Claimed by the Biker Giant (Maxine and Tank) novel Chapter 30

Maxine POV

I got no joy in punching Pixie; it wasn’t a fight, it was duty, what would be expected of me, and I felt?

Nothing.

No emotion at all, not pride in seeing her face red and blotchy from her tears, or the start of the swelling of her eye, which was going to hurt like hell tomorrow.

Nothing.

Like Grandma always said, when it comes to doing something because you have to, the emotions disappear. That was how she was trying to explain that one of the guys who came back from service, having to kill for duty, was different from street fights, still both life and death situations, but in service, you do it for a different reason. Once you have killed a few times, it becomes like nothing; you no longer see a person, but a target that has to be removed. Or so she said.

Later, you might think about it, and emotions might find their way in, but most block it out, like doing any other job.

Don’t get me wrong, the person still has feelings, and not for the target. It’s a job, and it’s not something they care to talk about or analyse, because doing so puts emotions into play, and those feelings they don’t want to feel when it comes to the job.

I get it now, hitting Pixie was that, part of the job.

I blanked out the person and did what was expected of me, just like I was taught to do.

When the job was done, I climbed back onto the back of Tank’s bike and leaned in, holding his waist, and resting my head on his back, breathing in his scent, his leather jacket, and bike fumes, all of which helped to bring me back to now and out of the blank zone.

The nothing zone.

Climbed off the bike, making it back to the clubhouse, as the sky started to welcome the new dawn.

Tank placed his hand around my waist and walked me back to his room, our room.

I sat, took off my boots and jeans, and fell into bed, completely drained. I felt Tank fall heavily into bed too, and I snuggled into his side, needing to touch him, to smell him, to gain his warmth. He pulled me closer, making me feel…

Sleep found me, faster than I thought it would, taking me away from tonight’s events and allowing me to rest before my brain examined what I did today.

It was broad daylight when I woke to Tank placing a tray of food on the table. The smell of bacon had my mouth watering. Before I could think much of it, I rushed to the bathroom and relieved myself, coming out to find Tank had opened the curtains, showing it was late afternoon. I had managed to get some decent sleep, better than I expected, a deep, dreamless sleep.

“Hey, thought you might be hungry.” I noticed it was set for two, which made me smile.

“Been up long?” I asked, yawning and stretching out the kinks before I sat in the chair he had pulled out for me.

“Nope, long enough to get some food, before it disappeared, they had lunch going, but got the cook to fry up some bacon.”

“Thanks.” I made a bacon sandwich, and Tank did the same.

“Want to talk?” He asked after we both had finished the sandwich and were making a second one. I was hungrier than I thought possible.

“I missed my training today, and I need to get out to the workshop and do some more of the artwork, or it will never get done. When are we going on to leave, on this weekend’s ride?” I asked as I took a long sip of coffee, the first for the day. It is always the best, in my opinion.

Tank chuckled, his deep baritone laugh warming me inside, as no coat could on a cold day.

“Let’s see now. Training was not on today, as you gave a good workout yesterday and need those bruises a little longer to heal. We can go to the workshop; still plenty of days left to get some work done. We start gearing up to leave tomorrow, giving us two days for the girls to get their act together and sort out our bedrolls, etc. Considering we’re only going overnight, maybe two, these girls tend to pack for a week.”

“My bedroll’s ready, and my saddlebags will hold what I need, so if someone needs to put something on the back of my bike, I am sure I can fit something.” I offer, unsure what sort of gear they all take.

“Nah, we’re set, the girls know what to bring, they just like to bring emergency stuff, like extra underwear, and jeans.” I nod. I never take much, Grandpa taught me, to minimize. We had been on a few bike trips together when I was younger, before grandma died; we had some after, but they were less often.

I miss my Grandparents very much.

After we ate and showered, we headed to the kitchen to return the tray. Tank followed me to my workshop and checked the place out, making sure everything was how I left it, although the place was still firmly locked up, Tank, being Tank, did the double check before letting me inside. I thought it was cute that he was doing that, and didn’t pressure him to give up. The little bit that might make him feel he was protecting me, he knows I can defend myself, and being a large, strong man, he needs to feel he was looking after his woman, the best way he can.

I get it, I really do. I have had Sticks talk about the bike life for years as I apprenticed at the shop. She would sometimes show up at lunchtime and bring food, which was always tasty. She would sit and talk, nothing too personal. I felt it gave her a break from all those men around her, and she could be herself for a little while before going back to being the Prez’s lady. We all need a break from our everyday life occasionally, and that was hers. I wonder what she will do now, since I am here and not at the bike shop.

“Back in a few, need to catch up with Prez on what went down last night, and find out our next plan. We have that gang showing up today sometime, and need to get some lookouts set up.” Tank kissed me on the head and left.

I got to work on the petrol tank, adding more color; it was starting to look good and was beginning to gain the three-D effect I was chasing. Moved to the side covers, added the design, then left it to dry-a good day before I add more.

I returned to the bike, removed the front and rear guards, cleaned them, and prepared them for the base coat.

I had just finished adding the base coat when Tank arrived.

“Time for dinner, little lady. Wow, this is looking great.” The tank was looking at the petrol tank. I had started shading it, and I have to agree that it was turning out the way I wanted it to look. Grandpa was my muse, pushing me harder and working on what he called natural talent. Grandpa thought I would make a great tattooist, with my paint skills, but I didn’t want to work on skin.

Wow, I didn’t realise till now how much my Grandparents saved me.

Thinking about all the things I did with them, and how they sculptured my life, I wonder what they would think of me now.

Would they be proud of where I am now and how I have turned out so far?

Grandpa had friends in the bike club years ago.

I wonder if they are still around. It’s too soon for me to go asking. I feel I am still being watched and tested to see if I am worthy to be in the club, even though I am already doing so much

What do I need to do to prove myself?

Sticks said I was already family, they speak to me like I am family, and involve me, which was all new to mey only my few girlfriends ever made me feel part of something, yet even with them saying and acting like I am family.

I still think and feel that I am under the microscope,

Was this my own doubts and insecurities setting in?

Will I ever trust again?

Maybe I am too broken to fix completely?