The Sinner’s Tribe Motorcycle Club, Books 1-3 (95 page)

Evie sucked in a sharp breath, trembled. “No.”

His hand slid higher, tracing over her ribs until he held the full weight of her breast in his palm. “You gonna stop me from touching you, sweetheart?” He feathered kisses along the column of her neck, praying she didn't deny him because he was already so far gone he didn't know if he would be able to stop.

“Zane.” She shuddered, her nipples peaking beneath her thin cotton tank top. He circled one taut nipple with his thumb and she groaned and wiggled her ass against his erection, nestled tight in the crack of her cheeks.

“Stop me, Evie,” he whispered. “Because I can't stop myself.”

She melted against him with a sigh, her body softening. For the briefest of moments he soared, higher and higher, soaking in her light, her warmth, her essence …

He should have known what would happen if he flew too close to the sun.

*   *   *

“I can't do this.” Evie pulled away, her cheeks burning with a flush of heat. She knew Zane, the dark, passionate, slightly awkward high-school senior who made her stomach flutter when he smiled; the boy with a good heart who'd been dealt a bad hand in life; her protector and one-time friend. But this man … this biker—broad and heavily muscled, tatted and pierced, ruthless and dominant, who walked and talked with confidence and swagger, and so easily manipulated her body, awakening long dormant passion and desire—was a stranger to her.

A stranger who made her body respond with a single touch. A stranger who ignited a blazing hot chemistry that made her feel alive. A stranger who had disappeared when her father's body was still warm on the ground.

Zane released a tortured breath and turned her to face him. “Things didn't go right between us when we met the other day. We had things we needed to say, and we didn't get to say them.” His corded throat tightened when he swallowed. “Ask me, Evie.”

Emotion welled up in her chest, pushing the words to the tip of her tongue. Although she knew the question was a betrayal in itself, she needed to hear the truth. For Ty. And for her own peace of mind. “Did you kill my dad?”

“No, sweetheart. It wasn't me.”

Her breath left her in a rush, her knees giving way. If not for his arms around her, she would have fallen to the ground.

“In my heart I knew, but I needed to hear it,” she whispered.

“And I needed to say it.” He brushed a rough finger over her cheek. “After I saw you again, and we had words, I thought we were done. I thought I wouldn't be able to get over the fact you didn't wait for me. But I couldn't stop thinking about you. When I was at your place, and T-Rex had his hands on you…” He drew in a ragged breath. “We're not done, Evie. I don't expect you to forgive me for leaving the way I did, and maybe one day I will understand why you didn't wait and forgive you, too, but I will never be done with you.” He cupped her face between his hands and kissed her.

At first, his lips were soft, hesitant, as if he thought she might slap him again, but when a low moan escaped her lips, he deepened the kiss, pulling her closer as he ravaged her mouth. Evie wrapped her arms around him and molded her body against his as she met every desperate stroke of his tongue with one of her own. His grip tightened and when she tried to pull away, gasping for breath, he nipped her bottom lip, demanding more.

Shocked by the intensity of her reaction, she wrenched herself away, the rapid rise and fall of her chest matching his, but when she took a step back, he followed, one hand curled behind her neck, the other gentle on her hip as he pressed his lips to her temple. “I got shit to do tonight, but I need to see you again. I'll swing by your place tomorrow night.”

Her blood chilled, and not just because she wasn't ready for him to meet Ty. “You can't. I … I have plans.”

“Cancel them.”

God, those two words, demanding and confident, laced with expectation and desire, did strange things to her stomach. If it had been anyone else she had agreed to meet for dinner, she would have done as he asked. But she had no way of contacting Viper other than making a trip to his clubhouse, which she wasn't prepared to do, and as Connie said, he wasn't the kind of man to blow off in such a casual manner. Plus, she needed some distance. Kissing Zane had never been in the program.

“I can't.”

“Then I'll find you.” He didn't wait for a response. Instead he reached over her for the paint box, then took her hand and led her out of the closet, as if he could keep her from running with only his touch.

