Chapter 3

Tav

" I know you said we'd ride together so you could do your sponsor duty and all that, but does that include talking? Because it's been half an hour and you haven't said a thing," I side eye Tank to make sure he's awake. Maybe he fell asleep and I'm talking to myself.

Instead, he grunts in reply. "I'm working through my thoughts."

Whipping my head in his direction, I stare for a quick minute before getting my eyes back on the road. "You work through your thoughts? Like, you just don't say them as they come to you?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because my last name isn't Tombs," he says drily.

"Hmph."

"Just trying to figure out where you fit into the chaos. You're open, more outgoing -"

"- Ana says I'm a golden retriever."

Tank huffs out a breath before tipping his head side to side. "Actually, that's the perfect description for you. Just trying to figure out how that works."

Swallowing, I think about my family. He's not wrong, I'm not high strung like Gus, definitely more fucking normal than Jules, he's weird. And, well, Dayz is the baby and the only girl, so she's spoiled.

"I spent a lot of time with my mom growing up. Gus would do shit with our dad. Jules liked being alone, and Dayz and Pops are tight. Pops is my dad's dad. Mom was totally normal."

"That why you like the MILFs?"

I'm already shaking my head, knowing the question was coming. People always assume I like MILFs because I lost my mom when I was young. That's not it. I don't need to be mothered.

"My favorite childhood memories are of family. All of us together playing football or having a picnic. Going on holiday, whatever. I loved being a part of that. When Mom and Dad died, it became about survival, I guess. Just making it through the day. When I got out of college, I met a woman with a kid. Never thought I'd want to be with a mom, but well, she changed my thinking. Just because a woman has a child doesn't make her less desirable or whatever. She was hot as hell and sometimes we spent time with her little boy. I liked it. Being part of their little family." I shrug. "But I've dated women with kids, and women without kids. Women older than me or younger. It doesn't matter. Especially now I've found Blanche."

Tank looks at me thoughtfully for a moment. "You're gone for her, huh?"

"What's not to go for? She's beautiful and caring and thoughtful -"

"A stone cold killer on a mission to murder her uncle -"

"Yeah. Perfect."

He shakes his head and then indicates a dirt road that I would have missed if I wasn't looking for it. Following the twists and turns, driving further into a wooded area, we come to a stop at a cozy little log cabin. It's not cold out, but I can see puffs of smoke coming out of the chimney.

An older man with a face like a screwed up fist steps onto the porch. Dungarees without a top underneath, unlaced boots, and a shotgun pointed directly at us.

Tank winds his window down and holds his hands out, showing that we aren't armed. He brings one hand in to flick the door handle and then steps out slowly. As soon as the old man sees who it is a smile breaks out, changing the whole look of his face.

"Tank, you big bastard! What the hell are ya doing in that cage, huh? Your ass is too big for that little dinky car," He throws his head back and lets out a rusty laugh.

Tank indicates I get out of the vehicle, so I follow his lead and do exactly as he did.

"I've brought the prospect I've sponsored. He can do all the heavy lifting," Tank smiles at the old man who squints at me before shrugging and waving me closer.

"Henderson. Name and rank, son."

"Oh, no rank, I'm afraid." I firmly shake his old leathery hand and let my smile grow when he squints even harder at me.

"You look familiar. Have I kicked your ass in the past?"

My head tips back as I bark out a laugh. "No sir, I think I'd remember an ass kicking from you."

He grins and then waves at us to follow as he stomps along the porch, heading for the back of the cabin.

"Here she is, boys, all packed up, ready to wet the whistles of the old and infirm." He waggles his bushy white eyebrows.

I briefly wonder if I should get a bottle for Pops and then very quickly stop wondering. That would be a terrible idea.

"Your face is pissing me off, kid. I know I know you from somewhere, but I can't put my finger on it. What did you say your name was?"

Tank's eyes dart between the two of us.

"Everyone calls me Tav, but my full name is Octavius Tombs."

"Huh! That's it!" He snaps his fingers and points finger guns at me. "Fucking knew you looked familiar. You're one of Sid's, huh?"

I chuckle at his enthusiasm. "Yeah, he's my Pops."

"That's right. I remember when that unfortunate business happened. How's he doing? Getting on well?"

