The Sinner’s Tribe Motorcycle Club, Books 1-3 (35 page)

“You two shut the fuck up.” Bunny's mouth thinned in a stubborn line. “I'm not interested in getting involved in a family feud. I'm also not interested in anything to do with Jagger's girl. I want her outta here. Now.”

A spasm of irritation crossed Axle's face. “Christ. It's not like he's ever going to find out. And I want this, too. I want her gone. I want her to suffer. I want her to pay for getting me kicked out of the club. This is the perfect solution.”

“Yeah, if I'm tired of living.” Sarcasm laced Bunny's tone.

Jeff gave a disdainful sniff. “If you aren't afraid of Viper, why the fuck are you afraid of Jagger?”

“If you gotta ask that question, then you don't know nothin' about business,” Bunny said. “I got such powerful backers, I'm not afraid of any local MC. I coulda had them wipe out Jagger's MC in one night as payback for what he did. But I'm not stupid. Lotta bikers in Montana who look up to Jagger and they give me good business. I don't want to damage my reputation. He made it clear that this is his woman. I respect that. And no way will I touch her.”

Arianne swallowed past the lump in her throat. She'd seen how Jagger reacted when she'd told him she was leaving, felt his anger. And she'd seen his rage when Axle threatened her, watched him let that anger loose. Bunny knew as well as she did that if anything happened to her, he would pay with his life. Which gave her no small amount of power, and she knew exactly how she was going to use it.

“He almost had me killed as a warning.” Bunny continued to rant. “What do you think he would do if he found out I had his girl down here? It won't just be bad for business, it'll be bad for my health. He'll go after my boy, my family … Hell, if he finds out you were the one who made her face look like that, your life won't be worth living. Now, get her—”

“They walk out of here with me.” Arianne cut him off and pointed to the women behind her. “I'm not leaving here without them.”

“Sorry, love. They've been contracted already.” Bunny turned away.

“I'll give your regards to Jagger when I see him again, shall I?” Arianne bit her lip. Might as well play the old lady card while it was still fresh. “He'll be happy to hear about your hospitality.”

Bunny whipped around to face her. “I didn't touch you. I didn't know you were here until I walked into the room. And when I found out it was you, I told them to let you go. You tell him that. You tell him Bunny did the right thing. I helped you out. I saved you.”

Arianne met his gaze. “We live in the same world, Bunny. I think we understand each other. What I tell Jagger depends on what happens to the two women behind me. And I'm thinking the value of Jagger's gratitude would far outweigh any money you'll get from selling them. Unless, of course, you're wanting to make your pretend necklace real.”

His lips curled in a snarl. “Fucking hell. No wonder Jagger wants you. You're just like Viper. Beaten, tied up, chained to my wall, and you're negotiating with me like you've got a gun to my head.”

“I'm nothing like Viper.”

Bunny laughed, showing a mouth full of chipped, broken teeth. “That's were you're wrong. You're your daddy's girl to the bone.”

*   *   *

“Fucking useless piece of shit.” Axle shoved Jeff aside as they headed across Bunny's parking lot toward Jeff's vehicle.

Arianne winced when the .45 pressed into her back. She'd assumed Bunny would make sure she got out safely, but he disappeared after Jeff unchained her, and she'd found herself once again at the wrong end of Axle's gun.

“I should just shoot you now and put you out of your misery.” He glared at Jeff.

“I'll get the money,” Jeff said quickly. “Just … how about you give me the guns to give to Viper, and I'll pay you the rest as soon as I have it?”

“Not the way I do business.” Axle leaned against Jeff's vehicle, his gun pointed at Arianne's chest, while Jeff fumbled with his keys. Across the street, Sheila and her friend tried to flag down a cab.

“What about Arianne?”

“I'm gonna have some fun with her.” Axle poked her again, and her lips pursed with suppressed fury.

“Nothing will piss off Jagger more than knowing someone else fucked his girl. And I'm not gonna just fuck her. I'm gonna use her and break her. And then I'll drop her off at the clubhouse like the Wolverines MC did to his last girl. That will be a message he'll never forget.”

