The Sinner’s Tribe Motorcycle Club, Books 1-3 (10 page)

“I don't think he's the kind of man who just goes away.”

“Maybe not.” Dawn licked her lips. “He's got the ‘king of the castle' thing goin' on there. Lookit those Devil Dogs fawning over him. I wouldn't be surprised if they drop to the floor and lick his—” She cut herself off with a gasp. “Sweet mother of hotness. It's Thor.” Dawn gestured to a tall biker with shoulder-length blond hair walking toward the table. “Maybe I spoke too soon. In fact, I did speak too soon. You should definitely go and talk to him, and while you're there, you can find out who his friend is. The blond with the body made for sin. That boy could turn a good girl bad.”

“I saw him at the meeting,” Arianne said. She'd told Dawn about everything except Jeff's possible involvement in burning down the clubhouse. “He's on the executive board, but I didn't catch his name.”

“Well, we're gonna catch it right now.” Dawn grabbed her tray. “You talk. I'll take orders and drool. And to think I wasted time on a man like Eugene.”

“Eugene?” Arianne tried, but failed to keep a straight face. “Your dating website disaster? You texted me from the restaurant for an emergency call thirty seconds after you sat down, and I picked you up ten minutes later. There wasn't much time wasted that evening.”

Dawn shuddered. “That ten minutes felt like ten years. He brayed when he laughed. And his lips peeled back. Did I tell you he had horse teeth?”

“You Instagrammed his teeth, so everyone knew.”

“But it was okay.” Dawn had the good grace to blush. “He wasn't into social media. He had no friends, so he couldn't be embarrassed, and I didn't use his real name. Just his teeth.”

“That's right.” Laughter bubbled in her chest. “You nicknamed him ‘the Italian Stallion.'”

Her tension eased momentarily as they shared a laugh, but when she caught Jagger watching them, a delicious shiver wound up her spine. Why did he have to be a biker?

“I'm not paying you two to laugh.” Banks joined them at the bar and scowled. “Dawn, I need you at the table near the dance floor. And Arianne, looks like we got some thirsty bikers in the corner. Get over there and take their orders. I'll watch the bar till you're back. Daisy went home 'cause she wasn't feeling well, so we're short-staffed tonight.”

Arianne's pulse kicked up a notch. Aside from taking Jagger's order, what was she going to say?
Fancy meeting you here? Planning to kidnap me again? Nice to see you took me up on my invitation?

“What if they're here because they figured out who I am?” She kept her voice low as she fished under the counter for a notepad.

“They don't know who you are?” Dawn gave her an incredulous glance. “No wonder they let you go.”

“Exactly.”

Dawn's gaze flicked to the bikers and then back to Arianne. “They don't seem to be in a kidnapping kinda mood. My guess is the Dogs want to patch over, and they're meeting the Sinners to hash over the details. Only time you ever see that kinda boot-licking going on.”

“You're probably right.” Arianne had seen dozens of clubs come begging for Viper's protection and the power of his patch, but he was discriminating to a fault, preferring to grow the club organically rather than inherit men who didn't make the cut. The Devil Dogs had the same hungry look as the prospecting clubs that had come to visit the Jacks, but unlike the Jacks, the Sinners would likely patch them over.

“What's the worst that can happen?” Dawn said. “It's not like you don't know your way around bikers. Or dangerous men. Or biker presidents who are the epitome of dangerous men.”

Maybe so, but she sure as hell didn't know her way around men so utterly compelling as Jagger. She'd always kept her relationships safe, dating easygoing, eager-to-please beta males. Men she could control. And strictly civilians. She had no interest in getting involved with a biker. Ever. So why drag her feet when she had a job to do?

“Fine. I'll go.” Arianne flipped open her notepad and navigated her way through the bar to the now rowdy tables in the corner.

She didn't have to look up to know Jagger was watching her. She could feel his gaze burning into her skin, but instead of intimidating her, his frank interest made her bold. Lifting her head, she shook off her fear, and met his stare full-on, smiling before she dropped her gaze. Confident, not challenging. That was the key.

And from the smile that spread across his lips when she reached the table, she could tell she'd played it just right.

