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

by Sarah Castille

  “Doc Hegel didn’t—?”

  She shook her head. “He couldn’t. Not with the shrapnel. So I made a few arrangements—”

  “What arrangements?”

  Arianne patted his hand. “Shhhh. Nothing for you to worry about. It’s all taken care of.”

  “Shhhh?”

  She laughed at his incredulous look and leaned over to kiss his cheek. “You didn’t hook up with a soft civilian princess, Jagger. You got yourself a badass biker chick, and there was no way she was gonna let her old man die. I found the best heart surgeon in Montana, arranged for an ambulance to take you out here to Helena, and Zane made sure the club paid your bills.”

  He turned away to hide the emotion that thickened his throat. “I’m going to want a full detailed report and accounting—”

  “Don’t you want to hear the good news before you start bossing me around again?” She clasped his free hand between her own, and Jagger turned back to face her.

  “You’re here. Safe. I’m alive. Can’t think of better news than that.”

  “They removed the shrapnel.” Her eyes sparkled and she twined her fingers through his. “Your heart will be as good as new. You can get shot as many times as you want in the chest and not have to worry about dying of anything but the bullet itself or my anger if you put yourself in danger again.”

  Shrapnel gone. How many times had he wished to hear those words? And now he heard them from an angel. His angel.

  “You saved me.”

  “Actually, Max saved you. He heard me whistle and was on the road when Zane came by looking for us. And for the record, you saved me.”

  Jagged laughed. “I protected you. Finally. Can’t believe what it took before you let me keep my promise.”

  A blush spread across her cheeks. “I won’t make it that hard again.”

  “What happened to the Jacks?”

  Her smile faded. “They backtracked when they got to the clubhouse. I guess they figured we’d made it inside and they weren’t prepared to take on the whole club. But a couple of miles up the mountain, they met the Sinners.” She swallowed hard. “The Jacks were outnumbered. There was a shoot-out and you lost a man, Tinker. I sent Cade and Gunner to get your guns out of the warehouse before the police found them, and they squared things away with whoever was meant to have them.“

  “Jeff?”

  A tremor ran through her, and she looked away. “I arranged a funeral. He’s buried beside our mom.”

  Jagger stroked her cheek, his throat aching when he saw her eyes tear up. “I would have liked to have been there to honor him for saving your life.”

  “Zane and Cade stood in for you,” she said softly. “They said you would have wanted that.”

  They sat in silence, and then Jagger brought her hand to his lips. “Are you still planning to leave?”

  She ruffled her fingers through his hair, then smoothed it down. “You want me to leave Conundrum?”

  Too tired for games or pretense, his head still fuzzy, he answered honestly: “No.”

  “Then I’m not leaving.” She mocked a frown. “But I’m warning you, prepare yourself for the ass-kicking of your life when you get out of here. A man in your condition should not have put himself in the line of fire to protect me and then tried to ride with a bullet in his chest.”

  He chuckled, trying to fight the exhaustion that threatened to take his angel away. “That’s what men like me do.”

  Arianne’s face softened. “Good thing I like men like you.”

  “How much?” He began to drift, but awakened when she kissed his cheek.

  “Enough to stay. Forever.”

  * * *

  They waited in breathless anticipation.

  Every brother, old lady, sweet butt, hanger-on, hood rat, and house mama had been ordered to show up at Riders Bar by 8 P.M. Mandatory.

  When the sound of a motorcycle engine outside cut the silence, a murmur rippled through the crowd.

  Jagger frowned. “Shhhhh.”

  “Don’t shhhh them.” Arianne wiggled to rebalance herself on his lap. “He’ll know something’s up if he walks in here and everyone is staring at him. It would be better if they just do what people normally do at the bar.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I said shhhh and I meant shhhh. Don’t contradict your president.”

  “You like it when I contradict the president.” She kept her voice to a whisper. “But only when no one else can hear.”

  He stroked his hand through her hair. “Might have to rethink that concession. You’re getting ideas.”

