Bitter Kind of Love: Prairie Devils MC Romance (Outlaw Love) (33 page)

Jesus. Why, Tank? Why?

I shook my head. The answer came a second later, sparking in his eyes.

Because murder doesn't come cheap, and neither does love.

The cop near the door behind him stepped through it and continued to watch us through the little glass pane.

Hell didn't do anything to dampen the way I got lost in his eyes. When he stared at me, I froze, instantly forgetting all the scripted sorrows I'd been practicing to myself in the waiting room.

“Emma,” Tank said, breaking the tomb-like silence. “Why did you come?” He turned his wrist, showing off the eagle with the Devil's head in its talons inked on his forearm, two symbols that wrapped up his whole mad world.

Just tell him the truth. Perfect words aren't worth a damn. Honest ones are.

“I had to, Tank. I needed to thank you. He was unstable. He was going to hurt me if you hadn't –“

“They're listening,” he warned. “Prisoners got no right to privacy, babe. Especially guys who're part of a club the Feds are trying to brand domestic terrorists.”

The damned club! His whole life was folding, and still he stayed loyal, giving his brothers the same grim sacrifice he'd given me.

My whole mouth tasted bitter when I thought about it. If it weren't for the Prairie Devils MC, neither of us would be suffering like this right now. We wouldn't be here with this shitty glass between us instead of in each other's arms.

Then again, there was plenty of blame to go around. I couldn't pin it all on the club, however tempting.

If I hadn't gotten myself into a cash grab I didn't understand patching up their wounds, I wouldn't have met him. If I hadn't met him, he wouldn't be here, and a man's blood wouldn't be on both our hands – and the selfish fucking psycho who deserved everything Tank gave him wouldn't be having the last laugh from beyond the grave by bringing down my man and his brothers.

“That isn't going to happen. No one's going to take down the club.” I shook my head, desperate to shake the unpleasant thoughts. “The lawyers are working on it. They'll get your guys off the hook and get you home.”

Tank snorted and flashed me a smile. It wasn't a smart ass gesture, though. More like an old man marveling at a child's innocence.

“Blaze's lawyers have got some fancy tricks up their asses. Yeah, the club'll be fine, but nobody's gonna spring me free. Shit doesn't work like that, babe. I'm gonna be cooling my heels in this shithole a good long while. Thank fuck those tours in Afghanistan taught me all about patience.”

I took a good long look at his face. Killing hadn't changed a damned thing. Why would it? It wasn't like my kill was his first.

He was beautiful, through and through, a living, breathing contrast to the black heart within. My grandmother used to tell me I had big friends in high places when I was a kid, but her silly little saying never meant anything until I met Tank. And right now, it meant the whole world, my overly logical brain's attempt to justify this mess and prevent myself from breaking down into a weeping pile.

My guardian angel was behind that glass, paying for my mistakes.

“You didn't come to talk business, babe.” He leaned forward, close to the glass as he could get. “We both know why you're here. Listen, Emma, whatever may or may not have happened last week – don't ever feel a flap of guilt about it. Not for me, and certainly not for that motherfucker who tried to kill your sweet ass. What's done is done. And I wouldn't have it any other way. I did everything to keep you safe. Nobody but you and my brothers matters worth shit.”

Damn! The tear sliding down my cheek burned like lava.

It wasn't supposed to go like this. Maybe if he showed something besides the cool and collected intensity beaming out his eyes, it would've made this easier. I couldn't reconcile him accepting surrender with the fact that it looked like he could get up, break his twig-like chains, bust through the glass, and walk right out of here.

Whatever, just as long as he didn't warn me again. I wouldn't be able to take it. Not after he'd warned me about this life, trying to nudge me away from it, and far away from him.

Couldn't he see there was no going back? I was already tainted, in too deep. At this depth, a girl couldn't have those regrets, or else she'd drown.

I wasn't going to walk away, dammit, no matter how much he aimed those perfect honey eyes in my direction. He was paying the ultimate price for me, but I'd suffered for him too!

Pleasure made walking through pure hell a whole lot easier. I couldn't forget the months I'd spent heating up like a rocket in his presence, let alone the perfect nights when I traced those sexy tattoos with my fingers, my tongue, my everything.

