
“You'd make a good old lady,” Tank says after a while.
I snort. “All I know about old ladies is from Sons of Anarchy. Pretty sure I'd fail miserably.”
Tank chuckles. “It's not like that. Not all the time.”
“What's the job description then?”
“Loyal. Tough. Smart enough to know when to step in and when to let your man figure his own shit out.” He glances at me. “Someone real.”
“That's surprisingly reasonable.”
He grins. “What'd you expect?Must love Harleys?”
“Something like that.”
“That's a bonus, not a requirement.”
For a moment, the tension eases. Then exhaustion hits, the emotional toll of the night crashing over me.
“I just need to rest my eyes,” I mumble, leaning against the headrest.
“You do that.” Tank presses a button. Warmth spreads through the seat, relaxing my muscles.
I drift into a dreamless sleep, trusting Tank to get us where we need to go.
CHAPTER 45
THE KILL BOX
KAIDEN
Cold.
That's the first thing. Cold concrete bleeding through my shirt, seeping into my bones.
Then the smell. Rust. Mildew. Blood, dried and fresh, hanging in the stale air.
The pain arrives last. A vicious throb at the base of my skull, radiating down my neck. I try to move, and my ankle folds under me. Useless. I bite my tongue to keep from screaming.
“Easy.” Logan's voice comes from my left. “Don't move too fast.”
The light is dim. A single bare bulb swinging overhead, casting shadows that shift and sway. The room is industrial. Exposed pipes along the ceiling. Concrete walls. No windows. One door at the top of a metal staircase.
A kill box.
Logan sits against a support beam a few feet away, arms behind his back. Bound, I assume, same as me. His face is worse than mine feels. Split lip, swollen eye, dried blood crusted from his hairline to his jaw. Someone worked him over.
