Claimed by the Biker Giant (Maxine and Tank) novel Chapter 78

Chapter 78

Max POV

“Your turn,” Tank said softly. I took a deep breath.

“Where do you want me to start?” I had a lot of nightmares, and it’s hard to know where to start.

“That screaming nightmare two nights ago.” He pulled me closer, as if he knew I would need to feel his warmth as I spoke.

So, I went into full detail about my sister and her two guy friends, what they did to the innocent kittens, what happened at the burial with Grandpa, and what we did together before Grandma came home and saw them. I had tears running down my face.

I was still straddling Tank’s thighs, my head resting on his chest, I was soaking his shirt, but he didn’t seem to care, holding me securely to him, rubbing my back in little circles.

“Don’t stop, get more off your chest, so you can start healing. I need to understand.” He murmured, encouragingly.

“My sister was three years older than me, and we were in the same school together, and for her last year, it was my worst year. She took pride in finding me, bullying me, and using her followers to do the dirty work. So when asked at home, she could deny laying a hand on me. Before a big school sports event, they had hurt me so badly that I couldn’t compete. I had trained so hard and was looking forward to competing, but that beating was when I stopped trying and started to hide more, getting up and out of the house first and coming home late at night, sometimes not coming home at all, and staying at Jenny’s or Grandma’s. My first boyfriend, or the boy I considered my first, my sister saw me with him at the beach, laughing and enjoying each other’s company. A few nights later, she called me to the park, where on a blanket lay my sister, her two guy friends, and the guy I liked, in the middle of intimacy. I left crying. Girlfriends were limited, too; she would scare them away. If I wanted friends, we would have to meet in secret so we wouldn’t be seen hanging around together. When she left high school, I thought I would be better off, but I wasn’t. She came home from college and took any boy I liked; she would find me and have me hurt somehow. I have so many scars on my body, nearly all of which are from her and her friends, they had been told to keep an eye on me.” I hiccupped a few times as I got past that, then took the tissue Tank offered and blew my nose.

“One wet day, my sister and her goons caught me cutting through the park. They dragged me off the trail, tied me to a tree, stuffed rags in my mouth, the goons hit me in the stomach and face a few times, and left me tied to that tree, bleeding. By the time Jenny found me, I was unconscious, with hypothermia, and was in bed for a week, staying with Grandma. You might ask why I didn’t hit back. I found that if I fought back, it only got worse; she would have more guys come and beat me when she was at college. Plus, she would go home, show her bruise, and say I hit her, My parents always took her side, believed her when she said I stole or broke stuff, never her. My grandpa taught me to fight, the streets taught me to fight dirty, but against my sister, I couldn’t use any of it; it wasn’t worth the retribution. It taught me to accept higher levels of pain, to give first aid, and to live on the streets.” I took another tissue.

“On the streets, there had been a horrible gang war, and many of my street acquaintances were slaughtered. I arrived at our base camp. Well, it was a derelict house that we fixed up inside to make it more livable for them. I walked in early in the morning, bringing more food and medical supplies than I had brought. I was working at the bike shop by them when I knew my sister would be home from college. I made sure to stay away from home, take anything I loved to Jenny’s, or my sister would find it, break it, or keep it for herself. Anyway, I walked into that house to find bodies everywhere. All those I had been helping were dead or close to it. I puked in the corner before taking a deep breath and starting to check the bodies for anyone alive. I called the cops on my cell phone, as I went from one to the other, so many dead. Some were so badly mutilated that if I hadn’t seen them that night and known what they had been wearing, I wouldn’t have recognised what was left of the mangled face. The cops arrived, and soon the place was swarming with paramedics, cops, and rescue workers. I managed to fade into the background as they took over, knowing there was nothing else I could do. I saw the coroner’s people treat each dead body with respect, and it raised my opinion of them and their profession. Grandpa held me that night till I fell asleep. Grandma had already passed on by then, but my nightmares moved from sister to street trauma. Only had to worry about my sister when she came home, and if she saw me with a guy, she worked her magic and soon had them in her bed, and out of my life. You could say my sister was a reasonable birth control, meaning I never got that far with a guy, as she managed to spoil it before we could, and my trust issues with guys around me were at an all-time low.”

“You haven’t had it easy, no wonder you could take on our best and hold your own.” He kissed my hair and continued to hold me close, only letting go a little when I blew my nose.

“It wasn’t all bad, to get away from my sister, and the place that was called home, I often stayed at my Grandparents. Grandma taught me a lot, cooking, sewing, and basic herbal healing, while Grandpa taught me to fight, stay alive, first aid, to fish and live in the wild, what was safe to eat, how to fix engines, and to drive a car. When you look back, I spent more time at their home than mine, and my parents never noticed. They only saw my sister as their child. Grandpa was my first tattoo, and my first sewing flesh, he was my first in most good things that happened in my life, you would have liked him, I know he would have loved you.” I stop to think and clear my head. I feel my story was all over the place, darting from one thought to another, without finishing the first.

“Will you put a tattoo on my body? Something personal for us.” Tank asked softly, changing the confessions, as if he had heard enough for now, or as if he thought I was too upset. Either way, I appreciated the change.

“Sure, I can move the order of painting. You want it on the tank? Or the front guard?”

“Tank, leave guard as is.” He said, running his finger over the screen.

“Then I only need to paint your tank? Not any other part? Prez wanted all bikes to have the club’s logo somewhere on all of them.”

“I heard about that, can you put the logo on the back guard, it won’t interfere with your paint work.”

“Sure, I can make a small one. He had wanted the logo on, but didn’t specify how big or small.” I giggled at the thought of the comments I’d get when they saw what I did on Tank’s bike.

“Each time you have a nightmare, or bad dream night, promise me you will talk to me, get it out there, it will help. It will help me, too, to understand why you are upset, not that I can fix it, but I can share the burden.”