He’d fended off the gaggle of rambunctious boys that night as if Ashley’s and Madigan’s lives had depended on it. Tank had been six feet tall by the time he was fourteen and had hit his full height of six four two years later. When all the boys had turned on them, the girls had run behind Tank in fits of giggles, hiding from the others. She’d been ten years old, smiling as bright as the morning sun, laughing hysterically, her long, always-tangled strawberry-blond hair flying over her shoulders as she and their cousin Madigan, an energetic brunette who was a few months younger than Ashley, chased their brothers with squirt guns. A bittersweet memory of his late younger sister, Ashley, trickled in.
He could still see his siblings and cousins running around on the docks and in the sand and grass as he and Blaine, his eldest cousin, tried to keep tabs on everyone. They’d eat dinner downstairs in the restaurant with their families, and then the kids would play outside on the grounds while their parents handled business and hung out upstairs in the bar, dancing and socializing with other Dark Knight families. He’d spent years watching over his two younger brothers, his sister, and their many cousins there at the Salty Hog. He turned toward the scents of the sea, and as usual, fond memories rolled in.
After the shift he’d had at the fire station where he volunteered a few times a month, he craved the comfort of the familiar.Ī cool September breeze swept off the water. The parking lot was full of motorcycles, trucks, and cars, many of which belonged to other members of the Dark Knights motorcycle club. He raked a hand through his thick black hair and gazed up at the Salty Hog, his family’s two-story restaurant and bar overlooking the harbor.
The faint sound of music pulsed in the air. TANK WICKED PLANTED his boots on the pavement, took off his helmet, and cut the engine on his motorcycle.
0 kommentar(er)
