The Sinner’s Tribe Motorcycle Club, Books 1-3

by Sarah Castille

  Words failed him. In a few short minutes, she had neatly defused the tension, saved a friendship, and helped him save face. Did Viper realize what an incredible asset he’d lost when he alienated his daughter?

  With a curt grunt of assent, he turned to Zane. “Your call.”

  “Let’s see what she’s got.”

  Jill and Tanya swooped in on Arianne as they traipsed outside. Women were few and far between at the club, and they tended to stick together. He rounded the corner and caught up to Zane as he mused over what the females might be talking about. Arianne didn’t seem the type who would be into the usual girly stuff.

  Zane looked over at Arianne and twisted his lips to the side. “Smart.”

  “Very.”

  “Don’t know if we would have survived that punch,” Zane said quietly.

  Jagger’s throat constricted. “I would have found another way.”

  “You always do, but this time you had help.”

  They walked through the overgrown grass, skirting around bushes badly in need of pruning, until they reached the vast expanse of the back lawn. Jagger filled his lungs with fresh air and exhaled his tension. He only ever felt relaxed outdoors, and at this property there was more than enough space for his rapidly expanding club.

  “Got word back from our men on the street early this morning,” Zane said. “Rumors are goin’ around that we snatched Viper’s daughter in retaliation for the fire. It’s given us some serious street cred. We might be able to secure a coupla contracts we couldn’t get before, make some of the gangs think twice before messing with us.”

  Jagger bristled. “She’s not a prisoner this time.”

  “No one knows that but us.”

  They stopped in the middle of the lawn and Zane looked over at Wheels, dutifully polishing the bikes at the side of the house. “Might as well have some fun with this.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “I’m in that kind of mood.” Zane waved at Wheels and yelled. “Prospect. Under that tree. Now.”

  Ever the obedient prospect, Wheels jumped up and ran toward the large fir tree at the edge of the forest, about twenty yards away.

  “You got a nasty streak, Zane.” Jagger fought back a smile as he glanced over at the shivering prospect. “Think he’ll piss himself?”

  “Nah. I’m beginning to think a lot of his bumbling around is an act. When the chips are down, he outperforms even some of the senior patch. He’s got balls; he just doesn’t want anyone to know.”

  “What do you want me to do?” Wheels’ quavering voice betrayed his anxiety.

  Zane raised his weapon and pointed it at the trembling prospect. “Stay still. Arianne and I are having a shoot-out, and we need a target.”

  Jill and Tanya shrieked, but Arianne only rolled her eyes. Jagger chuckled. Although he could never fully participate in the high jinks, he enjoyed prospect hazing as much as his men did.

  Zane grabbed a stick and threw it on the ground as a marker. Arianne stepped behind it and made a show of positioning her weapon. Jagger almost felt sorry for Wheels, but the kid would be asked to do worse things than act as a living target during his prospect year. And he should know by now that Jagger wouldn’t let anyone hurt him.

  “Smile, Wheels.” Arianne pointed her gun at Wheels, and he squeezed his eyes shut and let out a thin whine.

  “Wait.” Arianne dropped her gun. “He’s too white. The glare is throwing me off. You want to draw some circles on his face, or should we use a target instead?”

  Everyone laughed. Gunner led a shaken Wheels away, and Arianne and Zane took turns shooting a makeshift target Sparky quickly fashioned from an old dartboard. Jagger leaned against a tree, entranced by Arianne and her ability to shoot. Most of the old ladies in the club knew how to use a gun, but none could handle a weapon with such ease, or skill. She radiated confidence and calm as she squeezed the trigger again and again, hitting the target every time.

  Jagger wondered if he could make the shower any colder than it had been this morning. And when she walked over to him, all sexy confidence and cheeky smiles after Zane had offered a stilted apology, he wondered if a man could die from being too hard.

  “Good shooting.” He drew her around the west corner of the house, out of sight of his brothers, desperate to touch her but painfully aware that a show of affection would be inappropriate, especially if he wanted to foster the rumors she was there against her will.