“Vexy.” The deep rumble of his voice vibrated through her body, sending a rush of heat straight to her core. He'd remembered to use her road name.

“Nice to see you again.” And she meant it. She'd been fantasizing about him all week, mentally stripping off his clothes, running her hands over the breadth of his shoulders, his massive chest, those taut abs, and then lower, tugging off his belt, her own heat rising as she ripped open his fly. Power, barely contained, beneath her, above her. Inside—

Jagger gave a satisfied rumble, as if her words—or her face—had settled something in his mind.

“What can I get you?”

“I'll start with some of this.” The Devil Dog seated beside Jagger pinched Arianne's ass.

Without hesitation, Arianne grabbed his wrist and twisted his arm behind his back. “I'm afraid my ass isn't on the menu.”

Wham.
Jagger thudded a knife on the table between the outstretched fingers of the biker's free hand. “You don't fucking touch her. You don't talk to her. You don't look at her. And you sure as fuck don't disrespect her.”

The table stilled. If he had been any other man, she might have thanked him verbally, or she might have pointed out that his actions were dramatic and unnecessary, since she had the situation in hand. But he wasn't just any man. He was an outlaw biker president, and his actions weren't directed solely at saving her ass from a squeeze. In that brief exchange, he'd laid down the law for the bikers on both sides of the table. First, he was in charge. And second, Arianne belonged to him.

So she gave him a simple nod of thanks. Her response seemed to please him. His face softened almost imperceptibly as he unclasped her hand from the Devil Dog's wrist, then tugged until she released her captive. Her skin tingled at his touch, and when he rubbed this thumb lightly over her knuckles, she felt each stroke as a throb deep in her core.

Still holding her hand, he retrieved his knife and then leaned back in his chair, his icy glare fixed on the now quivering Devil Dog who had no doubt pinched his very last ass.

“Sinners don't disrespect women. You want to patch over, you adjust the attitude.”

The Devil Dog, his face red, sweat beading on his brow at the possibility his behavior might have just lost his club the protection they clearly needed, apologized profusely to Arianne. Then he apologized to Jagger and each of the Sinners at the table. When he was done, he started again, but Arianne held up her free hand.

“Apology accepted. Now, let's get some drinks on the table. Jagger, you want to start?”

“You already started something.” Jagger's voice dropped to a low, husky rasp, and he squeezed her hand, sending all the wrong messages to all the right parts of her body.

“Question is … do I want to finish it?”

She couldn't tell if he was flirting with her or threatening to beat on the Devil Dog, so she threw the question back at him. “Question is, what do you want to drink?”

“Pad.” He released his grip and held out his hand. Arianne gave him the pen and pad and he scrawled on the paper, then handed it back to her.

Sexy. As. Fuck.

Biting her lip to stifle a laugh, she tucked the notepad in her pocket. “So, our best whiskey and enough glasses to go round?”

Satisfaction glittered in his eyes as he confirmed his assent with the briefest dip of his chin. For a heartbeat, she wondered if he'd been testing her. But did he really think she would give the game away?

Relieved to have an excuse to get away from Jagger's distracting charm and good looks, she headed back to the stockroom. What the hell was she thinking? Not only was she about to leave Conundrum, but he was exactly the kind of man she'd spent a lifetime trying to avoid: Too powerful. Too confident. Too violent. Too masculine. With the quiet kind of arrogance that came from being in command.

And, of course, he had to be a biker.

She searched the shelves for Banks's twenty-one-year-old Redbreast. Although not a whiskey drinker—vodka was more her style—but she figured that at $180 a bottle, the selection would satisfy even the most discerning palate. Spotting the yellow label at the back of the shelf, she stretched up and reached for the green glass bottle.

“Hello, Vexy.” Low and rough with an unmistakable drawl, the voice in her ear sent a wave of cockroaches skittering beneath her skin, but not so much as the hand sliding over her hip.

Danger.
The warning spiked through her mind, bringing with it fleeting images from the nightmares that haunted her sleep.
Dark room, torn clothing, fingers around her throat. Her body pinned to the bed. Helpless.
Arianne drew in a ragged breath and tried to stem the flow, but the dam was broken. More images flashed.
The thud of a door. Cool, sweet air in her lungs. A roar. The crack of bone. Jeff's scream. And then Viper.