It would be so easy to give in, pick up where they left off, introduce him to Ty and play happy families, if outlaw bikers had happy families. He seemed so sure of himself and what he wanted, but he had broken her heart, and it had taken her far too long to get over him. Giving him a second chance wasn't just stupid, it was dangerous, especially since he hadn't changed. Deep, dark, and emotionally intense, he still took what he wanted with a total disregard for rules and authority. As a boy, he did what he had to do to survive, but as a man, he had made lawlessness a way of life.

Not the kind of life she wanted … for her or for Ty.

“I don't want to rush into anything. We're not the same people anymore.” She gestured to the door, although the last thing she wanted was another ride on his motorcycle, with the motor vibrating between her legs and his hard body tucked up against her breasts. “I don't know Zane the biker, just like you don't know Evie the mom and painter. It's like meeting someone new, but with all our past baggage tacked on. I've moved on and I'm just not looking for anything or anyone. I have a nice, normal, quiet life now. I'm happy as I am.”

He studied her, as if he could see into her soul and pluck out the lies. “Don't tell me you didn't feel something, because I know you did. After all the time we spent together, I know what it means when you bite your lip, and when your cheeks flush pink. I could feel your heart pounding in your chest, same as mine. And yeah, I don't want to remember the past either, and especially not the day I saw you with Mark and your son. But that doesn't mean there's nothing between us, Evie.”

“Evangeline.”

“You'll always be Evie to me.” He shoved the door aside and let her pass before yanking it closed. “Doesn't matter how many times you tell me, I can't call you something else, especially after I had to listen to nine years of you moanin' about how much you hated that name.”

Zane checked out the parking lot while she locked up, and then they joined Shooter at the bikes. But before she could climb on the seat, Zane put out a warning hand.

“Prospect. What instructions did I just give you?”

“Um … you wanted your seat cleaned and repaired and the offending rodent…” He glanced quickly at Evie and then back to Zane. “Managed.”

“So why are there teeth marks on my seat?” Zane gestured to the leather saddle and Evie squinted. Although the light was low, the seat looked perfect to her.

“Um … well … his teeth were pretty sharp and I didn't know how to repair the leather. I cleaned and polished it, though.”

Zane folded his arms. “My girl's not ridin' on rodent marks. How's she gonna get home?”

His girl?
Hadn't he been paying attention when she told him she wasn't looking for anyone? And what about Viper? Although the more time she spent with Zane, the less interest she had in pursuing that relationship.

Shooter shifted his weight and grimaced. “Taxi?”

Poor Shooter received a cuff to the head. Evie cringed on his behalf. She knew from biker books and television shows that prospects were given the worst jobs and the least respect during the time they were pledging to the club, but she hadn't expected Zane to be quite so harsh.

“You want me to take her on my bike?” Shooter asked.

Alarmed at the way Zane's hands curled into fists, Evie slid onto the pillion seat of his vivid black, Harley Night Rod Special. “This girl's ass isn't so precious that it can't withstand a few teeth marks. Let's ride.”

Zane turned his anger and outrage on her. “I'm teaching the prospect a lesson.”

“And I have a son waiting for me to pick him up.”

He glared at Shooter as he mounted his bike. “Clubhouse. One hour. And you better be standing on the drive with a repair kit in one hand and a squirrel pelt in the other. Fucking rodent disrespected my girl.”

Again with the “his girl.” But his insistence on protecting her even from hungry squirrels made her feel warm and tingly inside.

“Hold on tight, sweetheart.” He started his engine and the deep rumble vibrated through her body.

Oh, she'd hold on tight. But would she be able to let go?

 

SEVEN

There is no substitute for good information and a helping hand.

—SINNER'S TRIBE MOTORCYCLE REPAIR MANUAL

Zane hated the morgue.

And not because of the smell. He could handle the cloying scent of antiseptic. Even the underlying odor of death and decomposition. But what got to him was the sadness. There was never anything good waiting for the people who went through the heavy silver door leading from the waiting room to the identification area. And he would know. He'd been in the morgue too many times to identify the bodies of his brothers who had become collateral damage in the war against the Black Jacks.

