“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.”
But for the first time, she didn’t feel any conviction for that excuse. Had he been tweaking when he picked her up or decided to sell her for a kilo of meth, or when he caught her in the alley and punched her in the face? There were moments when he’d seemed like himself, when she thought he knew exactly what he was doing. But in the end, did it matter? He was responsible for his actions, and his actions had led to her being tied up in the basement of Bunny’s pool hall.
Jagger made a disgusted sound. “And yet after everything he did, you protected him right to the very last second.”
“I don’t want him dead. He’s my brother. I owe him my life.”
“And my clubhouse? Cole? He was my brother.”
“Jeff said he wasn’t the shooter.”
Jagger tapped the bar in his hand, and the skin on the back of her neck prickled. He wasn’t finished with this. What else did he want?
“Maybe it was you. You’re good on your bike, good with a gun. Hard to believe someone could knock you off. Easy to believe you could take someone out while riding.”
“You fucking bastard.” Banks snarled and struggled against the ropes. “Arianne, get me the hell outta this chair and I’ll teach this betraying piece of shit about honor and loyalty and how to tell a good person from a piece of fucking Sinner crap.”
She didn’t feel Banks’s anger. Or his indignation. Although she was grateful he believed in her. She felt nothing but a deep aching sadness for the loss of something she had known in her heart was too good to be true.
“If you really believe that,” she said to Jagger. “If you really believe I could do those things, then do your duty. Give your club justice. Revenge. Show us what you’re made of, Mr. President. Use that bar on me.” She spread her arms and stood in front of him, fully prepared to die.
And in that moment she was sixteen again and determined to win her freedom, even if she had to die for it. But that time, she’d been holding a gun.
His jaw twitched and he held her gaze, his face an expressionless mask. They both knew she had left him with only two choices: He could kill her, or he could release his claim. Either way she would be free.
The seconds passed in interminable silence. Finally, Jagger handed the bar to Zane. “Find Jeff. Bring him here. Take as many brothers as you need. I don’t care how many Jacks you have to go through to get him. Then go deal with Bunny. He should have called me the second he saw her, and he never should have let her go.”
Zane gave him a curt nod. “Axle?”
“Spread the word through the underground: Mafia, Triads, Russians, every MC, and our law enforcement contacts. He’s an enemy of the Sinners, and we’ve put a price on his head.”
“You want me to take Arianne home?” Wheels took a step forward, his face stark, brows deeply furrowed. He looked like he’d aged ten years in the last ten minutes.
Jagger leveled his gaze at Arianne. “I can’t protect you if you aren’t honest with me. I can’t keep you safe if you choose to protect the very people who mean you harm. And I can’t trust you if you keep secrets from me. I release you from the Sinner claim. We’re done.”
And then he was gone.
* * *
Leaves crunched beneath Jagger’s feet as he pounded his way through the forest. Max ran by his side, unusually quiet, as if he could sense Jagger’s torment.
His sweat-soaked shirt clung to him and his thighs burned in protest, but he couldn’t stop, couldn’t go back, couldn’t think about Arianne’s face when she walked into the room and saw Banks tied to the chair.
Shock. Devastation. Betrayal.
Nothing had ever cut him so bad, except making the decision to push her away in the first place. He’d never be able to tell her he’d done it to protect her. That it was partly a charade.
He stumbled. Caught himself. Pushed on. She should be gone by now. Someplace safe. Away from him. Away from Viper, Jeff, and everyone who meant he
r harm. She would find the happiness she had been looking for. She would be free.
Max stopped suddenly and barked. Relieved to have an excuse to stop punishing himself, Jagger slowed to a walk and greeted Zane, who waited for him near the low stone wall surrounding the property.
“Hey.” One word. A host of questions. But mostly Zane wanted to make sure he was okay.
He didn’t answer. No, he was far from okay, but he couldn’t admit that weakness, even to his best friend. Instead, he paced along the wall toward the house, cooling down, wondering if self-loathing could kill, determined not to talk about the real reason Zane was here. “What’s up?”
“Sherry wants to come back. She’s hounding everyone.”
