The Sinner’s Tribe Motorcycle Club, Books 1-3 (50 page)

Dawn's gaze lingered below his waist and her cheeks flushed as she crossed the room toward him. “I'm not someone who functions well without sleep.” She helped him off the couch and he leaned against her shoulder, trying to decide which was worse: the ache in his balls, or the damn cuts and bruises.

Her body was soft and warm against him, trembling as she tried to bear his weight. So delicate and yet so strong. Beautiful. Compassionate. And damn tempting in that little outfit. How had he ever let her get away? And how could he resist her now?

“I'm not someone who functions well without a good-night kiss.” In one swift move he turned her to face him, then bent down and covered her mouth with his, one arm sliding around her waist to pull her against his body before she could protest.

She softened against him with a sigh, as if she'd been waiting for him to make a move, her lips parting for the sweep of his tongue, her nipples hard against his chest. She smelled of flowers and sunshine and antiseptic. She tasted of mint and honey, and oh God, she tasted of sex.

His groin tightened and his cock throbbed, pressed tight against her belly. When she moaned and slid her hands around his neck, deepening the kiss, he truly thought he would lose control. But Dawn wasn't like the other women he'd had in his bed. One night wouldn't be enough. Plus, he'd given his word, and a biker's word was his bond.

Drawing in a ragged breath, he released her. Dawn staggered back a step, her face flushed, lips swollen from his kiss, confusion wrinkling the smoothness of her brow.

“Cade.” Her voice caught as she whispered his name. A plea. A warning.

“On second thought…” He gritted his teeth against the tightening in his groin. If he climbed into bed with her, he wouldn't be able to hold back. Not with adrenaline still streaming through his veins, stirred up by her gentle touch, her barely concealed curves, and the memories of the two nights they had spent together. “I think I'll sleep on the couch.”

She stared at him, nibbling her lip, then swallowed hard. “Probably a good idea. I mean … nothing has changed.”

What did she mean “nothing has changed”? Everything had changed. He knew about her kids and about Mad Dog and what he intended to do. He understood now why she had pushed him away. Just like his mom, she needed protection, but couldn't ask. Maybe this was another chance to do it right. And this time, when he walked away, the person he wanted to protect wouldn't die.

“Right?” She stared at him, her beautiful eyes liquid with desire.

“Right,” he lied.

Who was he kidding? He wanted her more than any woman he had wanted in his life. He was hurting and he wanted her. Her every touch would be agony, and still he wanted her. His want was a living thing inside him, hungry, clawing at his insides, desperate to be free.

He couldn't give in to the want.

He wouldn't succumb to temptation.

Even if it killed him.

And given the current state of his cock, it just might.

 

FOUR

I will stand ready to help any biker who truly needs my help.

SINNER'S TRIBE CREED

Silence.

Cade shrugged on his cut and turned to face his brothers, seated around the table where they'd convened for an emergency executive board meeting this morning. Revealing the defiled tattoo on his back hadn't been easy, but Dawn had treated the slashes that went through the symbol of his brotherhood last night with a quiet understanding that made this moment slightly more bearable.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Zane, the Sinner VP, pounded his fist on the large oak table, carved with the same Sinner's Tribe patch that the Brethren had butchered on Cade's back. “Mad Dog is a dead man.”

Dax, official secretary and unofficial torturer, nodded in agreement, as did T-Rex, the junior patch member-at-large. Sparky, the road captain, joined in with a “hear hear.”

Cade didn't bother looking over at Shaggy or Gunner. The senior patch member-at-large and the club's sergeant-at-arms, like Zane, lived and breathed for the club, and this kind of dishonor screamed for Sinner justice. No questions. No mercy. No regrets.

“I say we adjourn the meeting and go now.” A war vet and Sinner since before Jagger's time, Shaggy had earned his road name because of his full beard and unkempt long hair, now almost fully gray, that he claimed had never been trimmed in twenty years.

T-Rex snorted a laugh and gestured to the patch covering Shaggy's left eye. “That's 'cause you only got one eye and you can't see in the dark when normal bikers do their killing.”

“I'll kill you with both eyes closed and my dick buried in a sweet butt's pussy, young pup.” Shaggy drew his weapon and placed it on the table.

