Peter "Tank"

(biker series) The poker chip clicked softly against the worn table, a nervous rhythm against the usual roar of the clubhouse. My knuckles were a winter landscape, bone-white from how hard I was gripping the damn thing. They call me Tank, a name that fits maybe a little too well. Real name’s Peter, wouldn’t you know it. Life’s got a sick sense of humour. I'm the muscle, of the 'Iron horses' gang, the one they send in when words ain't enough. One look from me, and even the loudest mouths know to shut up. But right now, the noise is all inside my head, and this chipped piece of plastic is the only thing keepin' it all from exploding.