Max bounded over to them and Jagger picked up a stick and threw it far into the trees. “I don’t kick people out so I can bring them back. She made her choice. She chose poorly. I can’t undo her mistake.”
“If you say so. But she came clean about helping Axle steal the guns, and I believe her when she says he forced her to do it.”
Jagger bristled at the implicit admonishment. “Anything else?”
“Gunner thinks the same person who tipped off the Jacks at the ice house also tipped off the Jacks about our party at Riders. He’s gonna recommend an information lockdown regarding future missions and gatherings until we flush the bastard out.”
“Christ. Everything’s falling apart. How did a rat get into the club? We fucking screen them to death.”
Zane lifted a shoulder. “Could be someone turned, like Axle did. He’s gone underground, by the way. No one can find him. I’ve doubled the reward and made it clear we’ll take him alive or dead. If I was him, I’d get out of the state as fast as possible.”
“I hope he leaves our fucking guns behind.”
“Lotta guns floating around,” Zane said. “T-Rex ID’d Jeff as the leader of the protection-run ambush, which means Viper has Sheriff Morton’s guns, too.”
Jagger slapped at a tree branch in his path. “We’ll have to offer Morton the money we picked up from trunking a few weeks ago, smooth his ruffled feathers. Christ. If we can’t get at least one stash back, we’ll have a hard time getting new contracts.”
“Viper must be suffering from the loss of the ice house if he’s trying to take over our arms trade.” Zane swatted at a branch overhead. “You know what the dealers are like when they don’t get their stuff.”
“Small consolation.” Jagger kicked at the leaves as they passed a broken fountain, two cupids entwined, their bows broken, bodies covered in moss. “What about Banks? Did you offer him a place as a prospect?”
“He told me to shove my head up my ass.”
Any other time he would have chuckled. Instead, he scraped a hand through his hair and sighed. “I’m not giving up. I want him in the club. He said he was Special Forces, and Sparky told me he had six of our boys groaning on the floor of his apartment in under five minutes. I think he let them take him, just so he could check up on Arianne. He’s not a man who goes anywhere he doesn’t want to go.”
“So how are you going to change his mind?” Zane whistled and Max bounded over to them. Jagger bent to ruffle Max’s fur before continuing down the path.
“I told Cade to call in a coupla marks and send a construction crew over to his bar to fix it up. And I’m sending Doc Hegel over to check him out after he’s finished with the six Banks beat up.”
“He’s a fucking fighting machine,” Zane said, his voice laced with admiration.
“And I want him.” Jagger rubbed his brow. Banks wasn’t going to come to them easy, especially after what he’d done, but with the truce broken, he needed good men and Banks had skills beyond those of the average biker. “I’m going to lean on him until he caves,” he said, with a confidence he didn’t feel in the least. “Man like that would be an incredible asset for the club. He knew what was going down with Arianne the first time I hit him. He knew it was all for show. He played the game because in the end, we both wanted the same thing.”
They paused at the steps to the clubhouse and Zane twisted his lips to the side. “You ever wonder what a guy from Special Forces is doing running a bar in Conundrum?”
“Already checked him out. The car, bar, and his apartment are all in the name of Joe Banks, but except for those three records, Joe Banks doesn’t exist. He has no history, pays no taxes, and has no bank accounts.”
“And soon he’ll have no bartender.”
Jagger gave his friend a cool warning glare. “Don’t go there, Zane. It fucking killed me to do what I had to do, but it was the only way to keep her safe. I had to make her hate me enough that she’d leave Conundrum and never look back. That picture T-Rex brought back did it for me. With the Black Jacks putting a mark on her, it was Christel all over again.”
Zane sat on the top step, resting his elbows on his thighs. “This situation is nothing like what you faced with Christel. She was a sweet girl, but she wasn’t cut out for this life. She didn’t have the edge or the street smarts to stay alive. She needed someone to take care of her, but you were already spread too thin. I’m sorry you lost her, but there was a reason you never made her an old lady, and that’s because you knew she wasn’t right for you.”
“Zane…” But the usually reticent Zane was on a roll and didn’t heed his warning.