This time, however, he and Jagger didn't know if the body the police had found in an alley in the center of town was one of their own.

“You sure you guys want to see this? Like I said on the phone, he's unrecognizable. Forensics is doing the ID through his teeth.” Deputy Sheriff Doug Benson led them into the low, brick building. Once an upright law enforcement officer, he had been brought down after a misguided attempt to save Cade's old lady, Dawn—then Benson's friend and love interest—from the biker world. Benson was now on the Sinner payroll, providing information and tips and the occasional assistance in exchange for keeping his body intact.

“If he's one of ours, he deserves our respect.”

“Your call.” Benson pushed open the door to the waiting room. “One of the ambulance attendants … young guy … threw up when he saw him. Cause of death was … well, let's just say he suffered multiple stab wounds on top of his multiple stab wounds. The patch was cut off his jacket and his tat was burned off his skin so we weren't sure if he was a Sinner or a Jack.”

Benson cut himself off when they reached the waiting room. Four people sat on metal folding chairs in the stark, white room, faces pale and drawn as they waited to be called. No one ever cried in the waiting room; the tears always came after … when hope was gone and the world became a darker place. He'd been there. Not just after losing a brother, but after seeing Evie with Mark.

But now she was free. She might fight their attraction, but the chemistry was still there. He had felt her tremble against him, heard her sigh when he kissed her … So why had she pushed him away? If anyone had a right to be wary, it was him. After all, he had gone back for her. Just like he promised.

He would find out tonight. If she wasn't home, he would find her. Although he had decided to go by his real name in the MC—executive board members were given the choice of using their road name or first name—he had come by his road name, Tracker, for his uncanny ability to find anyone, anywhere. Evie wouldn't stay off his radar for long.

“Zane? You coming?” Benson ran a hand through his dark hair, and Zane followed the deputy's lanky body, clothed in regulation police blue, into the chiller.

The large sterile room, a mix of white cabinets and steel counters, examination tables and fluorescent lights, smelled strongly of disinfectant, but even the sharp scent could not mask the sickly sweet stench of death.

The pathologist, a thin, nervous dude with a receding hairline, who had been on the Sinner payroll for years, wasted no time. He pulled open one of the steel drawers that lined the east wall. “You know him?”

Zane startled at the body, covered in a thin white sheet. Unrecognizable didn't even begin to describe the swollen, battered face, but the arms and hands were remarkably unscathed, save for the long, thin scar on his right hand between two fingers. Familiar. “Turn him over.”

Jagger glanced up from the other side of the body. “You see something?”

The pathologist rolled the body to the side and Zane pointed to the scarring on the man's left shoulder. “Isn't that where we burned off Axle's tat? And isn't that scar on his hand from the night you put your knife through his fingers?”

“Fuck.” Jagger leaned closer to take a look. “You're right. It is Axle. And lookit the “J” carved into his chest. He must have pissed Viper off. Damn. He owed us for what he did to Arianne and the club. I promised her I'd be the one to pull the trigger.”

“Hello.” Benson waved from the corner. “Law enforcement officer here. Let's not have any threats or admissions in front of a witness that I might be forced to report.”

“You open your mouth and it will be you in this ice box,” Zane said evenly. “And you won't look so pretty. How's that for a threat?”

“As far as threats go, it has a certain deterrent factor that I can't ignore,” Benson said dryly. “What do you want me to do with the body?”

“He was a Sinner and he died a Jack. He's dead to us. Do whatever the fuck you want.” Jagger grabbed the pathologist's clipboard and scrawled a name on it. “That's his real name. Don't know if he's got any family, but if so, you can tell them he still owes us a debt.”

“That's hardly fair—”

Jagger cut Benson off with a scowl. “When we choose this life, we choose it for our families, too. If he wasn't prepared to take that risk, he never should have joined the club.”