The Sinner’s Tribe Motorcycle Club, Books 1-3 (5 page)

BOOK: The Sinner’s Tribe Motorcycle Club, Books 1-3
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He'd never reacted this way with any other women. Not even Christel. Although not his old lady, they'd been together long enough for everyone to treat her with similar respect. But then the Wolverines MC had found her. The upstart MC, hell-bent on challenging Sinner dominance in Montana, had used Christel against him. And when Jagger gave them what they'd wanted, they left her broken body outside his clubhouse and she'd died in his arms.

Destroying the Wolverines hadn't brought her back, nor had it eased the ache in his heart. Time was not the great healer so many claimed it to be. Instead, time had made him more set in his ways. Christel's fate was the reason he allowed himself only casual relationships. His enemies would find no weakness. His lovers and his heart would suffer no risk.

Max returned with the stick and Jagger threw it again, watching it disappear into the cool morning mist. The air was fragrant with the scent of rich earth, and dew clung to every leaf and blade of grass. Mornings were his favorite time. Quiet. Peaceful. With all the promise of the day ahead.

He looked up at the window to the bedroom he had shared with Arianne, half expecting to see her sliding down the roof. But with two guards outside her door and two more outside the building's entrance, she would be going nowhere fast. He chuckled as a memory tore through him: Arianne wearing only his T-shirt, shivering by the window, beguiled by the loquacious Wheels and the effervescent Sherry as they thwarted her attempt to escape.

He should have warned her that no one ever escaped from the Sinners.

Or from him.

The soft thud of footsteps on grass and the rustle of autumn leaves alerted him to Cade's presence well before his former army buddy joined him on the front lawn. As the MC's treasurer, Cade carried out his duties with ruthless efficiency, and like Zane, he always had Jagger's back.

Cade gave him a quick update on the status of the old clubhouse and the local authorities' investigation into the fire. Then he glanced up at Arianne's window, smirking at the guards stationed below. “So, what are you going to do with her?”

“I'm waiting to see the surveillance tapes,” Jagger said. “Zane picked them up this morning from the off-site data-storage facility. If she's not directly involved, I'll let her go. I won't hold a woman responsible for the actions of her club.”

Cade tunnelled his hand through his thick, blond hair, his brow creasing. “How do you know it was the Jacks?”

Jagger pulled out his phone and showed Cade a picture he'd received from his contact in the police department. Someone had spray painted a crude outline of the Black Jacks' patch on the side of the weapons shed that had been robbed. “They left a calling card. Most of the brothers who weren't drowning their sorrows in some sweet butt's arms last night have already been told.”

Cade didn't react to the silent admonition. No doubt he'd spent the night just as Jagger had said. Cade was known for his ability to charm women into his bed. Sherry claimed his chick magnet appeal had to do with his appearance, likening him to some movie star who'd played the part of the Norse god, Thor. Jagger didn't have time for movies. Or movie stars. Or brothers who spent the night buried between some sweet butt's thighs instead of worrying about the loss of their clubhouse, the end of the feud, and a little Black Jack who couldn't be touched.

“Gotta get back.” He gestured toward the house, and Cade fell into step, Max trotting beside them.

“I was wondering why Axle was gunning for Arianne to pay the price this morning,” Cade said, oblivious to Jagger's annoyance. “Tensions are high right now and he's already got a lot of support. The fire hit too close to home.”

“It
was
home.” At least for him and Cade, and a few of the unattached brothers who were out of work or needed a temporary place to stay.

“They need someone to blame.” Cade hesitated. “If they don't get a focus for their anger, the club will explode.”

Was he seriously suggesting offering Arianne up as a sacrificial lamb? “And it's Gunner's job to make sure that doesn't happen.” A burst of protective anger caught him off guard. “She said she wasn't there to hurt anyone or cause any damage. I believe her.”

Although ultimately evasive, Arianne's answer to that question had been delivered firmly and directly. No waver of the voice. No shifting of the eyes. He suspected deception wasn't in her nature. Hell, she'd given it to him straight when he cuffed her. His lips quivered with a repressed smile. When was the last time anyone had dared speak to him that way?

