The Sinner’s Tribe Motorcycle Club, Books 1-3 (88 page)

They walked the rest of the distance to the shop in silence. What the hell was Evie doing here so far from home? Had she and Mark moved to Conundrum? If she'd been his girl, no fucking way would he have allowed her to work in such a deserted location at night. Or in a motorcycle shop which, no doubt, would attract some of the worst elements of society.

Kinda like him.

“You want to talk to her about the detailing?” Jagger pulled open the back door to the shop.

“I think we should stay the hell away from her,” Zane replied. “Let her lead her nice civilian life.” He followed Jagger inside. Did Evie work in the shop or in the store? Had she gone through with her plan to get a Fine Arts degree in college? If so, what the hell was she doing here? And why the fuck did he care?

“I figured that out when you didn't say hello. And if there's something you need to tell me, now would be a good time. Otherwise I'm gonna come back tomorrow, have a talk with her about the bike and catch up on her life. You should tag along. After all, you knew her as well as me.”

Better. Intimately. And he was pretty damn sure Jagger didn't appreciate all the little things that made her Evie: from the soft lilt of her laughter, to her penchant for tight jeans, kick-ass cowboy boots and fringed leather jackets; her risk-taking wild streak that had made his heart pound, to the compassion, that had drawn him in when they were young.

Jagger probably hadn't noticed that she cried over books and romantic movies, preferred nachos to cake, and never passed an elderly person without smiling and saying hello. His Evie had a big heart. But he'd figured that one out when, at eight years old, she held a wet paper towel over his eye after his father had beaten him one of many terrible nights.

Too bad she had no fucking loyalty and no damn faith.

“I'm pretty sure we won't find Axle tonight, so I'll be busy tracking tomorrow,” Zane said. “You go catch up with her. Just … don't mention me.”

Jagger looked back over his shoulder. “For a man with a string of blood patches on his cut, you're sounding like a pussy. It's Evie, dammit. You're acting like you're afraid of her.”

“I'm not afraid of Evie.” But he
was
afraid of himself, and what he might do if he saw her again.

 

THREE

If you jump into a repair, without planning it through, you will break something. Guaranteed.

—SINNER'S TRIBE MOTORCYCLE REPAIR MANUAL

“Where are the biker hotties today?” Connie Vandenberg, store clerk and Evie's best friend, tugged down the neck of her black Big Bill's Custom Motorcycles T-shirt, exposing a few extra inches of her modest cleavage. Gene, one of Bill's junior mechanics, a thin, lanky man with thick glasses and a perpetual frown, dropped the box of riding gloves he'd just brought out from the stockroom and stared. Which was entirely the point. Connie had hit a dry spell and since Gene was the only unattached man in the store, she'd decided he should be the one to assuage her thirst.

“We already spent an hour talking about your biker love last night when I was supposed to be asleep.” Evie stashed her purse in the secure drawer under the till and tucked her phone in her pocket.

“Sleep? Who could sleep after that tribute to testosterone walked in the door last night?”

“You're forgetting they had guns and clearly intended to shoot Axle in the back.” Evie still couldn't believe Jagger, one of her two best childhood friends, had become an outlaw biker. What had happened to the boy who had been so proud to join the army, and fight for what was right? And why the hell wasn't he dead? Not that she wanted him to be dead, but she'd heard from old friends in Stanton that shrapnel from an RPG had lodged in his heart while he was on tour in Afghanistan and he died in a hospital in London. Why did no one know he was still alive?

“At least Axle had time to give you Vipe's message. Your new boyfriend doesn't seem the type who would cope well with being stood up, although if that was an issue he should think about joining the twenty-first century and buying a phone.” Connie tied her store apron around her narrow waist. She was pixie pretty, slim and petite with blond hair cropped short in the back and long in the front and wide bluish-gray eyes, she could have passed for a teenager if not for her loud, slightly obnoxious, firecracker personality.

“His name is Viper, not Vipe.”