I lift the side of the crate that Tank indicated and help him move it to the SUV, all while answering Henderson's questions.

"He's doing great. Found himself a lady he likes spending time with. He's also been hanging around the MC. He likes it."

"Well, I never pegged him for an MC type of guy," Henderson mutters, stubble rasping under his hand as he rubs his chin. "But if he's happy, then good for him."

Tank and I lift the case into the back of the SUV and slam the door shut. Henderson leads us back to his porch where some glasses and a pitcher of lemonade have been set up.

"Thanks, babe!" He yells through the open door before sitting and waving his hand at us to follow. "You know, I have never met a man who had as much shit thrown at him as Sid Tombs and come out the other side unscathed. He's a rare man, your pops. He still vicious?"

I choke on my lemonade as the mouthful goes down the wrong hole, spluttering for a moment while Tank sips his all dainty like.

"Sorry, sir, I was not expecting that question." I wheeze, trying to clear the tickle in the back of my throat. "But ah, yes, he is still vicious."

"That's the understatement of the century," Tank says under his breath before taking another pull of his lemonade.

"Ooh do tell. He was one of the best interrogators I'd ever seen. Ruthless, that man. Who's he been working on? They deserve it?" He leans forward, eyes glinting.

When I diligently read the MC bylaws, it clearly stated that we were abiding by Fight Club rules. You don't talk about it. This ole boy seems to want to break that rule and get us to spill. Frowning, I squint at Tank. Maybe this is a setup to fuck with me. Before I can figure out my next move, he answers for me.

"No names or anything, but we've had a human trafficking issue. And a rival MC issue. And falsely accused of murder issue."

"What Tank's saying is we got a lot of issues," I add, ignoring Tank's glare in my direction.

"All I can say is that Pops isn't the only one in the Tombs family capable of making a man spill his guts. Both figuratively and literally," Tank offers.

"Oh, is it you, kid? He teach you everything he knows?" There's a gleam in his eye as he looks at me and I really would like to please him, but I have to give Dayz props.

"Um, no. My sister."

His white brows pull low, and he looks confused before he brightens. "That little tiny thing? Lots of hair with the nose of a bloodhound?"

I try to stifle my laugh, but Tank's slips out. "Yes, sir. That's the one."

"Huh. I remember Sid bringing her to visit when she was a wee dot of a thing. Was obsessed with my pot still. Asked if a grown man could fit in it and how long it would take to boil skin and meat off the bones. Makes a shit ton more sense now." We all nod in unison at his statement because what more is there to say?

We chew the fat a little, finish up our refreshments, say our goodbyes, and hit the road to do our deliveries.

During the day, I meet Old Man Whitlock, who again knows Pops. Almost all the men we visit along the way home know Pops. It's quite touching that they all remember him fondly, even if his "techniques" made a couple of them vomit. Seems the grand-apple didn't fall too far from the tree after all.

Parking the SUV in the compound lot, I have to admit I have a little bounce in my step. The day went well. I learned Tank doesn't like spiders, and I met some very cool old boys who have requested I always do their run, so I feel like I'm nailing this shit.

"Prospect," Marx's muffled voice calls out from his office.

"Yeah, Pres?"

"Good work today. Tank said the old boys loved you. It'll be your run now."

I try to hide my smile. "Yes, sir."

"Good. Now go relieve Takoda on bar. After that, get to work making that scary little woman your Ol Lady. We need to find out where the fuck Hammer is hiding."

"Yes, Pres!"

Blanche

After talking with Lovely after breakfast, I need some space to think about my next moves. I slip out of the house and wander through the backyard, following the path through the trees to the back shed. I unlatch the door and step inside.

The outside looks like a piece of crap, the inside however has a set up wildlife places would kill to have. The inside is warm and damp. There are rocks dotted around, and a clear roof, allowing the gators to sunbathe and relax. A large lagoon pool area in the center flows out to the waterways behind the property. The boys have a large fenced outdoor area where visitors come to watch them with the gators between tours. The boys have always been industrious and hardworking. Even with their sheltered upbringing they've managed to carve out a life for themselves running swamp tours which doubles as a way to transport the women I pick up from the Keep. Eden's Keep doesn't care about the boys they discard, but the girls and women are a different story. They come looking.

