After catching up on club gossip, Dawn excused herself and went looking for Cade. She found him near the back fence with Zane, deep in conversation. Usually cold and distant, Zane greeted her with what looked suspiciously like a smile.
“Cade was just saying you have all the custody shit sorted out with your kids and they’re yours free and clear.”
“Yes, they’re all mine and no one will ever be able to take them away.” Warmth flooded her and she squeezed Cade’s hand, still needing the simple assurance that she had her happily ever after. “Deputy Benson worked out a deal. Shelly-Ann testified that the video was a setup, and we were able to use the PI’s confession to back it up. She also testified against a senator and some of the Brethren. In exchange Deputy Benson got her into witness protection with all charges against her dropped.”
“Richard sorted out all the legal stuff,” Cade said. “Family services, court case, custody order … and now he’s looking into adoption. I’m gonna have three ladies to look after.”
“I still have to pay you back for that,” Dawn said. “Even though he’s the club lawyer, he can’t be cheap.”
“You can pay me in other ways.” Cade reached down and pinched her ass. “We’ll start here and work our way up.”
“Beast.” She slapped his hand away and he pulled against his chest.
“You love my beastly side. Admit it.” His mouth came down hard and fast, and Dawn wound her arms around his neck. She loved that he wasn’t embarrassed by public displays of affection, although the girls teased her mercilessly every time they kissed.
“Okay. It’s hot.”
Cade nuzzled her neck. “How hot?
“Someone get these two a fucking hose.” Zane grabbed a beer from Hacker, who had been assigned the task of ensuring no biker was without a drink, and pointed at the fence. “There are children out there. Might corrupt their young minds.”
Dawn tore herself away from Cade to look. The boy peering in through the fence was no more than twelve, but tall and solidly built, his straight dark hair cut to his shoulders, and his skin a tawny gold.
“I don’t recognize him.”
“I’ll tell him to fuck off.” Zane took a step toward the fence and Dawn pulled him back.
“He’s young, Zane. And he has to belong to someone. He’s probably just shy and no threat. Let him be.”
“Kinda looks like you.” Cade clapped a hand on Zane’s shoulder. “You sure you’re off women? Maybe you got a coupla kids you don’t know about it.”
“If I had a kid, I’d know about it. And he wouldn’t be running around the streets without his damn dad.”
“Keep saying things like that and I might think you have a heart after all.” Cade clasped Dawn’s hand. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, I gotta take the old lady inside.”
“Cade…” She stopped in her tracks. “We can’t just leave our own party.”
“We did last time. And if I recall you weren’t complaining, babe. Screaming. But not complaining.”
Her body heated in an instant. “The girls…”
“Are in the middle of a yard full of Sinners. And I got a present for them. I want you to take a look.”
Dawn pressed her lips together. “If this is just another ploy to get into my pants…”
He leaned over and pressed his lips to her ear. “You’re not wearing pants. You’re wearing a tight little fuck-me skirt that shows off your perfect ass and your beautiful legs and all I could think about the minute you put it on was ripping it off. Which I will do. But later.”
“I was talking about a different kind of pants.”
“I want in those, too.”
She followed him into the house and up to their room. Cade had paid for the modest three-bedroom house in cash and refused her contribution, saying it was a good way to launder the club’s money and he didn’t want her involved. Although she loved the vaulted ceilings, sunny country kitchen, and dark hardwood floors, she didn’t have the heart to tell him it might already be too small.
“Before you show me what you got the girls, I have a housewarming present for you.” She turned away and leaned over the dresser. “Open it.”
With a low growl, Cade reached for her skirt and undid the zipper. “I was gonna wait to sex you up, but I’ve suddenly changed my mind.”
And then silence.
“Do you like it?” Dawn looked back over her shoulder at her very still, very quiet, very shaken old man.
“What did you do?”
“It’s a Sinner’s Tribe tat, exactly the same as yours, scars and all. I checked with Jagger that it would be okay and he wouldn’t consider it a dishonor to the club. His reaction was kinda like yours.”
Even the tattoo artist hadn’t been happy to add the jagged lines to match the scars that marred Cade’s tattoo. But she wanted Cade to understand that she accepted him, just the way he was. Loved him. Scars and all.
She felt the soft press of his warm lips against her back.
“You never cease to amaze me,” he murmured. “Or surprise me. Or move me in ways a biker shouldn’t be moved. It’s the best fucking present I ever got.”
“You can thank me later,” she teased. “But now I want to see what you got for the girls.”
Jaw still clenched with emotion, he nodded to a box on the bed. Dawn removed the lid and looked inside.
“What are these?” She lifted out two small leather vests.
“Sinner cuts. For my girls.”
Dawn spun one of the vests around and stared at the miniature patches on the back. “PROPERTY OF CADE?”
He slid his arms around her waist and pulled her back against his chest, his lips brushing over the soft skin on her neck. “All three of you are mine. Mine to look after. Mine to protect. Mine to love.”
“Well, if that’s the case, there’s one missing.”