“Well, he's not a relaxed, chilled out kinda guy,” Connie continued. “I thought he'd found out Bill was skimming off the weapons shipments he's been running through the store and Axle was here to make sure it didn't happen again. Permanent like.”

Evie flipped through the post, checking for sale flyers. Her custom paint business was doing so well, Bill had given her carte blanche to order new supplies. “Three dates doesn't make Viper my boyfriend. And they were very chaste dates considering he's the president of a biker gang. We went to a couple of bars, watched a game, went out for dinner, had a few goodnight-at-the-door kisses. I haven't even had a chance to find out if he's a badass in bed.”

“Ah yes.” Connie snorted a laugh. “The gentleman bad boy biker. I believe that's called a contradiction in terms.”

“More like the biker who realized the dull civilian single mom wasn't cut out for the excitement of biker life.” Evie had figured he wasn't interested in her after their last date when he dropped her at home without even the usual goodnight kiss. Served her right for trying to spice up her love life with a badass biker. She knew better, but her wild streak had reared its head when Bill introduced them. Although Viper was much older than her, there was something about him—a confidence, an aura of power he projected the moment he walked into the shop, or maybe it was the darkness she sensed inside him—that reminded her of Zane. And even though she'd gotten over Zane and moved on with her life—as much as a person could do with a broken heart—she thought about him over the years, especially since she saw his face in miniature every day.

“Three dates plus how many times did he come here to the shop?” Connie didn't wait for Evie's answer. “First to do that deal with Bill. And then for detail work. Both legit. But after you painted his fender, why all the visits? Touch-ups on a perfect paint job? Discussions about his tank? A burning need to buy a pair of summer gloves? He came back for you. And Axle coming here to set up a third date proves it.”

Connie poked her in the ribs and Evie wiggled away. She hated being tickled. Her mother had always tried to tickle her when she was drunk, forgetting, in her alcohol-fueled delusions, that Evie wasn't a child anymore. She'd never really had the chance to be a child. Her mother had been totally incapable of looking after herself, much less Evie, once she hit the bottle. With her father always out on patrol, Evie had taken on the role of cook, housekeeper, and 911-caller when her mother passed out or fell down the stairs. She had only ever felt free, truly free, during her stolen moments with Zane.

“I don't know if I should go out with him again,” Evie said. “I have a nice, comfortable, normal life. I work. I chauffeur Ty and his friends to school and activities. Occasionally, I let you drag me out to a club or send me on a blind date where I meet comfortable, normal guys.”

“Ah…” Connie raised an eyebrow. “What about Roy the Rock Star? He wasn't normal. Fucking you behind the drum kit during a rehearsal is hot, but not normal. Or what about Don the Dom? Kinky sex clubs don't really rate on the normal scale. Sometimes you let your inner wild child out. Nothing wrong with that. Only problem was, Vipe didn't give it to you the way you thought he would.
He
acted normal. Big disappointment. Give the guy another chance. He's all kinda badness. He's probably afraid he'll scare you off.”

Maybe Connie was right. She couldn't deny the delicious thrill of being wanted by someone who radiated such power. It was the same kind of feeling that had drawn her to Zane, dark and brooding, two grades above her in school, with a reputation that kept even the teachers away.

She'd watched him for the better part of a year, the ferocity with which he defended Jagger, his total unconcern with being popular on the playground, and the bruises on his face that came and went, until one day his pain drew her in. After she'd tended his wounds, he became her protector, giving her the sense of safety and security she didn't get at home. And then he'd abandoned her. Just like her parents.

Connie sighed and leaned over the counter, elbows on Evie's papers, her chin in her hands. “Of course, now that Viper has put us in danger and exposed us to the scourge of the biker world, who happen to be tall, ripped, and devastatingly gorgeous, I'm softening toward him. When do I get my introduction to your old friend?”

“They're
outlaw
bikers,” Evie protested. “Jagger had a one percenter patch on his cut. He's not the boy I knew growing up. He went from fighting for his country to flouting the law, all in the space of nine years.” Although Jagger had come from a broken home—his mother had walked out on him and his dad when Jagger was seven years old—he was the most straight-up person she'd ever known. Zane, on the other hand, had been the risk taker, darkly dangerous and as wild as her. He was the friend most willing to break the rules, the only person who had managed to see the side she kept so carefully hidden.

