The Sinner’s Tribe Motorcycle Club, Books 1-3 (115 page)

“Don't you dare.” Evie pushed herself up on her elbows, her beautiful face flushed with desire. “You know how ticklish my feet are.”

Yes, he knew. He remembered everything about her.

“Zane!” She shrieked and twisted when he ran his nails along the sole of her foot, and then she laughed—really laughed. It was a sound he'd never thought he'd hear again, and he pushed himself up to kiss her.

“You're different.” Evie stroked her hands over the bunched muscles in his shoulders and down his back. “Aside from being bigger and stronger and likely able to leap tall buildings in a single bound, you seem more … self-assured.”

“I know what I want.”

“What do you want?” She licked her lips and all thoughts of taking her slowly flew out the window.

“You.” He claimed her mouth in a kiss that served only to heighten his need. She tasted like peppermint, fresh and clean, a contrast to the thoughts he had about what he wanted to do to her while he had her in his bed.

Her fingers stroked over his chest and around to his back. She was glorious beneath him, her lips pink and swollen from his kisses, her fiery hair spread over the pillow, her nipples rosy and peaked, rising toward him with her panting breaths. She dropped her hands to the fly of his jeans and he hissed in a breath when she ripped it open.

Fuck. He needed her bad. He rolled, bringing her with him, until she was lying on top, her soft, sweet body wedged between his thighs. “Touch me.”

She sat up and eased his jeans over his hips, following them down his legs until he kicked them off, then kissing her way back up. With a grin, she wrapped her hand around the base of his cock. “How do you want to be touched?”

“Suck me, sweetheart.” He smoothed his hand through the silken strands of her hair. “Take me in that hot, wet mouth. Suck me deep. Make me come.”

And that was pretty much the end of slow, soft, and gentle. But she didn't seem to mind.

“I always wanted to taste you,” she said, dropping her head to take him in her mouth. His girl didn't tease. She tongued his length, hard and fast, then she followed her taste with a lick over his crown before she taking him in deep. Zane bucked his hips, tightened his grip on her hair, holding her still as he jerked and plundered her mouth.

Undaunted by his control, she sucked with a steady rhythm, her mouth moving up and down his shaft, her tongue swirling over tip and base, while one hand cupped and squeezed his balls. When she slid her tongue over his opening, he clutched the duvet and groaned. Christ. If she kept that up, he would lose it before they even started.

“Need to be inside you.”

“Need to finish what I started.”

He felt the vibration of her voice through his cock and he almost spilled into her hot, wet mouth.

“No.” Gently, he tugged her head back and she released him with a soft sigh. He grabbed a condom from his night table and sheathed himself, then settled her on top as he stretched out on the bed, knees on either side of his hips, the head of his cock at her entrance.

“Zane.” She rocked against his grip until he slowly lowered her down, inch by inch over his throbbing shaft. She felt so good. So right. So hot and wet he could barely hold on. He pulled her down for a hard kiss, his lips demanding all she had and more.

“More.” She ground against him, and Zane thrust his hips up, driving deep until a groan ripped from her throat. He liked that she told him what she wanted, but even more that she did what he asked.

“Touch yourself. Your nipples. I want to see your pleasure.”

Evie sat back and cupped her breasts as she rode him, pinching her nipples until they were tight, hard peaks. How many nights had he fantasized about her as he stroked himself to release, never imagining she would be even more beautiful than the memory, or that it would feel so right? When he felt her pussy clench around him, he feathered his fingers over her clit and teased her until she moaned.

“Harder. Don't stop.”

“Come for me, Evie.” He pinched her clit and she sucked in a sharp breath, her inner walls gripping him hard, and then she came with a low, guttural groan, shuddering around him. Too much. He couldn't wait. Still buried inside her, he flipped them over and slid one hand under her thigh, lifting her right leg over his shoulder, spreading her wide.

“Oh, God … I can't … not again.”