Cade rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, then I hope you have a plan for retribution that might ease the pain of just letting her go.”

“I always have a plan.” Jagger whistled for Max. “And you'll like this one. It involves runaway trucks, explosives, and destroying meth factories.”

“You'll definitely need Axle on board, then. No one is better with explosives than him.”

“Axle's done,” Jagger said. “For the sake of appearances, I'll put the vote to the executive board later this morning, but as far as I'm concerned, he's out of the club. He's been pushing the boundaries ever since I took over as president, five years ago, and last night he went too far.”

“Guess I'll let Zane know Axle won't be trunking with us tonight.” Cade stopped walking before they came within earshot of the house. “You got a victim in mind?”

Jagger's tension eased. “Zane got the goods on a dealer who seems to have forgotten about our zero-tolerance policy for drugs in Conundrum.” He finally allowed himself the luxury of a smile. “We'll have a little fun, raise some cash to fix this place up as our new clubhouse, and damage the Black Jack supply chain all at once.”

“Almost as much fun as spending an evening with a coupla sweet butts in my lap.” Cade twisted his lips to the side, considering. “Or maybe not.”

“The feud is back on.” Jagger slammed his fist into his palm. “We're gonna hit the Jacks hard and fast, and we're gonna make justice personal. The men who torched our old clubhouse and shot Cole and Gunner are first on our list after Cole's funeral. Then we hit the man who gave the order.”

“Viper.” Cade spat out the name. “And if the feud is back on, he'll be gunning for you.”

“Not if I get to him first.”

And his pretty little Black Jack might be just his ticket inside the Viper's den.

 

FOUR

Club rules and bylaws shall be strictly enforced. Penalties for breaking the rules include a kick-out or suspension, and always an ass-kicking.

“Up, bitch.” A sharp tug on her hair startled Arianne from sleep. She turned but didn't recognize the man standing beside her bed. Although short in stature, he had a huge barrel chest and a belly to match.

“I said
up.
” His hand in her hair, he yanked her off the bed. Arianne fell to her knees at his feet, getting a perfect view of the red patches lining the bottom of his cut. Her heart pumped spastically, and she looked quickly around the room. Where was Jagger?

“Let's go.” With a snarl, he pulled her to her feet. Still shaking off the last vestiges of a deep, exhausted sleep, Arianne stumbled after him, thankful Jagger had insisted she put on her clothes in the middle of the night.

“You don't need to be so rough.” She clamped her hand on her hair, lessening his pull. “It's not like I'm going anywhere.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Curiously underwhelmed, she allowed him to pull her a few more steps, giving him a false sense of control. Like she hadn't lived through this scenario on a weekly basis at home. She waited until they were near the door, then put both her hands up to her head. Holding her hair, she twisted and spun out of his grip. Using her momentum, she ran back at him, head-butting him in the solar plexus and knocking him against the wall. He staggered, short-winded, but with breath enough to curse.

Arianne didn't wait to see the effects of her assault. Instead she ran at the open doorway—only to collide with a bony, redheaded biker with piercings in his nose and ears. He swore as he looked over her shoulder at the biker who lay groaning on the floor, but her attention was focused on his broad-shouldered companion who was wielding a knife six inches long.

She backed up and hit the wall as he advanced while regarding her with cool disdain. His face was thin and pale, but marred with recent cuts and bruises. Sharp, defined features were complemented by a thin, cruel slash of a mouth, and his dark hair was slicked back on his head, revealing a sharp widow's peak. Dark eyes, totally devoid of emotion, sent a chill up her spine. Had Jagger changed his mind and ordered her execution?

Without warning, his hand struck her left cheek and sent her reeling across the floor. Her head hit the bedpost, everything fading to gray. With a bark of derision, he slowly walked to where she lay and prodded her shoulder with the toe of his boot, forcing her onto her back. He didn't bother to crouch, merely towered over her, his face twisting in disgust. “Black Jack bitch. My name's Axle. Soon to be President Axle. Should have killed you when I had the chance, but I'm about to remedy that now.”

With a jerk of his chin, he motioned for his pierced companion and his now-recovered friend to pick Arianne up off the floor.

