The Sinner’s Tribe Motorcycle Club, Books 1-3 (6 page)

BOOK: The Sinner’s Tribe Motorcycle Club, Books 1-3
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Gunner pushed himself to his feet, wincing slightly as he stood. As sergeant at arms, he was responsible for keeping order in the meeting, and right now the room pulsed with tension, a powder keg ready to explode.

“Penalty for going against anything the board has voted on is suspension or dismissal.” Gunner folded his thick arms and glared. “Penalty for disrupting a meeting is eviction. Penalty for bringing a woman and a non-patch member into a board meeting is suspension. Penalty for threatening a woman the board has just decided to release is a personal ass-kicking from me.” He drew his Springfield XD-S .45ACP from its holster and placed it on the table in front of him. “You got a problem with any of that, Axle?”

Taking advantage of Gunner's diversion, Jagger rose slowly from his seat, his focus now back on Arianne. Her face was taut and her hands were fisted by her sides. But damned if she didn't look angry rather than afraid.

“Before this goes any further,” Jagger said, struggling to keep his voice level. “The executive board reviewed the surveillance tapes before church began. We are satisfied that Vexy was not involved in the arson or the theft of the weapons. She arrived after the fire had started and Cole and Gunner were down. However, there are four Black Jacks whose lives are forfeit as soon as we identify them and all the Jacks will feel our wrath for what they have done.”

The crowd cheered, but Axle cut them off with a bark of anger. “Why was she there? It's an obvious question that everyone seems afraid to answer. Was she too late to help out? Well, I've brought her to you. Ask her.”

“Far as I can recall, you don't have the floor.” Gunner thudded his fist on the table. “Penalty for talking without getting the floor from the president is eviction and an ass-kicking. Guess I get to take my boot to your ass more than once. I still got one good leg, and it packs a helluva kick”

“I'll accept the question.” Lips pursed with suppressed fury, Jagger rounded the table and walked toward Arianne and her captor, a skinny rat of a man aptly nicknamed Weasel. “Vexy?”

She shot him a look of gratitude, which quickly faded into resignation. “I was trying to stop him … them.” Her voice wavered. “But I got there too late. I saw the fire, drove to the back of the clubhouse, and then I don't know what happened. Next thing I remember, I was here.” She narrowed her eyes and her features hardened. “And that's all you're getting from me.”

“You got names for us?” Axle scowled.

“No.”

Christ.
She had more courage than most of the men in the room. No tears or sobs. No breaking down. No names.

Jagger didn't need to look around to know Zane and their road captain, Sparky, had left their seats, too. Cade reached for his weapon. The room, rank with the stench of too many bodies packed into too small a space, stilled.

“Not even to save your life?” Axle drew a line across his throat with his finger. Weasel's knife flashed. Arianne gaped, and blood trickled into the hollow at the base of her throat.

Jagger succumbed to the ferocity of his rage. Bloodlust that roared through his veins.

He charged, carrying Axle along the front of the table, through the crowd, and straight into the adjacent wall with the power of a linebacker. In a maddened frenzy of blows and kicks, he pummeled Axle until the man sank to the ground, the knife falling from his grasp. Turning, Jagger saw Arianne, now free and leaning against the back wall, her hand to her throat while Gunner wrestled with Weasel. Around them, Axle's supporters went down under the fists of his enraged executive board. Bones cracked. Shouts and yells. Someone screamed.

“You upset I damaged your fuck toy?” Axle panted against the baseboard and pushed himself to his feet.

Cade pressed the barrel of his gun to Axle's head and glanced over at Jagger. “You want him dead?”

Jagger's fist contacted Axle's jaw, sending Axle into the crowd. “He hasn't suffered enough yet.”

Axle came up fighting, but in his current condition he was no match for Jagger's speed and strength. Or his fury. Although he had restrained himself behind the old clubhouse, and told Zane not to work Axle over too hard last night, Jagger had no reason to hold back now. Axle's days in the club were over. If Jagger didn't deal most definitively with the man's blatant disrespect, his ability to lead the MC would be called into question. But more than that, a surge of possessiveness had gripped him by the throat alongside a desire to avenge the woman under his protection.

