The Sinner’s Tribe Motorcycle Club, Books 1-3 (37 page)

Dazed, on the precipice of orgasm, her body pulsing and throbbing with need, she almost gave the game away. Almost. “It doesn't matter. I got away.”

“It matters.” He added a third finger, filling her, stretching her, pounding inside her with an exquisite, brutal intensity. “It's killing me, sweetheart, because I wasn't there, and if you don't tell me who did it to you, I'm gonna lose my fucking mind.”

“Please … don't do this, Jagger. Not now.”

“Who?”
His voice rose to a shout and he pressed the base of his palm against her clit, sending her arousal spiraling out of control. “Was it Bunny? Axle? Who else was there? Jeff?”

“I was in an alley and then I was tied up.” Her head pounded with the effort of trying to skirt over the critical piece of information that could end Jeff's life and destroy what she and Jagger had together while at the same time, endorphins flooded her brain and her body quivered with need.

“How did you get away?” He renewed his assault, his thumb flicking over her sensitive bundle of nerves as he drove his fingers deeper inside her, his lips a feather-light contrast as he pressed tiny kisses along her jaw.

“Bunny made them untie me. We went outside. Axle had a gun. They were talking about how Jeff could get Axle's money. I disarmed Axle and ran.”

“Who shot you, Arianne?” Clearly at the end of his patience, his words came out in a sharp bark, and her brain fuzzed, no longer able to separate fear and arousal, torn between pushing him away and begging him to make her come.

“I can't—”

“I need to know like I fucking need to breathe. I. Need. To. Know.”

Her heart sped up double time. Despite everything Jeff had done, she could never give him up, especially not to a man she suspected would kill him. She hated her brother, but she didn't want him dead. She owed him for the night long ago when he had saved her, and for the past they shared.

This has to end. Now.

Drawing on the skills she had learned to survive Viper's wrath, she allowed her anger to rise sharp and fast burying her emotions in a protective burst, burning away her confusion. “Don't do this, Jagger.”

“Tell me.”

Bastard
. How could he use their intimacy as a means to get information from her? His actions were as much a betrayal as her failure to tell him that the bullet Banks had pulled from her arm was a .22, the gun Jeff had taken from her. Axle had the .45.

“The bullet came from behind, and that's all you'll get from me.”

Jagger pulled away, releasing her wrists as he slid his fingers from her dripping sex. Arianne staggered back at the sharp pain of abandoned arousal. And then shame washed over her in an acid wave. Shame at having let the game go so far. Shame at leaving herself so vulnerable and exposed. Shame at wanting him so much, she had forgotten the most basic rule: Do not trust.

Nausea roiled in her gut. She took a step toward her clothes, and Jagger stepped in her way.

“I want you so bad, I fucking ache with wanting you.” His voice shook with emotion. “I would do almost anything to have you right now. But more than that, I want you to be safe. I can't honor my duty to the club or honor my promise to you if you don't give me a name. I know you know who it is.”

Fury scoured away the shame. She took a step into his space, determined to get her clothes, silently daring him to stop her. “No one is going to die because of me.”

Jagger stood firm. “No one touches what is mine, Arianne. No one hurts my girl. No one shoots a woman under my protection and lives. And no one fucks with the Sinners or what belongs to us. I will get that name, and when I do, I will show no mercy.”

“You did this for a name?”

He turned and headed for the door. “I did this because I love you.”

 

TWENTY-ONE

No fighting or violence on club grounds. Penalty is an ass-kicking.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Arianne awoke to a gentle rapping on the front door. Soft morning light filtered through her curtains. Jagger? She quickly dismissed the thought. No way would Jagger ever knock. He would just barge in.

Wrapping a blanket around her shoulders, she threw on some sweats and called out. “Who is it?”

“Wheels.”

With a sigh of both relief and disappointment, Arianne opened the door to the pinched expression of a clearly agitated Wheels.

“Jagger asked me to come and get you. He's got something he wants you to see.” He shifted from foot to foot, avoiding eye contact, and Arianne frowned.

“What's the matter?”