“If you're trying to put me off,” Connie said, “you're doing a bad job. Especially since you have your own bad-boy biker panting after your ass. Maybe we can double date. But if you're not happy with me going out with your friend, I'll take that strong, silent dude who came in with him, or their friend, Gunner, who sent us home. I'm desperate. Not fussy.” She left the till and went to help Gene stock the shelves, mouthing over her shoulder,
As you can see.

Evie unlocked the front door and turned the sign to
OPEN
. During the four years she'd been working with Bill, she'd made a name for herself as one of Montana's top custom motorcycle painters. But she would never have made it without Bill's help and support, and she was eternally grateful that he'd taken a chance on a fledgling artist, giving her the opportunity to get away from Stanton and a marriage that should never have happened in the first place.

“If Viper finds out about Bill's scam, he'll probably be back with his entire MC,” Connie whispered when Evie brought in the last box from the shipment they received that morning, leaving Gene free to return to the mechanic shop out back. “Imagine. Dozens of hard-riding outlaw bikers camped outside our door. It would be Christmas in July.”

Evie placed the box on the stack beside the rack of motorcycle jackets. “More like a slaughter. Bikers don't like witnesses when they do something bad.”

“They can witness me doing something bad.” Connie raised her voice. “Ain't that right, Gene? You like a bad girl, don't you?”

Gene reddened and turned his attention to the sliding doors that separated Evie's paint shop and the garage from the store. Bill had a senior mechanic and three juniors working out back. Evie did the detail work, and Connie took care of sales out front. Bill handled the illicit gun running, and although his employees knew about it, no one was involved, which turned out to be a good thing when they discovered he was skimming off the top.

“You know what I'm talking about, Gene,” Connie teased. “Friday night. You and me and a bottle of…”

Evie gave her a nudge. “Leave him alone. He might sue us for sexual harassment.”

“Sexual harassment is your hot biker friend walking in the door and me not getting an introduction.” She gestured over Evie's shoulder. “Look who just came to visit.”

“Jagger!” Evie greeted him with an outstretched hand, and was promptly swept up in his arms.

“Can't tell you how nice it is to see you again. Too bad it wasn't under better circumstances.” His deep rumble caught her off guard. He was a man now, not a boy, and the evidence wasn't just in the breadth of his chest or the lines on his face, but also in the shadows in his eyes. Maybe the life of an outlaw biker wasn't all it was cut out to be.

“Is this a social visit or are you here to kill someone again?”

Jagger raised an admonishing eyebrow, and she swallowed when her eyes fell on the president patch on his cut. He had always been the leader of their threesome, so she wasn't surprised to see that he now led the Sinner's Tribe, and he wore the mantle well. Not many people could say as much with just the lift of a brow. “I came to find out what the hell Axle was doing here, deal with his bike, and visit with you. No shooting today.”

“Excellent.” Connie cleared her throat. “Today isn't really a good day to die. I have … overdue library books.”

Evie cringed on Connie's behalf. “Um … this is Connie. Short for Constance.” She made the obligatory introduction and Jagger nodded.

“Pleasure.”

“All mine.” Connie's cheeks brightened. “Maybe we should all go for a coffee at the restaurant down the road, and get to know each other. Gene can man the till while we're gone. Well, not really ‘man' the till, 'cause he's not really a manly type. More like a boy, since he can't legally buy alcohol until next year, and he can't rent a car—”

“Connie—”

“Although he doesn't look like a boy with his head all shaved and those piercings in his ear, which some of the girls think are hot, but not me because I don't like the competition. Unless, of course, you have piercings and then I might change my mind.”

Evie raised her voice. “Connie.”

“You're a beautiful girl, but I got an old lady.” Jagger flashed the grin that had sent no less than half the senior girls in school into a frenzy. Okay. So some things hadn't changed.