The room faded into silence as he knocked Axle to the ground. He lifted his boot for one last kick when Arianne placed a hand on his arm.

Shocked out of the haze of bloodlust, he stilled, expecting her to tell him to pull back and not kick a man when he was down. Instead, she gripped his sleeve, drew back her leg and growled, “Leave a piece of him for me.”

Although she wasn't strong enough to do any serious damage, Arianne's kick ripped a harsh groan from Axle's lungs, and he rolled onto his back, clutching his side, a black stain on the threadbare carpet.

Damn. What a woman.

Jagger wiped his bloody hands on his shirt. “The meeting is adjourned. Axle and his supporters are hereby kicked out of the club on bad terms.” He met the gaze of each member of the executive board, paying lip service to the bylaws, which required a general vote and unanimous consent of the board to terminate a membership. Right now he didn't give a fucking damn about the bylaws. If he didn't kick Axle out, he would kill Axle, and he didn't want Axle's blood on his hands. As expected, he was met with no dissent.

“Sparky, get the prospects to clean up the mess.” He nodded at Axel's supporters on the floor. “Strip their colors, throw them into a van, and dump them at the side of the road. Their bikes stay with the club as compensation.”

The traitors sucked in a collective breath. Taking away a man's bike was the ultimate humiliation, but under the bylaws of all outlaw clubs it was the appropriate penalty for members kicked out on bad terms.

“Out. Now.” Heart hammering in his chest, muscles still twitching, Jagger grabbed Arianne's hand and dragged her from the room.

*   *   *

“Slow down.” Arianne wriggled her wrist, trying to get free.

Jagger stalked across the grass, pulling her behind him as they headed toward the shimmering glow of motorcycles, parked in neat rows along the vast gravel drive.

“I need a minute to catch my breath. It's not every day someone yanks me out of bed, holds a knife to my throat, and then shoves me into the middle of a biker brawl.”

But Jagger didn't stop, didn't speak. Nor did he slow down. Instead, he increased his pace until she was almost running behind him.

“Why didn't you just let me go last night? You must have known something like this would happen.”

Her outburst was purely rhetorical, a vent for her adrenaline-enhanced anger and fear. In her experience, men with Jagger's power rarely explained their actions, and when they did, it wasn't because they'd been asked. So when he slowed his pace and looked over his shoulder at her, she was unprepared for his concession.

“It had to go to a vote. Otherwise, I'd be dealing with accusations that I wasn't prepared to take your life if the vote swung that way. I couldn't risk dissension in the club, nor did I want an entire MC of outlaw vigilantes bent on revenge hunting you down.”

Arianne stopped in her tracks, forcing Jagger to slow and release her wrist. “So you
were
prepared to kill me for something I didn't do? You took a gamble with my life? What if you didn't have surveillance tapes? What if they'd agreed with Axle?”

A spasm of irritation crossed Jagger's face and Arianne kicked herself for going too far. Why couldn't she rein herself in around him? She would never even have contemplated speaking to Viper this way, and from what she'd seen in her brief time with the Sinner's Tribe, Jagger was more than Viper's equal.

“I know my men. You weren't at risk. None of them would hurt a woman.”

Unlike the Black Jacks.
By the time she'd turned sixteen, even her father realized it wasn't safe for Arianne to be around the Jacks, despite the wall separating the clubhouse from their family home. But it had taken the biggest gamble of her life before he allowed her to move out, and even then he'd restricted her to Conundrum proper. She was a born a Black Jack, and he expected her to carry out her duties as a Black Jack whenever he called. But more than that, she belonged to him—his blood, his property—and there was no way Viper would ever let her go.

And yet she'd tried to run away—whether out of stubbornness, desperation, hope, or stupidity, she'd tried again and again. He'd caught her every time, and met her defiance with swift and brutal punishment.

“What about Axle?” She gestured toward the house. “What about the men who slapped me around and took me down to you at knifepoint? Weren't they your men? Did they not share your beliefs? Did you not patch them in?” Her throat constricted, and for a second she lost control of the fear she had been holding at bay. A violent tremble shook her body and she folded her arms to hide her shaking hands.

Jagger firmly clasped her shoulders, drawing her forward, his eyes intent. She tensed, prepared for his anger. Viper would never have tolerated such an outburst.