“Nothing.” He stuffed his fists in his jeans pockets and looked away. “Just … don't like to keep Jagger waiting. You know how it is. He says now, he means yesterday. He says yesterday, he means last week.”

Still disconcerted by the events of last night, Arianne grimaced. “Come on in. I'll just be five minutes.”

Five minutes became ten as she scrambled to wash up and tidy her hair before throwing on her jeans and T-shirt. All the while, she agonized over whether to ask Wheels about the night at Peelers. Had that been him by the door that night? If so, why had he let her go?

By the time she joined him in the living room, she had resolved not to raise the issue unless he did. The consequences for him were severe, and she couldn't risk anyone overhearing their conversation. Plus, he was already in full anxiety mode, muttering to himself as they walked down the stairs.

Wheels' Harley Sportster was small and compact, not designed for the comfort of a pillion rider, and she shifted in her seat as he raced through Conundrum, blowing through red lights and careening through back alleys. By the time they arrived at the clubhouse, she knew something was seriously wrong. Even a senior patch wouldn't take the kind of risks he'd taken on that ride unless he'd been threatened with death.

He led her through the clubhouse in silence, his hand pressed against her lower back as if she might suddenly turn and run. But she stayed on course, curious about what could rile the easygoing Wheels and make Jagger demand her presence instead of coming for her himself.

They descended the stairs to the basement, and Wheels led her down a long narrow hallway, and through a spacious games room, his fingers twitching against her.

“What's got you so agitated?” She skirted around the pool table, and eyed the well-stocked bar with appreciation.

Wheels stared straight ahead and mumbled. “Sometimes I forget.”

“Forget what?” she said in an uncertain tone.

“Who he really is and how careful I have to be.”

She didn't have to ask what he meant. They walked into a small room with blacked-out windows, and she knew.

“Banks!” A sudden coldness hit her core, and she flung herself forward, her cry echoing through the small space.

Tied to a chair in the center of the room, his left eye swollen shut, blood trickling down his temple, and his face a mass of cuts and bruises, Banks regarded her with a resigned expression. His eyes flicked to Jagger standing to his right, fist raised to deliver another blow.

“Bastard.” Banks growled. “Did you have to bring her down here?”

“No.” Arianne threw herself in front of Jagger and held up her hands, palms forward, taking in Cade and Sparky, leaning against the wall and Zane behind the chair. “Don't touch him. Don't you dare touch him.”

The room, pungent with the scent of blood and sweat, stilled. Jagger turned to her, his eyes cold, hard, and resolute. “He has information I need, and so far he's been reluctant to give it up. Apparently, the women who took you to him told him the whole story, and it's a story I want to hear.”

Seized by an unbearable fury, heedless of the muttered warnings around her, Arianne turned on Jagger. “You're doing this to get information I did not want you to have. This is between you and me. Let him go.
Now
.”

Jagger's eyes narrowed. “Careful, sweetheart. There's a line you don't cross, and you're standing on the edge. I'll tolerate only so much disrespect, and right now my patience is at its end. I want a name and I'll do what has to be done to get it. He knows who fired the gun.”

Her face twisted in revulsion. “So you're going to beat him up? He looked after me, Jagger. He took a bullet out of my arm. And right now he's suffering for being a good friend to me. And this is the thanks he gets? I trusted you—”

“You don't trust me.” He said through gritted his teeth. “You told me last night. What would the Jacks think if they found out was a woman I had claimed had been shot and I did fuck-all about it? Or the Triads? Or the Mafia? Everything we do or don't do sends a message. Everything is a power play. I have one hundred men depending on me to keep them safe. We are the dominant club in the state, and we stay that way because we make sure no one fucks with us. And beating my girl, tying her up, chaining her to a floor, and shooting her goes way beyond that.”

“I'm not your girl.” She couldn't hide the bitterness in her voice. “I'm your prize. Your finger to Viper. The life you took for Cole's life. If I were anything more, you wouldn't be doing this.”

“You were mine the second you drove onto Sinner property.” His flat, toneless voice sliced through her heart. “You will be mine until I let you go.”

He sidestepped Arianne and looked down at Banks. “Name.”