“No, Tank, you listen! It's my turn to talk.” I reached up and tapped the glass. So cold against my palm. “We were going to have something new and wonderful before all this crap hit. I still want that, and I don't care one bit how long I have to wait. If it takes you ten years to come home – even twenty! – I'll be waiting. There's nobody else but you, and there never will be. Just thinking about another guy makes me want to throw up. Nobody'll ever fill your giant damned shoes. They can't.”

For a second, his eyes went bright, glowing with the same addictive fire I saw when we were alone together. Then it went out, and my heart dropped like a rock. He was determined to turn me away.

“I fucked up, Emma, and I'm not talking about the reason I'm in here. I fucked myself when I decided to go after you. Trapped your heart when I should've set it free. Should've stuck to my guns. Should've kept you away. Should've had the Prez turn you right out of the fucking clubhouse and found a girl half as beautiful and smart to play doctor...”

“Shut up!” I was shaking now, losing more tears in hot, painful streams. “You can't regret this! I have mine, but they're all about the time we've wasted. If we weren't too stupid, too slow, playing games on both sides, we would've had more to remember. But I don't care how much or how little there is. Everything I've had with you, I'm holding onto. I'm not going to let it go just because someone tells me to – even if it's you.”

His smile was gone. He moved slow, never taking his eyes off me, never showing the tiniest crack in his rock hard armor. My hand was trembling, splayed out on the glass.

It was hard enough to look at him like this, but I couldn't see a damned thing after he mirrored my little hand, eclipsing it in his huge palm behind the glass. The whole world went blurry, sprouting painful thorns.

“We had our time, babe, but the motherfucking clock's run out. I'm gonna cherish every fucking second we had 'til the day I die.” He paused. “This shit cuts both ways, you know. I know it's gonna take some time to get your head and heart fixed. You'll tell me and my advice where to fuck off to, and that's your right. But I'm not gonna let you waste the rest of your life circling the skies for me, wasting your best fuckin' years. Gonna make you listen, and listen good, because it'll make sense someday when days have turned into weeks and weeks have become fucking months.”

No, no, no...

Why did my eyes have to fail me like this? Why couldn't it be my ears? Hot, painful tears jerked at my vision.

“Walk away, Em. Pack your shit up and leave Missoula. You can land a nursing gig in Seattle or Portland or Eureka and start all over. Forget the Prairie Devils and my stupid ass too. What went down happened because I couldn't let you get hurt – same damned reason I'm saying this shit now. If you really care about me, you'll do exactly what I say, and do it as soon as you fucking can.” He inhaled slowly. “My life's fucked, babe. Yours isn't. Fuck, you were the victim here. Nobody disputes that. I can't drag you straight to Hades like a goddamned boulder strapped to your back. Look at me, Emma...”

He waited. Slowly, I did as he asked, clearing my eyes. If he was really this determined, it might be the last time I'd see him, and I wanted this to count.

“Please. There's got to be another way.” My words were faint, weak, defeated because I knew damned well there wasn't.

“There's only one way, and I'm pointing to it.” His hand was gone from mine, and he stuck a finger out, pointing toward the exit sign down the hall. “Go. You got strength and beauty, babe. That's gonna make this whole fucking thing easier with time. You wanna talk about regrets? Only one I got is breaking your heart. But if that's what it takes to keep you safe, then I'm game. One day, everything'll make sense, and I'll be nothing but a distant fucking memory. Get the hell out and go live enough for both of us.”

I jerked up. I couldn't listen to anymore of this heart wrenching shit. He was right about one thing: the man had a knack for shattering my heart and piecing it back together so many times I'd lost count.

He wanted to confess regrets? Then so did I.

I regretted ever losing my head and falling for this stern, violent, beast of a man. I regretted re-wiring my head to the point where I
knew
I'd never love another man as much as Tank, and I'd keep loving him against all the terrible odds.

I wasn't going to stop. I couldn't. If prison bars or his stupid high ideals stood between us, I didn't care. Not one tiny shred.

He'd keep hammering my heart to pieces – that much was given. But as long as I still had a single beating ember left, I couldn't shut it off. If he blew my love to pieces, the tiny cinders would just keep beating for his dumb ass, and
only
for him.

He owned it all – every fragile piece of me – and he'd keep it if we never laid eyes on each other or spoke again...

GET WICKED KIND OF LOVE!