Gritting her teeth, she forced the memories away. “Leo.” She spat out his name, her nose wrinkling when he pulled her hard against his body. “How did you get in here? Get the hell off me.”

“I'll get off on you, babe. How would you like that?” He ground his hips into her ass and she almost heaved.

“You're disgusting.” She grabbed the bottle from the shelf and slid past him, then headed for the door. Last thing she wanted was to be trapped in a room with Viper's VP.

“And you're coming with me when you're done work,” Leo said, following her into the main room. “Viper wants to see you, but he's tied up till later, so there's time for a drink.”

He rounded the bar and settled himself on a barstool. Almost immediately, the couple at the end of the bar vacated their seats. But then, Leo always had that effect on people. With his sharp, angular features, unnaturally pale skin, cruel slash of a mouth, and pitch black hair cut long on top, he almost had the look of a comic book villain. But there was nothing comical about her father's VP. Not even the bulky hoodie he wore under his leather cut could hide the enormous, cruel power of his muscular body.

Arianne didn't dare look at the Sinners in the corner as she filled a tray with whiskey glasses. Leo had to have come in through the back door leading to the parking lot. He would never have risked a public meeting with the Sinners this soon after the fire. Would Jagger think she was still with the Jacks? How could he not, with her pouring drinks and chatting with Leo at the bar?

Still, she could hardly wait until Jagger saw Leo's cut. The Sinners were the dominant presence in the bar, which meant no other bikers were welcome tonight. She had no love for Leo, and he deserved what was coming to him.

“Sure.” She opened and closed cupboards on the pretense of looking for more glasses. For the first time ever, she considered not answering Viper's summons. Usually he sent Leo when she'd done something wrong. This time she'd done something unforgivable, and it wasn't just her at risk, but Jeff, too.

“What does Viper want with me?” Still playing for time—what the hell was taking those Sinners so long to notice the Black Jack sitting at the bar?—she added a few more glasses to the tray and placed the whiskey bottle in the center. Then, to keep Leo distracted, she threw a few ice cubes into a glass and shoved it across the counter.

“What do you think he wants?” Leo's eyes narrowed in contempt. “He wants to know what the fuck you were doing at the Sinner's Tribe clubhouse, fucking up Jeff's job. The truck came back half empty, and Jeff has disappeared. The Triad is riding Viper something fierce 'cause he made them pay in advance for those weapons.” Leo leaned toward her, his body thrumming with menace. “Viper's wondering if you and Jeff got together and decided to do a little business on the side. And even if you didn't, you know how it works: Someone has to take the fall—and he's decided on you.”

“He can get more damn guns.” She dropped her hand to the counter, just above the hidden emergency call button. She'd seen Leo angry and agitated, but never like this. Viper must have blamed him in some way for what happened.

Leo's mouth crimped in annoyance. “There are no more AK-47s in any of the four neighboring states, and he can't take the risk of bringing them direct from Mexico. He's so fucking pissed, Vexy, he's destroyed half the clubhouse and put the three men who went with Jeff in the hospital.”

Arianne rearranged the glassware beneath the counter to hide her trembling hands, but she couldn't stop a shudder from coursing up her spine.

“Yeah.” Leo's gaze crawled over her. “You know what I'm talking about. This time when you go back to the clubhouse, you won't be coming out again. At least not in one piece.” His lips twisted in a cold leer of a smile. “Not unless you ask me for help. And you know the price.”

Not a price she was prepared to pay. Arianne stared down the tray and then over at the rowdy group of bikers. Should she bring the tray over and ask for help? Technically she was a Black Jack and MCs as a rule didn't interfere with the business of other clubs. Given Jagger's duty was first and foremost to the Sinners, a request for assistance might put him in a difficult position, and her, if he refused.

And since when had she ever needed help? Arianne grabbed a bottle of Scotch and poured it into Leo's glass. She still had the .38 strapped to her leg, and Banks kept a .45 in the drawer under the cash register in case of emergency, which this was. Still, Leo wouldn't have come alone, and if she drew a weapon, civilians might get hurt.