The Sinner’s Tribe Motorcycle Club, Books 1-3 (9 page)

“Well, if that happens, you won't have to worry about staff. As long as I'm in town, I'll follow you wherever you go. And I know Dawn and the other staff will, too.”

His face hardened with emotion. “Don't know if I'll need a bartender who wears too much lipstick.”

“And I don't know if I'd follow a guy who fires me at least three times a night.” Dawn gave him a warm smile.

“You two don't get onto the floor right away, you'll both be fired.” Banks turned away, his voice rough. “Doors open in ten minutes.”

*   *   *

“Hey, sugar. You okay?” Sherry smoothed her hands over Jagger's shoulders, her breasts brushing against his sweat-slicked back. “The boys said you were all wound up. You want me to take care of you?”

Jagger's muscles bunched at her touch. Axle and his supporters had declared a vendetta against the Sinners and, according to new intel, were trying to patch over to a midsized rival club to get support to carry the vendetta through.
As if having to deal with the Black Jacks wasn't enough.

After an afternoon closeted with the executive board, discussing whether to strike first or wait it out, and a long run through the forest with Max, his body still thrummed with anger. The last thing he needed right now was having to deal with Sherry's attempts to get back together. “Not now, Sherry.”

She backed off, her voice wavering. “Sorry, Jag. I just thought … you know … maybe I could help. It's been such a long time.…”

Instantly contrite, he motioned for her to sit on the front step beside him. Yes, he'd cut her loose. Although Sherry didn't spark his heart, she was warm and sweet, and it had become too easy to fall into bed with her. But when people started treating her like his old lady, he'd had to draw the line. He was not willing to go down that path again, and even if he were, it wouldn't be with a woman who needed his constant attention. He didn't have the time or the energy to deal with someone who couldn't stand on her own two feet.

“Got a lot on my mind.”

“Sure.” She settled beside him and Jagger bit back a sigh. She just didn't get it. Sherry lacked the political savvy necessary for the role of a president's old lady. Jagger couldn't afford to indulge in the usual give-and-take or friendly banter that were a natural part of a normal relationship. He couldn't be questioned or challenged in public. Perception was everything. His power must appear absolute. A public disagreement, a sarcastic remark, or even disobeying an order, if done in public, could erode the foundation of a president's power. And that was something he could never allow.

“Do you miss me?” She propped her chin up with her elbows, her question confirming yet again that he'd made the right decision to let her go.

“It was too easy between us, babe. And you know how I feel about getting seriously involved. Too much of a risk for you, for me, and for the club.”

She shot him a sideways glance. “You're still not over her, are you?”

Jagger huffed his annoyance. Sherry knew better than to bring up Christel. He would carry the guilt of her death for the rest of his life. Atonement lay in ensuring it never happened again. “Don't go there.”

“If not me, who else?” She curled her hand around his arm and scooted over the worn wooden step, closer to him. “You don't talk about her. You don't let anyone else talk about her. And ever since she died, you don't let anyone in. I know I'm not her, but we were good together. I can make you happy. Lord knows you need a little happiness in your life.”

He gently detached her hand from his arm and stood, putting some distance between them. “What did I just say?”

“Don't go there.”

“And what did you do?”

“I went there.”

Jagger ran his hand through his hair “And that is the reason it wouldn't work. Aside from the fact that my position as president would put you in danger, you don't seem to understand our politics: You don't challenge me. You don't question me. You don't disobey me. And you sure as hell don't presume to tell me what I need, even if it is coming from a good place. What I
need
is someone who can navigate the politics and work with me, not against me. You need to find someone who can look after you, make you happy, and keep you safe.”

“I thought that was you.”

Jagger inwardly cursed himself for not ending it sooner with her. He'd known from the start Sherry wasn't right for him, but loneliness had driven him to take what she offered until he realized too late that she'd given him everything.