  “I held back. Didn’t want to show Zane up.” She looked up at him from beneath her lashes, her eyes glittering with satisfaction. Before he could stop himself, he cupped her jaw and traced the curve of her plump lips with his thumb. “Never seen you smile like this.”

  Her smile broadened and his heart surged in response.

  “Bikers are a discriminatory bunch,” she said. “Nothing I like better than to show them how wrong they are when it comes to their attitudes about women.”

  His fingers tightened, the pressure forcing her to open her mouth, and he eased his thumb inside, stroking over the softness of her tongue.

  Dominant, yes. Possessive, definitely. And yet he wasn’t trying to take away from what she’d accomplished. Far from it. Her power drew him in, intoxicated him; he wanted it as he wanted her.

  Arianne met his gaze, her green eyes heated, intense. She licked his thumb, working it with long strokes of her little pink tongue until all his blood had rushed to his groin and he was so hard, he had to grit his teeth against the pain.

  And then she turned her head, loosening his grip, and pulled away.

  “I’d better get going. I’ve got a bike to fix so I can go looking for Jeff and get to work this evening.”

  His mind still fuzzed with lust, it took him a moment to process her words. “You won’t be going to work. You’ll stay in the safe house until we’ve dealt with Axle.”

  “I thought I was a guest this time, not a prisoner.” She wet her lips, and he felt every stroke of her tongue in his groin.

  “And I’ve just shown you I can look after myself. No one will catch me on my bike, and I’ll be safe at work with Banks and the bouncers.”

  Tension curled in the space between them, replacing their heat with fire. He was acutely aware of the steady thud of his heart, the rustle of leaves, and the rapid rise and fall of his chest, but even more aware of the fury in her emerald-green eyes. “I promised to protect you. I’m a man of my word. Means I’ll do what it takes to fulfill that promise.”

  Arianne glared and Jagger silently willed her not to challenge him further, for the sole reason that he didn’t know what he would do. Her willingness to stand up to him, without hesitation or fear, was even more an aphrodisiac than watching her shoot.

  “What if I don’t want your protection anymore?”

  Then she would leave. He might never see her again. She could fall prey to Axle or that piece-of-shit Leo. Get hurt. Maybe killed. Unacceptable.

  “You made that choice on the side of the road last night,” he said. “You accepted my protection, and you will have it on my terms until you’re no longer in danger.”

  Her eyes flashed with annoyance. “So I am a prisoner.”

  “You’re mine,” he said simply. “Until I let you go.”

  He expected some kind of outburst; a sarcastic comment, or even Arianne walking away. Instead, she snaked her arms around his neck, pulled him close, and ground her hip into the erection still straining against his fly.

  “Let me go, Jagger,” she whispered.

  “No.”

  “I’ll take a guard with me.” She nuzzled his neck, her breasts pressing against his chest, and his body flamed, tightened in response. He could feel his control slipping, giving way to a fierce, primal urge to rip off her clothes and take her against the cold brick wall—to fully possess the woman who challenged him on every level and whom he wanted with every cell in his body. He wanted to hear her scream in passion; he wanted his name on her lips when she lost control; he wanted her body under
his when he plunged his cock deep inside her and claimed her as his own.

  What if I don’t want your protection anymore? What if she walked away?

  “Four.”

  She slid her tongue along the seam of his lips, then kissed him when he opened his mouth, her lips soft and sweet, tasting faintly of mint. “Two. And I’ll text you every hour.”

  He kissed her hard, bruising her lips, sharing the pain of his desire. “Every half hour.”

  “And when I see you again?” She rubbed up against him, a cat in heat, and he groaned, wondering how the hell he would make it through the day with a hard-on that just wouldn’t quit.

  “Your sweet body just made me a promise. And I intend to collect.”

  NINE

  All debts owing to the club will be secured by collateral and can be discharged only by the president.

  Out of the frying pan …

  Arianne’s lips pursed with suppressed fury as Sparky pulled his bike into the parking lot of a small warehouse at the edge of Conundrum’s commercial district, still seething over Jagger’s words: You’re mine. Until I let you go.