“Yes, again. Come with me.” He hammered into her, his muscles taut to the point of breaking, sweat beading on his brow. And when he felt her ripple around him, heard her moan of pleasure, he gave in to his need. The climax tore through him, arching his back as he pumped deep inside her, his senses filled with her beautiful face, the scent of her sex, the slickness of her skin.

When the last ripples of her orgasm had faded away, he released her and rolled off, then pulled her to his chest, skin to skin as they heaved their breaths together.

“My beautiful Evie,” he murmured in her ear. “Mine before. Mine now. Mine always.”

“Say it again,” she whispered.

“Which part?”

“The part where I get to be yours.”

He kissed her softly. “Always, sweetheart. No matter what happens, you will always be mine.”

*   *   *

He waited until she fell asleep, her body soft and warm against him, her breathing deep and regular. Then he eased himself off the bed, pulled on his clothes, and shrugged his cut over his shoulders. From the dresser drawer he pulled out his holsters and strapped them over his body. From the closet he carefully lifted his duffel bag and drew out his weapons—knives, guns, throwing stars, and chains. When he was fully armed, he took one last look over his shoulder.

She was beautiful in sleep, long lashes resting on creamy cheeks, red hair spread across the pillow in a silken wave. His heart ached and for a moment he was tempted to wake her.

But had never been one for good-byes.

 

NINETEEN

Be prepared for everything to go wrong with your repair. Tools will break, parts will go missing, and wires will get crossed.

—SINNER'S TRIBE MOTORCYCLE REPAIR MANUAL

“So, this is our new digs.” Connie trailed a finger over the dusty workbench at the far end of Sparky's garage. “Needs a bit of cleaning.”

“Connie … be nice. Sparky is very kindly letting us use his shop until we sort out a new building.” Evie cleared a space on one of the tables and set up her new rack of paints. Zane had left in the middle of the night after their intimate encounter two days ago and aside from a curt assurance from Jagger that he was fine, she knew nothing about where he'd gone or how long he would be away.

However, standing up to Viper, facing the truth about her father, and finally letting down her guard with Zane, had left her feeling strong and determined to take back her life. After some heavy negotiations with Sparky, she had arranged to rent out the back of Sparky's shop until she sorted out what to do with what was now her business, albeit the only things left were the land, employees, and the goodwill Bill had built up in his name.

Sparky looked up from the bike he was working on, and mocked an affronted stare. “It's a garage, love. And I dare you to find one cleaner than this. Plus you should be thanking me for my generosity. This is a fucking palace compared to what you had.”

Connie gave him an exaggerated curtsy, all the more amusing for the fact she'd dressed head to toe in black leather—pants, corset and boots—so she could “fit in” with the bikers they would be working with for the foreseeable future. “Thank you, my lord.”

Sparky's eyes widened and he gave a low hum of approval. “Say it again.”

“Thank you.”

“No.” His voice deepened to a husky growl. “The other part.”

Connie's voice dropped to a throaty whisper. “My lord.”

Evie cleared her throat, reminding them they weren't alone. Ty and Hacker leaned over a tool bench, heads bent together over a new tablet Jagger had brought this morning, along with a new laptop for Evie. She'd thought his gifts touching, but odd, especially since he wouldn't meet her gaze or stay and chat. It was almost like he was feeling guilty, although she had no idea what he could be feeling guilty about.

Her head jerked up when Connie giggled. She and Sparky had been flirting ever since she'd arrived with the supplies this morning. Although they had never met, the heat between them had risen steadily as Sparky helped Connie and Evie clear a space to work, and now Evie worried they might combust.

She would have been happy for Connie save for the fact she was worried about Tank. Hacker had not-so-casually mentioned, as he helped her carry her boxes of new supplies into the shop, that brothers didn't mess with other brothers' “chicks.” Not only was it a club rule, it was part of the creed, for the simple reason that Sinners were by nature fiercely protective and possessive of their women. Brothers had died in fights over women until Jagger laid down the law.

“Connie. Can you come give me a hand?” She waved her friend over, then lowered her voice.

“I don't think you should be flirting with him. What about Tank? He's really into you.”