He remained standing in silence watching Wheels play Frisbee with Max on the front lawn. Another problem he would have to deal with. Wheels was a competent prospect and well-liked by the brothers, but something about him didn't sit right. Sometimes he was too well spoken for someone who claimed only a high school education. Other times he seemed almost too well informed about the biker scene in Conundrum. And although he was always sociable, he never revealed much about himself. Not that Jagger was a big talker, but usually this far into a prospect's year, he had the measure of the man. Wheels, however, was still an enigma.

“You seemed pretty sweet on that Black Jack girl you let get away.” Sherry's soft voice derailed his train of thought. “Vexy.”

“You're just determined to go all the places you shouldn't go.” Jagger tempered his anger by holding out a hand and helping her to her feet. They'd had some good times together and she'd been genuine in her affections. But he needed to end this now, before she read anything into this brief encounter.

“Axle thinks you don't have what it takes to lead anymore.” She followed him down the stairs. “He said if you'd made her pay for what the Black Jacks did, we would be the dominant club in Montana. No one, not even the Black Jacks, would mess with us, because they would know we had no limits when it came to revenge. He says he would have done it for the club.” She cocked her head to the side. “Of course, maybe I misheard. It was … you know … pillow talk.”

If she thought to make him jealous, she was on the wrong track. He didn't do jealous. He'd never cared enough to be jealous, except maybe with Christel. If a woman he was with wanted to be with someone else, he had no problem letting her go. Everyone deserved to find their little piece of happiness. But not by fraternizing with the enemy.

“First, Sherry, we
are
the dominant club in Montana.” He stopped and turned to face her. “Despite what the Jacks say. And second—” His brows drew together. “—what the fuck are you doing with Axle? He's out on bad terms, dead to the club. If you're with him, then you're not with us.”

Sherry paled. “Not now. It was before you kicked him out. The night of the fire. I was looking after him after Zane beat him up.”

“Better be.” Jagger's face hardened. “If I find out you're with him, or passing on information—”

“I'm not.” She held up her hands palms forward. “I'm loyal to the Sinners. I have been for five years. That isn't going to change just because you and I aren't together. It's just … you know Axle, sometimes he doesn't think before he acts.”

Mollified, he grunted. “Stay away from him. A man who would take the life of an innocent woman would have no qualms about hurting one either.”

“Maybe she's not so innocent.” Sherry paused midstep. “Maybe she's setting you up. What if the fire was a diversion and the Black Jacks' real goal was to get her into the clubhouse, maybe into your heart? She certainly caught your attention.”

Jagger folded his arms as an unfamiliar swell of emotion threatened his control. “She's gone. So, whether she's playing me or not is irrelevant.”

Gone, but not forgotten.

Gone, but soon to be seen.

What the hell was he doing holding a meeting in her bar? The Sinner's Tribe owned four bars and two strip clubs in Conundrum, and if he'd really wanted neutral ground, he could have met the Devil Dogs MC at any civilian bar in the city. But the answer came in a heartbeat. He wanted to see her again.
No
. He
had
to see her again. And hell, she'd as good as given him an invitation. He didn't want to be impolite and turn it down.

He turned and walked away, knowing he'd been too harsh. Sherry had been with the club for five years, and never once had she given him cause to doubt her loyalty. His anger was directed at himself and not her. And yet, despite all the reasons not to go, nothing could keep him away from Banks Bar tonight. He needed to see Arianne again. He needed to know if he was well and truly fucked.

 

SIX

Don't mess with a brother's old lady or other patch holders' chicks

“Hey, baby. You gonna give me a little sugar with that whiskey?”

Arianne groaned when the inebriated trucker leaned across the bar and motioned her forward with a thick finger. Every weekend was the same. As the evening progressed, the happy drunks became lusty drunks, and trapped behind the bar, she was fair game. But she was safer than Dawn. At least she had the counter to keep their hands away.

Dodging to the side, she slammed his whiskey down and gave him a cold smile. “Only sugar on offer is in the little white packets at the end of the counter. Why don't you head down there and get one?”