  Who did he think he was? Only one person spoke to her like that—claimed her like a piece of property—and only because she was powerless to stop him. In many ways, Jagger and Viper were very much alike.

  Too much alike.

  Powerful and in control, dominant and unyielding, Viper wanted nothing more than her complete and utter obedience. She had never been able to get under his skin. But Jagger … she’d rattled him with a kiss. Maybe she should rattle him some more. She’d never find Jeff if she had Tank and Wheels flanking her wherever she went. Her brother was clearly in hiding, afraid to face the consequences for the botched raid on the Sinner weapons shed. And likely he’d stay hidden until he could salvage the situation by producing the missing weapons before Viper found him. Weapons that were now locked in the shed behind Sparky’s shop, or so she’d overheard.

  She followed Sparky across the gravel and waited as he unlocked the door.

  “Here she is.” He stepped to the side to let Arianne enter.

  After her eyes adjusted to the light, she inhaled the familiar scents of grease and diesel, then looked over a shining sea of chrome, and smiled. “Nice shop.”

  “Yeah, it’s like a second home.” Sparky led her through a row of bikes while Wheels made himself comfortable on a worn couch in the corner. Tank stood guard at the door.

  “Got something over here I think you’ll appreciate.” Sparky whipped a drop cloth off a bike in the corner and grinned.

  Arianne gasped. “That’s not—”

  “My secret project. A Ducati 1098S. One of the fastest motorcycles in the world and manufactured only from 2007 to 2009. This one crashed in the Superbike World Championship in 2008, and the owner wanted to offload it for cheap. Didn’t take long to replace and fix up the fairing, but the engine is still running rough. It’s supposed to be able to do zero to sixty miles per hour in under three seconds and hit a top speed of a hundred eighty miles per hour, but I haven’t been able to get it anywhere near that.”

  Arianne crouched beside the bike. “They have a few known problems like stalling on idle and leaking gaskets. And did you check the gas tank? The plastic one leaked ethanol, and the replacement is covered under warranty.”

  Sparky grinned. “Feel free to tinker with it if you want a break from your Ninja. I’ll take it up to the work bay.“

  Sparky’s shop was clearly the hub for club-related gossip, and over the course of the afternoon, at least a dozen bikers came in ostensibly to chat about mechanical problems, but for the most part to catch up on what was going on. No one seemed to notice Arianne in her coveralls, fixing up her Ninja in the corner.

  So she heard about the two sweet butts Bandit took up to his room and how disappointed he was to find out they weren’t sisters after all. And that Axle had been getting it on with Gunner’s old lady before he’d been kicked out of the club. And how Cole’s funeral had been especially heartbreaking because, save for the brothers, he had no one to mourn his death.

  Tank reported that Dex, the reclusive club torturer, had sneaked some weed into a party the other night but was caught by Zane. No one had seen Dex since. Did anyone try the weed? T-Rex had, and it was good-quality stuff. He thought Zane had kept it to smoke in his room.

  A heated discussion ensued about whether Zane was the kind of guy to smoke weed. They concluded that a guy as reserved as Zane wouldn’t smoke weed, and how much did anyone really know about him aside from the fact he was Jagger’s best friend? Bandit and Wheels didn’t trust him. T-Rex wondered what it would be like to be Jagger’s best friend and whether it would be fun. Bandit didn’t think so. After all, Jagger rarely smiled or relaxed. Show of hands, anyone who had ever seen Jagger drunk or stoned. No hands went up. What about getting it on with the sweet butts during a party? Still no hands. Dancing or kicking back? Nope. Definitely not fun to be his friend.

  Arianne dipped her head to hide her smile. She couldn’t imagine Jagger losing control, either through drugs or alcohol or even letting loose at a party. She’d never met anyone as self-contained. What would Jagger think if he knew they were gossiping about him like this? He’d probably think it was a good thing no one thought he’d be a fun friend. Leadership was lonely, as Viper had told her on numerous occasions. A leader couldn’t afford to be a friend, because someone close enough to know your mind was also close enough to stab you in the heart. Deep concepts for a ten-year-old girl to hear, but even then she’d gotten the message.