“Enough.” Jagger folded his arms across his chest. An inch taller than Cade, and broader, dark where Cade was fair, he'd served with Cade in Afghanistan until a rocket propel left shrapnel near his heart. After being honorably discharged, he'd found a home with the Sinners, and when Cade had returned home, burdened by the crushing guilt of losing his squad in a desert ambush, Jagger sobered him up, straightened him out, and invited him in.

“I hear you, brothers. I feel Cade's pain. This disrespect screams for justice, but Wolf called me this morning to apologize for Mad Dog, and he made me an offer that we need to seriously consider.” Jagger spoke with his usual implacable calm, and yet his sheer presence and power left no doubt he could enforce his will if anyone dared step out of line.

“We don't want any fucking apologies. And we don't want anything the damn Brethren have to offer except Mad Dog's head on a plate and the bodies of his men lying on the street.” Gunner slammed his coffee cup on the worn, wooden table. With his head shaved military short, and his body thick with muscle, he was perfectly suited for the position of sergeant-at-arms, responsible for keeping order in the club.

“Hear him out.” Dax put a cautioning hand on Gunner's shoulder. “It's not a done deal. Whatever Wolf proposed will be subject to a vote.”

“I vote no.” Gunner held out his hand, thumb pointed down. “Done. Let's get going.”

“Viper approached Wolf about a Brethren patch-over.” Jagger held Gunner in place with the fierceness of his scowl. “Wolf says the club is undecided, and he personally doesn't think it is a good fit. The Brethren have an election coming up. Wolf made it clear he would be interested in patching over to the Sinners if he wins.”

Cade stood so abruptly his chair toppled over, banging against the worn wooden floor. “You can't seriously be considering patching in those motherfucking pieces of slime. We kicked them out of Conundrum for a reason.”

“I'm with Cade,” Shaggy said. “We lost good men in the war with the Brethren all those years ago. Good friends of mine. There'll be bad blood if we let them into the club.”

“There won't be a club if we don't expand our numbers.” Irritation laced Jagger's tone. “The Jacks are actively recruiting supporters, and if we want to maintain our status as the dominant MC in Montana, and put the fucking Jacks in their place, we need to expand our membership. A solid midsized club like the Brethren could tip the balance either way.”

“The Jacks and Brethren together would be hard to beat,” T-Rex said. “The Brethren have their own network of support clubs. Not big ones, but enough that we would be spread thin if we had to defend against them and the Jacks.”

Jagger rubbed his brow, a sure sign he was conflicted about his proposal. “We need the bodies, but we don't need them all. We can pick and choose. Right now these discussions are just between Wolf and me, and the executive boards. The way I see it, as long as Wolf is tied up in negotiations with me, he won't be negotiating with Viper. And since the election is still a few weeks away, we have a chance to investigate his MC and make a decision about whether any of his brothers are worthy of the Sinner name. None of the men who beat on Cade will wear our patch, guaranteed. And Mad Dog—”

“Dead,” Shaggy said.

“Not yet.” Jagger rubbed his brow again. “Wolf had a condition. He knows the value of his club, and he knows the advantage the Brethren numbers will give us over the Jacks. Mad Dog is his nephew. He wants our word he won't be touched.”

“Mad Dog is JC's boy?” Zane let out a strangled groan. “He'll have a vendetta against us for killing his dad.”

“Mad Dog doesn't wear our patch.” Jagger firmed his voice. “Ever. Wolf knows that. But he wants us to spare his life. In exchange for our mercy, he's offered us a shipment of AK-47s, just in from Korea, that he has stored in a warehouse up in Whitefish.”

There were a few angry murmurs around the table but Jagger's gaze fixed on Cade. “This is your call, brother. Your justice. Your vengeance. If you don't agree, we turn Wolf down and we go after Mad Dog and his men as soon as this meeting ends.”

Cade took a deep, calming breath as he stared at the picture above Zane's head, a half-naked woman leaning over a Harley Fat Boy, not unlike almost every other picture nailed to the walls. The meeting room had once been a dining room, but the fancy fixtures and fittings had been removed, and after it was painted, it was decorated in true biker form.