  “I have lots of ideas. Naughty ideas. But right now the only idea I’m having is that if you keep everyone quiet, you’ll tip him off.” She nuzzled his neck and Jagger growled, a deep low rumble that sent quivers of lightning straight to her core.

  “I got club business to deal with, Arianne. Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

  She jerked away and laughed. “I can’t finish? You mean you can’t finish. You’re the one who had heart surgery.”

  He tightened his grip around her waist and hauled her against her chest. “Nothing wrong with the rest of me, sweetheart. Thought I proved that to you last night and several times every night for the last coupla weeks. So like I said, you keep that up and I’ll take care of you right here, right now, and I won’t give a damn how many people are watching.”

  Arianne licked her lips and looked over at Dawn, sitting beside her, who was studiously trying to ignore Cade’s attempts to attract her attention. “Hmmm. My biker boyfriend has a kinky side.”

  “I’m not your boyfriend.”

  A smile tugged at her lips. “What are you, then?”

  The door opened and the dull roar faded to a murmur as T-Rex entered the bar. Jagger eased her off his lap and motioned for T-Rex to join him at their table.

  “You’re gonna find out soon enough.”

  Dawn leaned over to whisper in her ear. “Jagger loves this. Lookit him trying not to grin. You picked the only MC president with a wicked sense of humor.”

  “I think it’s cute.”

  “Cute?” Dawn jerked back. “The man’s a badass danger to society, just like Cade. That’s why I told Cade we’re done. I’ve had enough badass in my life. I need someone good. Someone who can help me straighten out my life. Clean, simple living. That’s me.”

  “That’s not you.” Arianne lowered her voice as T-Rex approached the table. “You’re as badass as him. That’s why you’re so good together.”

  Jagger scowled and put his finger to his lips. Arianne turned her attention to poor T-Rex, making his way gingerly through the bar, his gaze sliding to the side as he passed the club members, unusually somber and quiet. Even Jill and Tanya, seated beside Tank and Gunner, managed to suppress their smiles.

  By the time T-Rex reached Jagger’s table, sweat had beaded on his forehead and he’d picked up a noticeable tremble.

  Jagger held out a hand. “Package.”

  T-Rex paled. “I went to the address you gave me on the other side of town, but the building was empty. I walked around, checked with the neighbors, but no one was there. I called and texted you and Cade and Sparky. No one answered. I’m sorry, Jag. Maybe the guy pulled a runner.”

  “So you didn’t bring the package?”

  “No, sir.”

  Jagger leaned back in his chair and folded his arms, raising his voice to be heard by the crowd. “I think we have a serious problem here, T-Rex. You don’t seem to be able to follow simple instructions.” He reached under the table and pulled out a package wrapped in brown paper. “Our contact got tired of waiting for you when you didn’t show up at six o’clock and dropped the package off here.”

  T-Rex’s mouth dropped open. “Six? I thought you said seven.”

  Admirably maintaining a stern expression, Jagger looked over at Arianne. “You were there. Did I say six or seven?”

  “Six. Definitely six.”

  Jagger slapped the package down on the tabl
e. “So you were late. And this was time sensitive. What the fuck kind of prospect are you? Do you think we’d patch in someone who can’t tell six from seven?”

  Arianne looked around the bar at the sea of smiling faces poor T-Rex couldn’t see. Prospect hazing aside, she still wasn’t used to the Sinners’ teasing or the jokes they played on each other. MCs were supposed to be serious, no-nonsense, and all about sex, drugs, violence, and women. Or so she’d thought.

  T-Rex’s shoulders slumped. “No, sir. I guess not.”

  “Hand in your cut.”

  Shoulders sagging, T-Rex shrugged off his prospect cut. “I’m sorry I let you down.”

  Arianne dug her nails into her palm. How could Jagger do this with a straight face?

  Jagger took T-Rex’s cut and threw it on the table. The crowd drew in a collective breath of anticipation.