“Arianne isn’t anything like her. She can take care of herself. Would Christel ever have tried to escape out a window, stand up to Viper, or shoot Leo when he busted up her party? Would she have hit you with a pool cue when she thought you’d crossed the line, and fucking dare you to take her life? Arianne’s the kind of woman who will always have your back. If she thinks someone’s sneaking outside her house at night, she’s not gonna call you a hundred times, sobbing into the phone. She’s gonna pull out her gun and shoot the fucker in the nuts. She’s an asset, not a liability. She’s probably the only woman I’ve met who is worthy of you. A woman to stand by your side instead of in your shadow. She makes you stronger, not weaker.”
Jagger sat heavily on the step beside his old friend. “I thought you didn’t like her. You accused her of being a spy. You’ve spent the last two months trying to push her out.”
Zane shrugged. “I changed my mind. Seeing her today, all bruised up, her arm bandaged, and she’s still telling you off, whacking you with a pool cue to knock some fucking sense into you, doing everything she could to protect the people she loved—even you. She changed my mind.”
Max trotted over and settled beside Jagger, resting his head on Jagger’s shoe. He felt another tug on his heart. Loyalty. One of the fundamental tenets of biker culture. Arianne had it in spades. But he hadn’t been loyal to her. Yes, he’d wanted to protect her, but he hadn’t given her his faith or support. He hadn’t trusted her judgment or respected her wishes. Instead, he had pushed her away, long before this latest plan to keep her safe.
Just as his dad had done to his mother. He was his father’s son, after all. Ironic how history came full circle.
He rubbed Max’s back, brushing out the leaves and twigs with each long stroke of his hand. “The Jacks have marked her because of me and the choices I made. She’ll be safer if she leaves Conundrum.”
“Christ.” Zane gave an exasperated groan. “What does she have to do to prove herself to you?”
The opposite of what his mother had done.
Stay.
TWENTY-TWO
Members wishing to leave the club must have served five full years and turned their colors over to the president.
“So … you’re leaving Conundrum?”
“Yeah.” Arianne stared out the window of the Sinner SUV as Wheels pulled away from the curb outside Banks’s Bar. Banks waved from the doorway, and then disappeared inside, but she’d caught his slight wince as he raised his arm. He was injured because of her. If she’d just left when she’d planned, none of this would have happened.
But then she would never have met Jagger. And she wouldn’t have
known the truth about Jeff.
“Hey.” Wheels reached over and squeezed her hand. “You okay? That wasn’t good-bye forever, was it?”
Her chin dropped to her chest, and she crumpled under his scrutiny. “I promised I’d stop by the bar and say good-bye to him and Dawn before I left. It’s just … when I look at him…”
Sympathy creased his face. “It’s not your fault.”
“Of course it’s my fault.” She wrenched her hand away. “I should have thought about what would happen if I got anyone else involved. Once Banks heard the whole story, what happened this morning was a foregone conclusion. And that’s what kills me. I understand why Jagger did what he did. It was a matter of honor for the club. That’s our … their way.”
“You don’t think of yourself as a biker?”
“Do I look like a biker?”
Sweat trickled down his forehead and he wiped it away. “Frankly, yes. You walk with the same confidence. You share the same attitude. You’ve got the same edge. You’ve got a kick-ass bike. You ride and shoot better than most of the guys. Everything about you gives your biker roots away, just like someone would know I was American if I went to France.”
She gave him a sidelong glance. Wheels sure didn’t talk like any biker or prospect she knew. He talked like someone who’d spent a lot of time in the biker world. Maybe he had biker roots, too. “Just because I was born into it and forced to live the life, doesn’t mean I have to embrace it.” She twisted her mother’s ring around her finger. “We have a choice. I chose to turn my back on biker life and find a place where I can be happy and not afraid. I just never thought I’d be going alone.”
“If my dad and brother threatened to kill me, I’d probably run, too.” His hands jerked the steering wheel and he muttered a curse. “I mean, if I had a brother.” He cast her a sidelong glance and then looked back at the road. Arianne tilted her head to the side, trying to reconcile the odd tremor in his tone and his even stranger reaction, with what she had first taken to be an innocuous statement.
“Viper never threatened to kill me.”
The Sinner’s Tribe Motorcycle Club, Books 1-3 Page 29