“They will not harm you again, Arianne,” he said, his voice low and even. “You have my word.”

His word. A tremor went through her hands and her body slumped in relief. A biker's word was his bond, not given lightly, upheld as a matter of pride and respect and for the honor of the club.

“Okay.” Her strangled whisper deepened his frown and he drew her closer, until she could feel the heat of his body, inhale the intoxicating scent of his cologne.

“They were patched in before my time,” he continued, although he owed her no explanation. “Most of the brothers who didn't share my philosophy left the club when I became president. Axle and his supporters stayed, thinking my first term as president would be my last.”

“They obviously didn't know you well.”

His face softened at last and his lips quirked at the corners. He liked the flattery, she realized, even if it was tongue-in-cheek, and she enjoyed making him smile. Maybe too much.

“And you do?”

“I know men like you.” And yet she'd never felt so at ease with a man as powerful and dominant as Jagger—not that many of those existed. She still couldn't believe the way she was speaking to him—challenging, sarcastic, teasing—and she marveled at the words that were coming out of her mouth.

Jagger gave her a slow, appraising glance and then turned away. “There are no men like me.” He led her to a bike at the end of the row closest to the house, and pulled a small first aid kit from his saddlebag.

“Are you sure? You run this MC like every other outlaw club. There are only two penalties for breaking the rules: an ass-kicking or a kick-out with an ass-kicking on the side. You rule through violence and intimidation like any other MC president. The blood patches on your cut attest to that.”

“Don't judge me, Arianne.” His voice sharpened with warning. “If what you told me is true, and you grew up in this world, then you, of all people, should understand it. Maybe even better than me. Most of the Sinners are ex-military. They are violent men used to being led with a heavy hand. If I let one step out of line, I'll have a situation out of control. No law. No order. And that would put civilians at risk. I can't let that happen. Hell, it was the reason I became president in the first place.”

“Not ambition and a burning need for power?” She gave him an incredulous look and Jagger laughed, defusing the tension.

“That, too.” He opened a disinfectant wipe and gently patted the tiny cut on her throat. Disconcerted by the sudden change in his demeanor, she allowed him to minister to her, wincing at the sting when the disinfectant touched her open wound.

Jagger froze. “I'm hurting you.”

“I find it hard to believe you'd be concerned about something like that after what you just did to Axle.” She also found it hard to believe he would care enough to treat her wound personally. And how many MC presidents claimed they'd taken the throne to protect civilians?

He finished tending to her cut in silence. Arianne waved away the little bandage he produced from the kit. “It's just a scratch. I'll have a little scar to add to my collection as a memento of my visit.”

Without a word, he cupped the back of her neck with one hand, holding her still, then carefully placed the bandage over the cut, overruling her objections. His breath was warm on her cheek, his lips so close, she had only to lean forward an inch to take a little lick.

He looked up from the dressing, caught her with his gaze, and the world faded away … She'd never been so utterly at a man's mercy, yet it wasn't fear that made her heart pound, but a primal, gut-wrenching desire for the one man she could never have.


Jagger
.
” She whispered his name. A plea. A request.

Spell broken, he released her, turning away too quickly for her to see his face. “Gotta get you outta here.” He gestured to his bike and then packed the first aid kit in his saddlebag again. “Hop on.”

“CVO Ultra Classic Electra Glide.” Her voice came out in an awed gasp of appreciation as she tried not to drool over one of the most expensive Harley-Davidson motorcycles in production. “Nice bike, although I didn't take you for a touring man.”

“I'm a collecting man.” Jagger lifted an eyebrow as he pulled a bandanna from his jeans pocket—black with white skulls, of course, just like his patch—and tied it over his head. “You know your bikes.”

God, the bandanna made him look even more handsome, the strong planes and angles of his jaw coming into sharp relief. She tore her gaze away and swung her leg over the seat. “I'm a journeyman mechanic. Bikes are my specialty.” Even if she did manage to escape her father's stranglehold one day, she would never lose her fascination for the sleek design and powerful engines of the Harley-Davidson brand, or her need to make each one she touched run to smooth perfection.

BOOK: The Sinner’s Tribe Motorcycle Club, Books 1-3
6.58Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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