  “Open it.” Jagger pointed at the package. “I want you to see firsthand the consequences of what you’ve done.”

  He was a master performer, Arianne decided as her gaze traveled over his impassive, slightly annoyed face. But not with her. She already knew to look for the softness in his eyes that would tell her he was teasing. And he enjoyed teasing her. Maybe too much.

  Hands shaking, T-Rex tore away the paper. Then he stilled and looked up at Jagger. “Is this—?”

  “Your cut. Three patches on the back. Welcome to the club, brother.”

  T-Rex’s eyes moistened and he cleared this throat several times as he stroked his hand over the patches on his new cut. “Well, damn.”

  “You showed real courage and bravery in that ambush. A man who would do what you did to save his brothers is deserving of that patch, but you also showed good judgment when you came to warn us about Arianne. You’ve done a hell of a lot for the club over the last year. That patch is long overdue, and I’m proud to call you brother.”

  The bar erupted in cheers as Jagger unfolded the cut, then stood to slide it over T-Rex’s shoulders. After a manly hug and a thump on the back, he released T-Rex into the crowd all primed and ready for a nightlong patch-in party.

  “You’re not supposed to be jumping up and down,” Arianne said as he settled on his chair and pulled her onto his lap. “Slow and easy. That’s what the doctor said.”

  He brushed the hair away from her neck and feathered kisses along her throat. “Good plan. I’ll do you slow and easy first when we get home tonight. Then hard and fast. After that I’m gonna spank you for contradicting me.” He slid one hand between her thighs. “And you’re gonna like it ’cause I know what makes my girl wet.”

  “Jagger.” She slapped his hand away, but not before he managed to slide his finger up the skirt he had insisted she wear, and flick a finger along her slick folds.

  “Good girl.” His breath was hot and moist in her ear. “Wasn’t sure if you’d gotten my message about not wearing panties.”

  Arianne pressed her lips together and glared. “How could I miss it? You texted, left a message on my phone, sent Bandit with your message in a sealed envelope, and then used my best lipstick to write ‘No panties tonight’ on my bathroom mirror. It was almost like a scene from a horror movie. When we move into our new house, I’m going to remove all the mirrors.”

  Jagger chuckled. “It would only be a horror if you didn’t listen.” He reached under the table and pulled out another package. “But since you did, you get a present.”

  “What’s this?” Arianne stared at the parcel, and the skin on the back of her neck prickled.

  “Open it.”

  Vaguely aware that the crowd had hushed around them, Arianne reached for the package. The paper crinkled in her hand.

  “Jagger…”

  “Open it, sweetheart.”

  Arianne tore away the paper and pulled out a leather vest.

  “A Sinner’s Tribe cut.” She let out a relieved breath and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll be proud to wear it.” She spun it around amid the cheers, and then her smile faded. “Property of Jagger?” She read the lettering stitched on the back out loud, and then lowered her voice below the excited murmur of the crowd. “You know how I feel about being property.”

  “I know how you feel about me, so I know you’ll wear it.” A self-satisfied grin played across his lips.

  Arianne lifted an eyebrow. “How do I feel about you?”

  “You love me.”

  She wanted nothing more than to wipe that grin off his face, but she couldn’t deny he was right. “Usually people wait until they are told they’re loved. They don’t make the declaration themselves.”

  “Why waste time? You’ve loved me since the moment you laid eyes on me.”

  A smile tugged at her lips. “And how would you know that?”

  “Because that’s when it happened for me.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  To the bikers on the ferry between Harwich and Esbjerg for all the ideas, and my agent, Laura Bradford for knowing I was a biker chick at heart. And to my fabulous editor Monique Patterson for polishing my manuscript and making it shine, and her assistant Alexandra Sehulster for her patience with my questions about turtle soup. To Jill, Donna, and Bev for their sharp eyes and helpful insights. And always to my family, for their patience, understanding, and ability to act out even the most complicated fight scenes.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  “Rough Justice” copyright © 2015 by Sarah Castille.

