“Yes, it does.”

“Here’s the thing—right now you’re powerless. I can do whatever I want with you. There’s no one around to hear you scream, and no one is coming to rescue you, especially not Kick. I can have you any way, any how, and there’s nothing you could do about it.”

“So what? You’re gonna rape me?” She laughs. “Been there, done that. Had the fucking abortions to prove it.”

I flinch, because hearing that shit makes my heart hurt. Who the fuck am I kidding? It rips my heart right in fuckin’ two.

“I ain’t gonna rape you, Ivy. I have no interest in taking you against your will. I want you to say yes.”

“What?”

“I want you to give yourself over to me.”

She shakes her head. “What the fuck difference does it make if I give myself over to you? You’re big enough; why wouldn’t you just take what you wanted?”

“Because I want you to want it. Not that fuckin’ kinky shit you’re into. I don’t wanna hurt you. There’s enough arseholes at the club who’ll do that. I want you to feel something other than abuse.”

“I can’t—”

“Just try. You owe me that much.”

“I don’t owe you shit, Tank.”

“Maybe not. We both know you’d be dead right now if I hadn’t taken you to hospital the last time you OD’d, and we both know you can’t do this without my help. You wanna get clean? You need me. And I need this.”

“So what, you’re blackmailing me? Fuck me the way I want and I’ll get you to quit taking drugs? I’d rather take the drugs, thanks.”

I stand, bending to untie the ropes, and because I’m an arsehole I make sure my junk is all up in her face as I do it. Why shouldn’t the little bitch see the way she affects me?

Ivy is out of the chair and launching herself at me the second I get her untied. She pounds her fists against my chest and screams her frustration. “I hate you. I fucking hate you. You’re an arsehole, Tank. Fucking worthless piece of shit who gets off on making me feel small.”

I don’t try to defend myself. My arms automatically go around her and I hold her tight, though she struggles. I know what it’s like to feel small, and it was never my intention to do that to her. I just see how badly broken she is, how much she needs the pain, and I can’t help but want to fix it. I want to lift her up instead of beat her down. I want her to want more, to be more. I want her to know that she’s not sick because of all the things he did to her—she’s strong, and that’s a beautiful thing.

It’s also possible I handled that shit badly. I don’t know how to help her. I took away the drugs. I’ve tried playing hardball when it comes to sex—but she has me beat there. I even tried getting her to open up and talk to me, but I’m falling short at every fuckin’ turn, and it scares the shit outta me, because one more mistake, one more fuck up and I’ll lose her forever.

“I hate you,” she sobs. Her tears fall onto my chest and I feel every one of them. I relish them. I kiss the top of her head and hold her as she falls apart. I don’t care how long I have to stand here. I’ll stand for an eternity. I’ll be a sentinel against her pain, her fear, her sadness—forever, if I have to. If she’ll let me.

“Why are you doing this?” she says, after her sobs have quieted.

“Isn’t it fuckin’ obvious?” I ask in a whisper, afraid that if I talk too loudly, I’ll ruin the moment we’re having and scare her away.

She looks up at me through tear-filled eyes and leans up on her toes to kiss me. I don’t open my mouth. Bloody pussy that I am, I don’t want to fuck her now, ’cause that isn’t what she needs, and though my cock would strongly disagree, it isn’t what I need, either. We need this moment, now. I need to hold her and connect with her on some level other than just fuckin’, because we’ve never really done that.

For months, I’ve been sittin’ on this. Too selfish, stupid, and too afraid that someone would find out how I felt about her and use it against me—even Kick. I was afraid that if I showed weakness, if I showed her how I felt about her, my brothers, my Prez, and even Ivy would take advantage of that. They’d use my love for her against me. I’d always seen love as a weakness, but maybe it wasn’t. Maybe making yourself vulnerable to someone else was the bravest thing you could ever do. Or maybe I just need my fuckin’ head checked.

Ivy tries to deepen her kisses but I place my hands on either side of her face and stare down at her. “I’m not gonna fuck you now.”

“But I thought—”

“Not now,” I say, scooping my hands under her arse. I lift her up, and walk us back to the bed and lay her down, resting between her legs for just a minute, and then I roll onto my back and drag her into the crook of my arm.

“Tank?” she murmurs. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“I never had anyone just hold me when I cried. My father drugged me, or he touched me in order to shut me up, and Kick used to—”

“I don’t wanna hear about them right now.” I bring her hand to my mouth and kiss her knuckles, and then her long fingers one by one. “Someday, when you’re ready you’ll tell me about your father.”

“Someday,” she agrees. “I’ve never had someone care for me—not the way you do.”

She climbs on top of me and stretches her small body against mine. Despite her being completely fuckin’ stark naked, she doesn’t try to make it sexual. She just burrows in against my chest and I hold her. A short time later, Ivy presses a kiss against my neck as she traces the tattoos on my shoulder with warm fingertips. I wrap my arms tightly around her.

That’s the thing about the broken ones—they’re never too far beyond repair, even though it might seem that way. They just need a little glue and the right pair of hands to stick ’em back together.

Prez calls the end of the meet, and all four bodies in attendance, including that crazy old fucker, Country, file out. I hang back to talk to Prez, only Raine skips in wearing a flouncy little fuckin’ sundress that makes her legs look edible, and I have to avert my eyes to ensure my balls don’t get cut off and handed to me in a paper bag. Only Prez isn’t looking at me—his eyes are firmly fixed on Raine’s cleavage as she bends over in front of him and sets his coffee and one of those fancy fuckin’ muffins she brings in special for him every day. I look too, but you can’t blame a man. Her tits are on display, and the best part is she’s not even aware of it—it’s not intentional. In fact, she’d likely turn beet red and hightail it out of the room if she knew we were both checking her out.

Unintentional cleavage is always better. It’s like the Holy fuckin’ Grail of tit gawking. Some women are showy like that, and some just aren’t. Some have no idea what kind of power they hold over you, and others, other women like Ivy? They know it. They’re all too keenly aware, and they exploit it.

“You got somethin’ else you wanna talk to me about, brother?” Prez asks, and Raine looks up and blushes when she realises I’m still here watching her. I’m kind of offended that she didn’t know I was in the room. I’m pretty fuckin’ hard to miss.

“Yeah, I do,” I say, and lean back in my chair. “You got another one of those muffins for me, Raine, darlin’?”

Raine’s eyes widen. She’s a sweet girl, but I don’t make a habit of talking to her. I don’t make a habit of talking to anyone around here much, except Prez, Kick and Ivy. “Uh … no. I’m sorry. I can head down the street and—”

“What does she look like, your fuckin’ slave?” Prez says, leaning forward in his seat and resting his hands on the table. I smirk, ’cause Raine’s adorable when she’s nervous—or, more nervous than usual—and I just like to mess with Prez, ’cause the dumb fucker is so far gone for this sweet little piece of arse that he don’t even realise he’s wearing that shit not just on his sleeve, but he’s got her tattooed all over his fuckin’ forehead. Dumbarse.