Cheek stinging, still dazed from the fall, she didn't struggle when the two men clamped a hand around each of her arms and yanked her upright.

Choose your fights.
The words of the old Black Jack road captain drifted through her mind as she contemplated how she could get free. He had sheltered Arianne and Jeff from the worst of their father's wrath, and it was because of him Arianne had developed her skills as a mechanic. She still took flowers to his grave, an unmarked mound north of town at the base of the Bridger Mountains.

But this was a fight she couldn't win. Not through physical force and not with the two bikers holding her arms so tight, she had to grit her teeth against the pain. And wouldn't her options be better downstairs?

“Does Jagger know about this?” She struggled to keep up with her captors as they dragged her down the hallway.

“He will soon enough.” Axle smirked. “We're gonna take you to the meeting and give everyone a show they'll never forget.”

Meeting?
Her heart skipped a beat. Were they taking her to church? Outlaw MCs never allowed anyone other than full-patch brothers to attend “church,” the monthly or extraordinary mandatory meetings required of club members. Bad enough dealing with these goons, but facing the entire full-patch contingent at once, knowing so many of them wanted her to pay for the attack—

She squared her shoulders and swallowed her fear as Axle preceded them down the stairs. If her father had taught her anything, it was that fear made people weak. And weak people couldn't fight.

Her captors were either stupid or desperate if they thought they could drag her into church without causing a minor riot. But at least Jagger would be there. Hopefully, he would keep her safe. If not, she'd be kicking ass and taking names. Today was not a good day to die.

They stopped outside a set of double doors, the paint chipped and cracked and the once gold-colored handles now blackened with age. The redhead with the piercings lightly slid a knife across her neck. “Be a good girl while the boys are talking.”

Axle threw open the doors and her captor pushed her forward, the knife still at her throat.

“Justice for the Sinner's Tribe.”

She had only a moment to take in the faded grandeur of what must once have been a massive living room, the sea of Sinner cuts, and Jagger sitting at the head of a table before the room exploded in chaos.

*   *   *

Justice?

Jagger grimaced as shouts and yells echoed around the room. Axle wasn't here for justice. He wanted Jagger's position, pure and simple, and knowing he was facing a possible dismissal, he'd decided to risk a stunt like this. Arianne was a pawn to him. Unnecessary. Expendable.

In danger.

He forced his gaze away from Arianne—the bright red mark on her cheek, the bruise on her temple, and the knife gleaming at her throat—and focused on the men seated at the table beside him. The executive board consisted of the president, vice president, secretary, treasurer, road captain, and sergeant at arms, as well as two members at large. He had served with the same board for five years, the only change being to the members-at-large, now Tank and Bandit. None of them would support Axle's bid for power. But he wasn't so sure that they were as convinced of Arianne's innocence as he was. All Axle needed was a seed of doubt to set in motion a chain of events that could topple Jagger from his throne.

A seed he wasn't going to sow on Jagger's watch.

Feigning weariness, Jagger raised his voice. “Stand down, Axle. Let her go.”

“Someone's going down.” Axle sneered and gestured to Arianne, who was standing stiff, the knife against her throat. “And it won't be me.”

Rage pumped through Jagger's veins and every instinct screamed at him to protect her. But Christel's death had taught him to show no emotion when women were involved; reveal no weakness. So he focused his attention on the real threat: Axle. His eyes were bruised and swollen after the beating Zane had given him last night, but they gleamed victorious nonetheless. Not since Christel died, had he wanted to kill a man more.

“You do it or we do it,” Axle shouted. “No more of this bullshit. The executive board will do what you tell them to do, but no one really wants to let her go. They're just afraid to tell you. Viper wants a war. Let's give it to him.”

A few of the brothers dipped their chins in assent. Jagger leaned back in his chair, affecting an air of indifference while inside he seethed. Axle wasn't helping himself by making a mockery of their bylaws, despite the kernel of truth in his words. Cold, cruel, ruthless, and incredibly cunning, Viper wouldn't hesitate to kill Arianne if he were in Jagger's position, no matter that she was a woman.

BOOK: The Sinner’s Tribe Motorcycle Club, Books 1-3
7.97Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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