He held out his hands, palms up as if to ward off a blow. “Hey, baby. I was just being friendly. No need to get uptight.” He slid off his seat with a huff, no doubt to return to his friends and tell them about the bitch behind the bar.

And “bitch” was the right word. But her prickly shell had helped her survive after her mother died. She fingered the ring she always wore, her mother's last gift. Not a day went by that she didn't miss her. Not a day went by that she didn't long to escape the biker world that had been responsible for her mother's death. But Viper would never allow it. Especially when there was work to be done and few he trusted to do it. One week she was sent to procure weapons from soldiers at a local military base. Before that, she'd been a midnight drug mule. Last month had been intelligence gathering from city hall to find out who had dared purchase the plot of land beside the Black Jack clubhouse.

The front door opened and her head jerked up as it had a hundred times that night, her heart hammering in dread anticipation of seeing a Black Jack patch. Adrenaline surged through her body until the crowds parted to reveal a couple of middle-aged bikers, balding and wearing patch-free leather jackets.
Weekend warriors
. She saw them all the time. Business types who wheeled out their bikes only on evenings and sunny weekends. She sagged against the counter in relief.

“You worried about the Jacks?” Dawn hoisted her tray of empties onto the bar. “You've been watching that door all night, and since you aren't interested in dating, I know it isn't because of a guy.”

Was she that obvious? Turning to hide her disquiet, Arianne said, “I was safe at your place, but I got a bad feeling the minute I pulled into the parking lot outside. I need to be ready to hit the door running because I'm not up for a Viper-style interrogation right now. I still have bruises from being knocked off my bike.”

“Fucking bastard.” Dawn pressed a fist to her mouth. “Wish I still had the kind of contacts I did when I was with Jimmy. I'd so like to kick me some nasty Viper ass, and then I'd…” Her voice trailed off when the front door banged shut again. Arianne followed Dawn's gaze to the group of bikers walking through the bar, her heart slowing only when she spotted Devil Dogs MC patches on their cuts. Relieved, she turned away, only to look back when Dawn whispered.

“Well … hellooo, baby.”

Arianne looked up and her heart seized in her chest.

Jagger.

What the hell was he doing here?

Her body heated in an instant, a blush burning her cheeks as she cast a surreptitious glance at Jagger from beneath her lashes. Conundrum had more than its fair share of bars, and the Sinners owned Riders and had recently carved out Sixty-Nine Bar on the east side of town as their turf.

Three Sinners followed Jagger as he wove his way through the tables toward the Devil Dogs, who were in the process of clearing everyone out of the back corner. Dawn's eyes widened when they rushed to seat Jagger at the end of the table, his back to the wall, giving him a clear view of the bar.

“He's someone important, that's for sure. I would need to see the patches on his cut—”

“Jagger.”

Dawn startled. “Jagger, the president-of-Sinner's-Tribe-who-kidnapped-you-then-let-you-go-and-now-you're-hot-for-him-although-you-shouldn't-be Jagger?” Her voice rose above Motörhead's “Ace of Spades,” blasting through the speakers. No easy feat.

“Well, look at him. He's devastatingly gorgeous. I mean, how many bikers look like that? And he was different from the bikers I know. He cleaned up the knife wound on my throat.”

“You do understand how absolutely inane that sounds,” Dawn said. “His friend sliced you with a knife, but he's a nice biker because he cleaned you up.”

Heart thudding, she looked over at the corner table. Jagger caught her with his gaze, giving her no time to stifle her blush. A thrill of excitement shot through her veins. Oh God. It was like high school all over again, except he had come to her bar and not her locker, and he was the badass president of a rival MC and not the grungy lead singer of a high school metal band she had been panting after for two years.

Still, her body reacted to his unexpected presence exactly the same way—stomach churning, body heating, nipples hardening—although this time with an intensity that stole her breath away.

“Cool it with the doe eyes and dreamy smile.” Dawn reached over the bar and pinched Arianne's arm. “You've spent your life trying to get away from bikers. Just ignore him and he'll go away.”