“’Cause you’re wearing it.” His breath was warm and moist in her ear as his hand slid up to cup her breast. “And since we’re alone, I want to see you wearing your cut and your new tat and nothing else to celebrate our new home.”
She turned in his arms, her body trembling. This moment had gone so wrong with Jimmy. But this was Cade. And they had planned for this together. Wanted it. Hoped. Dreamed.
“I meant you’ll need something smaller … baby size.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks to my St. Martin’s Press team—my awesome editor, Monique Patterson, who finds the heart in every story, her fabulous and patient assistant, Alexandra Sehulster, and the art team for the beautiful cover that made me drool. Thanks also to my agent, Laura Bradford, who gave me permission to believe in myself and who believed in me from the start. Thank you to my sisters, Sharon, Rana and Adele, for being there when I needed you, and to my brother, Tarick for his IT genius. To the bikers we met on the long dusty roads for all the ideas and for showing me just how worn a cut can be. And finally, to John and my girls, for all the little things you do to help my stories come to life.
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.
BEYOND THE CUT
Copyright © 2015 by Sarah Castille.
All rights reserved.
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eISBN: 978-1-4668-6041-4
St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / June 2015
St. Martin’s Paperbacks are published by St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
SINNER’S STEEL
SARAH CASTILLE
St. Martin’s Press New York
To my precious Little One, for a
ll the things you do to make me smile.
ONE
Nine Years Ago
“Zane. Stop. Please.”
Evie’s cry rang out in the forest, the distress in her voice spearing Zane’s chest. He ground to a halt, just a few feet short of Stanton Creek, sucking the warm Montana summer air into his lungs. He would do anything for her, even if it meant having his heart broken all over again.
She caught her breath as she came up behind him, her steps barely audible in the soft grass. “What’s wrong? Why did you leave?”
For a moment, he couldn’t speak. How could he explain the emotions he’d kept bottled up inside for the last nine years, the hopes and dreams that shattered when he saw her in Jagger’s arms, the desperate need that would never be fulfilled? He wanted them to be happy, but he couldn’t fight the sense of jealousy he felt toward his best friend, and the utter despair at losing Evie before he had a chance to tell her how he felt.
“I’m losing you both.” Slowly, he turned to face her.
“You aren’t losing me, Zane. You’ll never lose me.”
Her pale green dress fluttered in the breeze, clinging to her sweet curves. Evie rarely wore dresses, preferring clothes that didn’t hamper her ability to run and climb, jump creeks and walk fences. His Evie had a wild streak. But when she’d walked into the graduation party tonight looking like an angel, his breath caught in his throat. So beautiful he ached inside. He’d been desperate to give her the present he had slaved over for the last three months. A good-bye present. A don’t-forget-me present. A tiny glimpse into his heart.
If only he hadn’t waited.
She stepped out from under a willow tree, its thin leaves already fading to bronze as summer came to a close. The evening sun caught the golden highlights in her long red hair as it spilled over her shoulders. In the nine years he’d known her, he’d only seen it down a few times. Ponytails were more her style. He wanted to run his hands through those silken waves, follow them down the gentle curve of her back, smooth his hands over her perfect ass …
Jagger’s ass now. Jagger’s hair to touch. Jagger’s girl.
A black hole opened in his chest. Gritting his teeth, he looked away. “I saw you and Jagger together. I’m happy for you. Really—”
“Zane.” She took another step forward and he backed up to the creek, his foot skirting the gravel edge. He couldn’t be near her simply because he didn’t know what he would do if she came too close.
“There’s nothing between me and Jagger. We’re friends like always. It was a friendly kiss.”
“Didn’t look friendly to me.”
A pained expression crossed her face. “And I put him straight. I love him like a brother. But someone else has my heart.”
Hope flared in his chest and he immediately stamped it out. Who was he to hope? How dare he hope! He was nothing and came from nothing. No family, save for a deadbeat drug-dealing father. No money. No future. No friends except for Evie and Jagger, and by next week, they would both be gone—Evie to college and Jagger to the army. And yet his lips still formed the question. “Who?”
“You, silly.” She closed the distance between them until she stood only a few inches away. His hands shook with the need to touch her; his body ached with longing. Nineteen years old and he still wanted the girl he’d met when he was ten.
“It’s always been you,” she said softly. “Ever since the day we first met. But I never thought I’d have to wait until I was seventeen before I could tell you.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.
So soft. So sweet.
His world shifted, darkness becoming light, despair turning to desire. Although he had dreamed of this moment, wanted her with an intensity that took his breath away, he reigned it all in and brushed his lips over hers, returning her kiss with a gentleness that belied the torrent of emotions flooding through his body.
She sighed into his mouth, and he slid his hands around her, struggling with the need to crush her against him, make them one instead of two. Sensation overwhelmed him: the minty taste of her lips, her scent of jasmine and the warm summer breeze, the softness of her body. His knees trembled and he pulled the present from his pocket, now less of a gesture and more of a distraction to give him a chance to regain some semblance of control.
“Is this for me?” She stroked a finger over the pink tissue paper, now crumpled and torn.