"Hellooooo my baby!" I coo at the gator that is sunning himself.

He lazily turns his head before sliding off the rock he was on. He slowly walks toward me and stops at my feet so I can bend down and run a hand over his bumpy, rough flesh.

"Figured we'd find you out here while we did all the hard work tidying the kitchen," Chris says from behind me.

"Yeah, yeah, I was chatting to Lovely. I now have a list of names of the women complicit in Royal's bullshittery," I frown down at Smiley, my fingers running over the ridges on his skin, calming me slightly.

"I know you want to do this on your own sis, but we can help. We can do it just as well as you can," Dom says, leaning down to give Smiley a scritch before moving back.

"I know, but I want to see Mercy's face when he finds out it was me who brought the whole lot crashing down. Me."

My brother's nod and my attention is pulled away when I stumble slightly, Smiley bumping me with his large, rough head, upset that I'm not giving him my full attention. Squatting down, gently grasping under his chin, I give him a scritch on the smoother skin there.

"Aw Smiley baby, mommy missed you! Yes, she did! Yes, she did!"

"It's always fucking weird when they do that," Vic whispers in the background.

"Don't you listen to him Smiley, he's just jealous, yes he is!"

Smiley was another of my rescues. I happened across him as a baby, teeny tiny, and some fucker had pulled his teeth. Without them he wouldn't survive for long, so I bought him home and hand fed him. It was a wild time having two busy kids and a gator to look after, but we did it. Since then, my brothers have been taking care of him along with a small number of rescue gators.

"Now would be a good time to break it to her, brothers."

Spinning at Chris's comment, I stand to my full height, squinting at them. "Tell me what?"

"You're going to be a grandmomma!" they yell in unison.

"What!" I screech before getting down beside Smiley and giving him more love.

"Yeah, the sly old dog must have been spending time with Gretchen. The other males are too old or too young, so congrats, Granny," Dom smirks, and I flip the bird at him.

Making smoochy noises to my gator I give him one more scritch before letting him wander back to his rock.

"You do know that one day he'll eat your face off, right?"

"Don't be silly. He loves me. You guys, though, he'd totally eat yours." I snort as they roll their eyes and get to organizing food for the pack. "OK I have to get going, but first I've left an envelope for you with funds for Lovely," I hold my hand up to stop the bitching. "You need to take her shopping. She can't keep walking around in that hideous floor length dress and running shoes."

Chris lets out a sigh. "She has a point."

"Of course I damn well do. She and the baby will need normal people clothes. Is she going to stay here with ya'll?"

"We want to keep her with us, get to know her, but because Royal wants little Bee we're going to send her north. Not saying exactly where, the fewer people that know, the better." Vic says, a frown on his face. Of all my brothers, he's the one who struggles the most with what my father and his brother have created. Royal wanting to sell his own child is fucking with Vic big time. Last night I had to talk him down from going after Royal himself.

"North? Is Diligence Martin still the contact?"

"Yep. Still doing the Lord's work. Relocating people our father doesn't need or want in his flock any more. Fucker," Dom says kicking a rock into the pool.

I move closer to my brother, leaning my head on his shoulder. No words need to be spoken. The boys were 16, 17, and 18 when our father put them out. Old enough to know how to work hard, but so sheltered that I know that first year really messed with them. I was so freaking lucky that they knew how the world worked by the time I needed them. Being 19 and pregnant is hard enough. Being 19, pregnant and knowing nothing of the outside world was hell. Although I count my blessings. From what I've heard from some of the women we've rescued, the legal age ceased to mean anything within the Keep after I left. A year ago we helped a 13-year-old pregnant with my uncle's baby. At least Lovely made it to legal age before he sunk his hooks into her.

"We've got this squirt. We'll make sure our new sister and Baby Blanche find a good place to settle into their new lives. We'll keep in touch with her, but we need to keep her contact circle small until the threat is gone. In the meantime, you need to get back to your family." Dom turns his head and drops a kiss to the top of my head.

Turning, Chris and Vic pull me into a group hug, Dom joining us and they squeeze as hard as they can before someone puts their smelly pit in my face, turning our hug into a shoving match.

Breaking free, I wipe my face and give them all kisses.

"Be safe, sis. Call us if you need us."

"Promise."