Tank

Killer. Criminal. Sociopath. All of these words have been used to describe me, and for the longest time I believed that that’s all I was. I’m the man you call in to clean up your mess, assuming your mess is a guy who needs a bullet to the head. I’m the man the MC calls when they want their dirty work done. I’m the man who doesn’t feel. Until now. Until her. Now my mess is a woman who won’t save herself. I’ll fight like hell to save her, but at what price to the club? And at what cost to me?