A cab crawled to a stop across the street. Sheila bent down to talk to the driver. Arianne looked at Axle's .45, her heart drumming in her chest. After Leo's attack, she'd spent years in therapy, and as part of the recovery program, she had been required to take self-defense classes. Given the world she lived in, she hadn't gone for the regular classes that taught basic twist-and-run techniques. She'd taken the courses about disarming attackers wielding knives, handguns, steel pipes, and brass knuckles. Although she'd never really had the chance to put some of the more extreme moves to the test, given that the alternative was getting into the car with Jeff and Axle, she deemed the risk worthwhile.

While Axle was distracted, talking to Jeff, she took a step toward him and grabbed his gun hand at the wrist. Before he could react, she clasped the barrel of the gun and pushed it toward him, rolling it against his thumb until it pointed at him. Another roll and he involuntarily released the gun into her hand. Although it took only moments, the delay seemed like a lifetime, but once she had the gun, she didn't waste a second. Sprinting across the street, she shouted for Sheila to open the cab door.

Her heart pounded against her ribs as she ran toward the vehicle. Sheila flung open the door and stretched out an arm toward her. Arianne's bare feet thudded across the pavement. She was close. So close, she could see the chips in Sheila's red nail polish, the gold ring on her finger with a brilliant blue stone.

And then pain exploded across her arm, and she fell forward, the blue stone fading to black.

 

TWENTY

The president shall defend club members, property (including chicks), and territory from outside threats.

“Where is she?”

Jagger trod over the broken door and glared at Banks and Dawn. Banks had a gun pointed at his chest and held Dawn protectively behind him.

“You said he'd find her,” Dawn muttered behind Banks back. “You didn't say he'd kick down my door.”

“I thought he'd knock.”

“Where—is—she?” Jagger stalked toward Banks, disregarding the weapon. He hadn't paid much attention to the bar owner before, but from his stance and the way he held the gun, it was clear he'd had military training. And that told him Banks wouldn't fire on him because he wasn't a threat. At least not if the man told him where to find Arianne.

“She's asleep in my room.” Dawn gestured to the hallway behind her. “Two women brought her to to the bar in a cab. They said someone had been shooting at her and she'd fallen and hit her head while trying to escape. She wasn't making much sense, but she was able to ask them to bring her to the bar. The women who brought her gave Banks the full story.”

Safe. She was safe
. Jagger just managed to keep himself from sagging against the wall. “Appreciate the call.”

Dawn smiled. “Had a feeling you might want to know.”

“Word of warning.” Banks lowered his weapon when Jagger took a step toward the hallway. “She's been roughed up a bit. Dawn and I looked after her, but you might want to prepare yourself. Try not to break anything else. I don't pay Dawn enough for extensive repairs.”

His tension returned tenfold. Rubbing the back of his neck, he stalked down the hallway. But when he reached the bedroom door, he paused. What if she didn't want to see him? He'd failed her. He had promised to protect her, and instead he'd hurt her, chased her away, and when she needed him most … He clenched his fists.
Fuck it
. He'd take his chances.

Jagger pushed open the door and stepped into the dimly lit room. Arianne lay asleep on the bed, her hair spread over the pillow in a chestnut wave. From his position in the doorway, she appeared okay. And then he saw the bandage.

With a growl, he flicked the lights on and slammed the door closed. Arianne startled and shot up in bed. “Jagger. God, you scared me.”

No. No. No.
As his eyes adjusted to the light, he didn't think he would be able to contain himself. Her face was bruised on one side, her eye black, a thick white bandage plastered to her temple. His lungs constricted, and although he tried to speak, no words came out.

Soft and sleepy, Arianne gave him a wry smile. “I guess I must look pretty bad. You look like you're about to explode.”

He pointed to her arm, knowing from the size and shape of the bandage what she would say before he even asked. “What?”

“Bullet.”

A maelstrom of emotions threatened to rip him apart. Needing an outlet, he turned and punched his fist through the door. Could he have failed her anymore?

“Always with the drama.” Resigned amusement tinged her pain-ridden voice.