“Fuck you.”

Without warning, Jagger punched Banks in the jaw. Banks's head snapped to the side and he let loose a string of swearwords.

“Oh God. Stop.” She grabbed Jagger's T-shirt and yanked him toward her. “Stop.”

His face twisted with rage. Stark, raw, and almost unrecognizable as the man who had been so gently cruel with her last night.

“I want a name.”

“Don't fucking tell these bastards anything.” Banks spit blood on the floor. “Told you bikers were nothing but trouble. You keep your secrets to yourself and know they are safe with me. I'm not gonna break 'cause some pussy with marshmallow hands is pattin' me on the cheeks.”

Jagger looked over at Sparky and dipped his chin. Sparky picked up an iron bar from the floor and tapped it in his hand. Wheels paled. Arianne took a step toward Banks, and Jagger grabbed her arm.

“Don't interfere.”

Her stomach sank, and a wave of nausea washed over her. Wheels was right. She, too, had forgotten who Jagger was: not a friend or a savior, or even a lover, but a ruthless MC president who put his club above everything else. Just like her father.

Softening her expression, she swallowed her pride and dropped her voice to a pleading tone. “Please, Jagger. Don't hurt him.”

But he wouldn't be moved. “I'm tired of playing these fucking games, Arianne. You know I won't hurt you, but I have no problem hurting him. None whatsoever. I want the name of the guy who did those things to you, or I'll start at his ankles and work my way up.

She cast one last, frantic glance at Sparky, but he just gave her a sympathetic shrug and looked away. Zane snorted, amused. Wheels's face contorted in shared anguish and he looked away.

Damn him. Damn them all. Damn stupid biker culture
. How had she misjudged him so badly? How had she fooled herself into thinking he wasn't like the other bikers she knew? He was as bad as Viper. Maybe even worse.

She spun around and stormed out the door, searching for a weapon. She had her .38 strapped to her leg, but she wasn't prepared to go that far. Not yet. She grabbed a pool cue from the rack and raced back into the room. Jagger was still in front of Banks, his back to her. She moved quickly, swinging the pool cue before anyone could bark a warning.

“No.” The pool cue whipped over Jagger's back and split in two with a loud crack, leaving her holding a splintered piece of wood.

Jagger reacted so fast, she barely registered that he had moved. One moment his back was bowing under her strike; the next she was against the wall, the broken pool cue against her throat. His chest heaved, eyes glittered, unseeing.

“Goddamnit.” Banks struggled against his bonds. “Leave her alone. I'm over here if you want a punching bag.”

Arianne glared as the stick pressed against her throat. “That's right,” she gritted out. “Hurt
me
. I'm the one who won't tell you what you want to know. And I can take it. I've taken it all my life. There isn't anything you can do to me that Viper hasn't already done. Hit me, Jagger. Show me how wrong I was about you. Show me you're all the same. Do it for the club.”

A curious mix of emotions flickered across Jagger's face—shock, fear, self-loathing, torment—but no compassion, no love. He hadn't meant the words he uttered last night. And even if he had, he clearly didn't know what they meant.

“I will protect you, Arianne. Whether you want it or not.”

Without another glance, he walked over to Sparky and took the bar from his hand. Holding it like a golf club, he touched Banks's ankle, then raised the bar over his shoulder.

If she had been in that chair, she would have let him hit her. Viper hadn't just used his fists, and she'd survived, she knew she could survive whatever Jagger dished out. But it wasn't her in the chair. And just as she couldn't be the instrument of Jeff's death, she couldn't watch someone she cared about suffer on her behalf.

“Jeff.” She screamed the name and ran over to the chair, blocking the bar with her body. “Jeff chased me and hit me. Axle knocked me out. It was Jeff's idea to go to Bunny. They both took me there. Jeff's the one who tied me up and chained me to the floor.”

“Who shot you?” His voice held no emotion, no anger, no disappointment. Nothing.

“Jeff had my gun.” Her chin and lips trembled as she gave him away. “He didn't know what he was doing. He's an addict. He gets psychotic when he's tweaking.”