And a true biker lived by the code “Club First.”

Although he burned to jump on his bike and hunt down Mad Dog and his men, Wolf's proposal could secure the club's future, and end the war against the Jacks that had already claimed too many Sinner lives. He had to protect his club at any cost.

“I'll waive my claim against Mad Dog for the club. He's still bound by the restriction on any Brethren coming into our town so it's not like he can rub it in our faces. But we have to take some action to address the Brethren's disrespect or everyone will think we're weak. Since Mad Dog's men will never wear our patch, I say we hunt them down and give them a taste of Sinner justice.”

“All vote.” Jagger raised his hand, and rest of the board members followed suit.

“No one will forget the sacrifice you've made for the club,” Jagger said quietly. “And you have my word, as soon as the Brethren are patched into our club, and subject to Sinner law, Mad Dog will die.”

Cade swallowed past the lump in his throat. This is why he had joined the Sinners. Honor. Brotherhood. Loyalty. Men who would stand up for him. Men who always had his back.

His club.

His tribe.

“If the Jacks approached the Brethren, then they must be feeling vulnerable,” Cade said. “We should take advantage of the opportunity. If we weaken them enough while you're negotiating terms with Wolf, we won't even need the Brethren support.”

Jagger nodded his agreement. “We should hit them hard, and hit them now.”

“We'll need more weapons to launch an offensive.” Gunner shoved a piece of paper across the table. “I got a lead on an arms shipment coming across the border heading for that Mafia boss in Helena, Franco Rizzoli. He hired the Jacks to run protection. If we ambush them, we'll get fifty thousand dollars worth of weapons and take out some Jacks as a bonus.”

Jagger leaned back in his chair and folded his arms behind his head. A man content. He hadn't always been that way, but Arianne had smoothed out his edges. Cade had edges, too, but he was pretty damn sure no woman could smooth them out. Some wounds just couldn't be healed.

“Gunner can organize the Rizzoli ambush.” Jagger pointed to each man as he assigned tasks. “Cade and Zane, you go up to Whitefish with the prospect and get Wolf's AKs. Demon Spawn is our support club in the region. They can help out.”

“Sounds like we're in for some good times.” Tall and dark, his skin lightly tanned, and his hair just brushing his shoulders, Zane stroked the goatee he had grown during his mysterious disappearance at the end of last summer. Although Cade wasn't a fan of facial hair, Zane's goatee had caused such a stir among the club's women, Cade had almost considered growing one himself.

Cade snorted a laugh. “I didn't know ‘good time' was in your vocabulary.”

Reserved and fiercely private, Zane was the least fun guy Cade had ever known. He rarely drank or socialized at club functions, and Cade could count on one hand the number of times he'd seen Zane with a woman.

“That's 'cause my idea of a good time doesn't involve hot tubs, booze, and multiple women in my bed,” Zane shot back.

Cade couldn't refute that statement, but right now there was only one woman he wanted in his bed, and he'd put her in danger. “What about Dawn? Mad Dog threatened to drag her back to his clubhouse. He's using their kids as leverage.”

Zane gave a derisory snort. “She's a civilian. If she needs help, she can call the police.”

“Zane's right,” Jagger said. “We can't get involved in a marital dispute between a Brethren member and his old lady, especially if we're negotiating terms of a patch-over. If you want to get involved in their affairs, you'll have to do it without your cut.”

Without my cut? Cade barely processed the rest of Jagger's words. He hadn't gone anywhere without his colors since the day he first put them on. Hell, sometimes he slept in them. Jagger might as well ask him to cut off his right arm. His colors were everything—a symbol of a new life where he wasn't burdened by the past, where the only person he had to look out for was himself, and where his brothers had his back. His cut was his creed: freedom, loyalty, and brotherhood.

Life.

*   *   *

“One thousand dollars?” Dawn stared at Shelly-Ann aghast. “I don't have one thousand dollars just sitting around the house. I've given you the money for this week. I have the girls for six hours.”

Maia and Tia clung to her, their fingers digging through her clothes. Tia's soft whimpers sliced through a heart. Her girls weren't stupid. They knew exactly what was going on and it twisted her heart that they understood blackmail at the tender age of seven.