He whirled back around to face her, his heart pounding so hard, he feared he would break a rib. “Someone shot you?”

“Yeah. That's usually how someone gets a bullet wound.” Her trembling hands belied her light tone and his voice rose almost to a shout.

“Who?”

“It doesn't matter.…”

Doesn't matter?
He had only two thoughts in his head: first make sure she was okay; and second, make sure whoever had done this never hurt her again.

“It matters to me. Tell me. Now.”

“You can growl and shout and threaten me all you want tomorrow, but right now, I just want to be alone.” She scrubbed her hand over her face. “I should just have gone with Banks to his place. He's got a triple steel door. No Jaggers would be able to get through.”

“You should have come to me.”

She lay back on the pillows, seemingly unaware that the flimsy piece of satin she wore had slid to the side, exposing the crescent of her breast. His groin tightened painfully, and he dug his nails into his palm.
Damn
. Not now. Not when she was injured and looking at him like he was the last man on earth she wanted to see. But with adrenaline still pumping through his system, he was almost overwhelmed with the primal need to take her, hold her, make her his again. And then he would hunt down and kill the bastard who had hurt her.

“After what happened outside Peelers, you weren't on the top of my list.”

His shoulders tensed. Not just because he had hurt her, but also because he'd never even considered she would look to another man for comfort or protection. And what if she had gone to Banks's house? What if he'd found her lying in his bed? He'd have killed the bar owner most likely. Just the thought of her with another man sent rage coursing through his veins. “It's
my
job to protect you.”

“You took my phone. Oh … and you betrayed me. Accused me of betraying you. Hurt me. So forgive me if I didn't think of you when I needed protection.” She shifted in the bed and winced.

“You need medical treatment.” Jagger pulled out his phone. “I'll call Doc. Take you back to the clubhouse.”

“I'm not going anywhere with you.”

Goddamn it
. Didn't she understand she needed proper medical treatment and not a waitress and a bar owner fumbling with her wound, no doubt leaving her with an infection or a scar or worse? His hands fisted at his sides as he fought back the urge to throw her over his shoulder and carry her out the door. “You're hurt.”

“I'm fine.” Her voice softened. “Dawn had a full first aid kit that she brought from the bar after the fight. And Banks knew what he was doing.”

But she wasn't fine. He'd never seen her so pale, bruised, beaten. Even now, her hands shook and the spark was gone from her eyes. But instinct warned him not to push. He was lucky she was talking to him at all.

“I'll check to make sure.” He found the bathroom down the hall and washed his hands, barely recognizing the strained, anxious face that looked back at him in the mirror. When had he last been so emotionally volatile? Not since Christel died.

When he returned to the room, Arianne had pulled the covers around her. She edged away when he sat on the bed and winced when he lifted her arm.

“What does a biker know about treating bullet wounds?”

“Field training in the army. Everyone was taught how to treat a bullet wound.”

She tilted her head to the side. “You were in the army?”

“Fourth Infantry Division. Two tours of Afghanistan.”

When she didn't respond, a niggle of doubt worked its way through his mind. By way of distraction, he carefully removed the bandage and examined the wound, testing the edges with his thumbs for tenderness or infection. “I've rendered you speechless.”

“Why did you quit?” She blurted out. “How did you go from the army to being an outlaw biker?”

“I didn't quit.” He felt a familiar heaviness in his chest. Although he had never regretted his decision to join the Sinners, the circumstances that led to the end of his military service still pained him. “I was honorably discharged. Shrapnel from a rocket-propelled grenade got lodged in my heart during a raid. Doctors said it was too risky to take it out and an even bigger risk to have me in the field. Couldn't handle a desk job, so they booted me out.”

Concern replaced her curiosity, and she lightly stroked his forearm with her free hand. “You have shrapnel in your heart? Aren't you worried that one day—?”

He waved a dismissive hand. “Only a problem if they have to open up my chest. That's when there is a risk of it dislodging. Otherwise, there isn't anything I can't do. But despite all the medical reports, the army didn't see it that way. They thought it was too much of a risk.”