“It’s stupid. I’m sure what Jagger got you—”
“Jagger got me Devastation Planet Three,” she said. “He has his PlayStation all set up and ready for us to kick some alien butt tonight. So unless you got me the same thing, I’ll love it. And even if it is, I’ll love it, because it came from you.”
She tore off the paper and stared at the photograph in the handmade frame. Jagger’s dad had taken the picture of him, Evie, and Jagger on the couch one afternoon as they were celebrating the successful completion of yet another video game. Although both he and Jagger had placed an arm around Evie, sitting between them, she leaned into Zane, her body tucked against him as if that was where she belonged.
Zane had hoped on that picture, dreamed on that picture; it was his most treasured possession. And when he’d made the frame after work, carved it with their names, lacquered and polished it until it shone, he prayed she would understand the message.
“It’s beautiful, Zane. I love it. It’ll be the first thing I put in my room at college.” A tear rolled down her cheek, and Zane caught it on his finger, wishing he could keep it forever—keep her forever.
I love you. The words stuck in his throat, held back by fear, a profound lack of self-worth, and a lifetime of rejection.
Gently, he drew her down to the forest floor. He didn’t mean for things to go as far as they did, but he couldn’t deny the emotion that spilled from his chest.
And he lost his heart under the setting sun on the last day of summer in Stanton.
TWO
If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.
—SINNER’S TRIBE MOTORCYCLE REPAIR MANUAL
“Axle’s gotta die.”
Zane “Tracker” Colton drew his weapon from beneath his cut, the leather vest worn by all outlaw bikers, in response to the words uttered from the shadows. His eyes fixed on the lean, dark-haired man across the street, the object of a hunt that had taken far too long and covered too many miles. Zane preferred silence in the moment before an attack—time to reflect and consider the ramifications of his actions—but Jagger had always been a yapper, and as president of the Conundrum Chapter of the Sinner’s Tribe Motorcycle Club (MC), Jagger had the prerogative to yap even if his vice president disagreed.
“You got nothin’ to say?” Jagger dismounted his motorcycle and motioned for their biker brothers to do the same. “How long have we been chasing him? How many times did he slip through our fingers? You could show a little excitement that our MC will finally be avenged.”
“One year. Three escapes. And yeah, I’m fucking thrilled we’re finally gonna off the bastard who hurt your girl,” Zane replied. “But I keep it inside.”
Once a senior patch member of the Sinner’s Tribe MC, Axle had betrayed the club and threatened to kill Jagger’s old lady, the biker equivalent of a civilian wife. Even after the Sinners had forcibly removed Axle’s Sinner’s Tribe tattoo and left him for dead, Axle not only lived to tell the tale, but joined the Black Jacks, the Sinners’ biggest rival for outlaw biker dominance in the state of Montana.
“You keep everything inside,” Jagger said. “One day it’s all gonna become too much and you’ll explode. Man like you needs an outlet.”
Man like you needs to mind his own business.
If they’d been alone, Zane would have said the words that burned on the tip of his tongue. Friends since they were five years old, he and Jagger were brothers in all but name. But Jagger was president of one of the most powerful outlaw MCs in the state, and any public display of disrespect could erode his power base if it wasn’t i
mmediately addressed. And right now, before a hit, the last thing Zane needed was a broken nose.
“Gimme thirty seconds with Axle and I’ll dance a fucking jig.” Zane nodded toward Big Bill’s Custom Motorcycles, Paint, and Artwork shop, still brightly lit and open for business, although the sun had almost set. “He’s inside now. Ready to move?”
Jagger signaled to the four Sinner brothers who had accompanied them on their road trip. Axle had too much information on the Sinners to be allowed to run free, especially now that he’d patched over to the Jacks.
Hunting him down hadn’t been easy, but Zane, a.k.a. Tracker, hadn’t earned his road name by letting weasels like Axle get away. They had followed him all over the state, ending up almost where they started, only one mile outside the border of the town of Conundrum, the base for the Sinner’s Tribe.
Zane crossed the street and took up a position to the left of the front door. Jagger joined him on the right. T-Rex, a junior patch member of the MC, blond and built like a linebacker, ran to cover the back door, and the remaining three Sinners took up guard positions in the near-empty parking lot.
“There’s a camera above the till and four civilians inside.” Gunner, the club’s sergeant-at-arms, peered through the window. As the tallest member of the MC, all brawn and bulk, he had the strength and level head to handle the job of keeping order in the club. “Two ladies … one very, very hot redhead and a tiny blonde with more piercings than I got girls begging for my attention,” he murmured. “There’s also a geeky guy with glasses, and a big older dude who I’m guessing is Big Bill.”
Damn. Zane hoped the girl wasn’t too hot. He had a weakness for redheads, and right now, he couldn’t afford any distractions. Not that he would do anything about it. He’d tried getting it on with a couple of redheads and every encounter ended in disaster. His mind would fill with visions of Evie—the girl he had loved and lost. And then he would remember their last night together and his gut-wrenching despair when her father, the town sheriff, found them together. And yet that pain was nothing compared to what came after.
The Sinner’s Tribe Motorcycle Club, Books 1-3 Page 66