“Tank scares me.” Connie sat on the worn couch and put her feet up on the coffee table. “He's too hot, too goddamn cool and loyal to a fault. He's got that quiet confidence going on, like if someone pisses him off he doesn't get visibly angry but you know the minute he puts his hand under his cut the dude is going to be dead. And in bed…” She fanned herself with her hand. “I travelled the world with my folks, had a multi-cultural sex education, but no one comes close to what he can do in the sack, and that's without a whole lot of talking.”

“That sounds good,” Evie said. “So what are you doing with Sparky?”

“Connie shrugged. “I don't actually know. Maybe I wanna see that outlaw biker edge or find out if it's all for show. I mean, Tank doesn't have a single blood patch on his cut. Not like Sparky over there. Or Jagger. Or your Zane.”

“Blood patch?”

“I'm up on all the biker lingo.” Connie grinned. “They get a blood patch every time they kill someone. They wear them around the bottom of their cuts. I guess so it's not staring you in the face. Tank says some of the guys don't like wearing them, but they don't have a choice. The patches are handed out by the mother ship and they gotta do what they're told.”

Evie stared at Connie aghast. “And you think that's okay?”

Connie's smile faded. “C'mon. You watch TV. Don't look so surprised. And it's not like they go around killing innocent people, or looking for people to kill. It's just … you know … the way it is. They live in a violent world. They deal with people who are always armed—drug dealers, criminals, underworld characters, and other bikers. Someone tries to kill them, they gotta defend themselves.”

“Oh, God.” Evie scrubbed her hands over her face. “After Zane told me what really happened in the trailer park, I was so happy to know he hadn't pulled the trigger, that he wasn't a killer. Now you're telling me he is.”

“Honey.” Connie put a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. “It's about bad guys killing bad guys who are doing bad things or hurting the people they care about. Tank says they don't involve civilians unless it's biker business. You know all this. You saw what happened to Bill.”

Evie gripped the table so hard her knuckles whitened. “TV isn't real. The Black Jacks are bad. I just figured … the Sinners … God, I think part of me knew but I didn't want to accept it. I can't think of Zane and Jagger that way.”

“Tank says because of the war that's going on between the clubs, most of the brothers have a coupla blood patches.”

Evie's shoulders sagged. “Viper told me. He said he and Zane weren't so different. He made me wonder if maybe Zane did kill my dad, but after Zane told me what happened, I figured everything else Viper said was a lie. He told me Zane shot one of his men in the back, killed three of his men in Whitefish and that he kidnapped Viper's old lady and put her in the dungeon in the clubhouse.”

“No shit. There's a woman imprisoned in the clubhouse?” Connie looked over her shoulder at Sparky and whispered. “Maybe we should call the police.”

“We don't know if it's true, Connie. But we need to find out.”

Not just to rescue the woman, if she did exist, but because she needed to know just what kind of man Zane had become. And whether she could accept him as he truly was.

*   *   *

They were waiting for him when he pulled up to the clubhouse three days after he'd disappeared.

Zane gritted his teeth and parked his bike. He had expected nothing less than the full executive board, but it was going to take a hell of a lot of willpower to cross the driveway and follow them out back, especially since he had returned empty-handed.

Well, not totally empty-handed. He pulled the phone from his pocket and checked the picture file one last time. At least the punishment would be worth it. He had filled the whole damn memory card with pictures of the Black Jack clubhouse, including the door to the dungeon where T-Rex was being held prisoner.

Zane took one last look at the midnight sky, clear save for a sprinkling of stars. He'd have plenty of time to look at the stars when Jagger was done with him. The last time he'd disobeyed a direct order he'd been flat on his back for three days and pissed blood for an entire week.

Yet, despite that beating, he'd left the club three days ago to go hunting. After his night with Evie, unburdening himself of the secret he'd carried for so long, he'd decided three things: first, T-Rex had to be rescued; second, Viper had to die; and third, he couldn't wait even a day if it meant Viper was out there and Evie was in danger. Simply put, he couldn't go through the hell of thinking he'd lost her again, and with Viper on the loose that was a very real possibility.