  All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

  www.stmartins.com

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  eISBN 978-1-4668-6040-7

  First eBook Edition: February 2015

  BEYOND THE CUT

  SARAH CASTILLE

  St. Martin’s Press New York

  To my beautiful Kaia … because she asked.

  ONE

  Fear is the enemy. I will master my fear before it masters me.

  SINNER’S TRIBE CREED

  Dawn Delgado had to hand it to Kitty’s Wig Emporium. They made damn good wigs. Well, except for the ill-fitting tribute to 1980s hair bands perched on her head.

  She shoved yet another errant blond curl under the elastic. What the hell was going on? After twelve months of trial and error, Kitty’s wigs were usually a perfect fit.

  Her phone alarm went off and she yanked the wig down; it would have to do. If Shelly-Ann recognized her, she’d demand more money, but if Dawn didn’t make it out the door in the next two minutes she’d miss the three thirty P.M. bell.

  Tucking the last stubborn curl behind her ear, she grabbed a pair of sunglasses from the hall closet and raced out the door of her tiny rental bungalow. Spring had come early to Conundrum this year, which in Montana didn’t mean soft April showers and lovely May flowers, but freezing rain, the occasional snowstorm, and gusting winds. More than enough incentive to cover the one-mile distance that much faster.

  By the time she reached the throng of mums, prams, dogs, and nannies heading toward St. Francis Xavier’s Elementary School, she’d given up all hope of the wig staying put. With one hand on her head, she slowed to a walk and then took up her usual position under a huge chestnut tree across the road from the school entrance. Although she was late, the girls would be later, dragging their feet down the school steps, the only unsmiling faces in a sea of cherubic grins.

  They hadn’t always been unhappy. One year ago, they’d had warm clothes, plenty of food, and a mother’s love—things their aunt, Shelly-Ann, couldn’t be bothered to give them, no matter how much blackmail money Dawn paid to spend a few extra hours with her girls every week.

  Shelly-Ann’s blue Volvo stopped in
the school pickup zone just as Maia and Tia exited the school, dressed in identical faded pink jackets, worn jeans, and white sneakers. Matching pink headbands decorated with sparkly purple heart stickers adorned their long blond hair.

  Although her seven-year-old twins always dressed the same, anyone who knew them could easily tell them apart. Maia, the older by two minutes, was always in the lead, protecting her little sister while at the same time dragging her along as she indulged her insatiable curiosity about the world. By contrast, Tia preferred to stay in the background—watching and assessing before diving in. But then Tia had a good reason for her reluctance to embrace the world: She had borne the brunt of her daddy’s rage just before they left him for good. Jimmy hated his daughters, even more than he hated his wife. Dawn had celebrated the day their divorce went through, not realizing what Jimmy had planned for retribution.

  The door of the Volvo swung open and Shelly-Ann barked from the front seat, her voice so loud, Dawn could hear her harsh words over the rumble of a motorcycle as the bike filtered through the SUV blockade. A kind, gentle auntie Shelly-Ann was not. But then she was from Jimmy’s side of the family, and she had supported him when he took Dawn’s daughters away.

  The girls flinched as one, and Dawn took an involuntary step forward and away from the shelter of the tree. The wind gusted around her and with a delighted whoosh swept the wig off her head and carried it in a tumble down the street.

  In that moment three things happened.

  First, a biker pulled his motorcycle over to the curb and shouted her name.

  She recognized the rich, deep baritone of Cade “Raider” Tyson’s voice before she saw him dismount his Harley, his three-piece Sinner’s Tribe Motorcycle Club patch clearly visible on the back of his cut—the sleeveless leather vest worn by all serious bikers. She heard that voice on street corners, in restaurants, and in bars. She heard it in her dreams and when she waited tables in Banks Bar. That voice had coaxed her deepest, darkest fantasies from her lips and made her believe, after two wild nights, maybe dreams really could come true.