  Getting serious now, Tank needed some advice. He’d met a girl. Not his usual type: college grad, rich parents, fancy clothes. But he thought she was sweet. Did she want him because he was a badass dangerous biker or did she just want him for his body? Sparky threw an empty soda can at his head and told him he was the least dangerous biker he’d ever met, and had the personality of a wet fish, so she must have been after his chunky, unwashed body. Wheels suggested he get a girl’s advice. Why not ask Arianne?

  Suddenly under scrutiny, Arianne froze, a piece of broken fairing in her hand. “What do you want to know?”

  Tank stroked his chin. “What do women go for: body, brains, or biker?”

  Arianne glared at Wheels for dragging her into the discussion and then said, “Confidence.”

  Confidence? No one understood. Arianne was asked to come out from behind the bike and explain herself. After several failed attempts, she lost her patience. She told them she’d meant women always checked out the package. The bigger, the better. Jill, who had come on Tank’s bike, agreed. Much package checking and comparison ensued. Bandit told Tank he might as well forget about ever getting laid for the rest of his life. Tank took offense and punched Bandit in the nose. Sparky pointed to the door and told them to take it outside. His eyes widened. Everyone turned around.

  Arianne’s heart skipped a beat when she saw Jagger in the doorway, leaning against the doorjamb as if he’d been there for a long time.

  He surveyed the room, his gaze stopping at each of the miscreants now terrified into silence. “I thought we had a clubhouse to rebuild, businesses to run, and contracts to fulfill.”

  The room sobered in an instant.

  “Like I said”—Bandit brushed past Arianne on his way out—“no fun.”

  Over the next few days, Arianne worked on her Ninja and helped Sparky with the repairs to the members’ bikes. She was drawn into more than one relationship discussion with the Sinners and quickly got to know them. Right away, she’d recognized that T-Rex, the club’s senior prospect, was definitely full-patch material, but she still wasn’t sure about Wheels. Although he was always pleasant enough, he was very careful when he spoke and self-aware to the point where she wondered if he was hiding something.

  On her fourth day at the safe house, her phone buzzed in her pocket. Assuming it was Dawn, who had been calling to check up on her at least five times a day, she excused herself to go to the washroo
m and then took the call after she closed the door.

  “Ari. You okay? I heard the Sinners got you.”

  She sucked in a sharp breath at the sound of Jeff’s voice, and then choked on the cloying fetid scent. The first time she’d asked about the ladies’ room, Sparky had laughed and pointed to the dingy door at the end of the hall. Apparently ladies rarely visited the shop, so no point wasting space for a separate bathroom. And he’d given her fair warning; it was only ever cleaned when the sweet butts came to visit, which was almost never.

  Still, she was relieved to know Jeff was okay. She’d called in every favor and asked every friend she knew to check out Jeff’s regular haunts for her. Maybe someone had flushed him out.

  “No. It’s okay. I’m good.” She explained about Axle and how Jagger felt duty-bound to keep her safe until he had hunted Axle down.

  “So you can leave?”

  She gritted her teeth. Jagger’s edict that she was not allowed to leave the safe house without guards still grated on her, but except for that one afternoon when he stopped by to make sure she’d made it to the shop, she hadn’t seen him. She spent her days in the shop and her nights in the small one-bedroom apartment upstairs. Basic, functional, and decorated in stark white and blue, it was cold and lonely, and she often found herself back downstairs chatting with the bikers Jagger had posted as guards for the night.

  “Not alone.”

  “Fuck.” Jeff grunted, and she heard the thud of his fist against the wall. Oh God. Was he high? He was violent only when he was high or tweaking on crank.

  “I need the rest of those guns, Ari. If I show up at the Black Jacks clubhouse without them, Viper’s gonna kill me. And it’s all your fault. If you hadn’t shown up that night, I would have had time to take them all.”