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

by Sarah Castille

  Arianne bristled. “If you’d just come with me when I showed up, you wouldn’t need the guns. We’d be in Canada starting a new life, where we wouldn’t be worried about Viper. You could have gone to rehab. It’s what we always wanted, and—”

  “It’s what you always wanted.” He cut her off abruptly. “And I went with you every time, not because I really wanted to leave, but because I love you and I wanted to keep you safe. I didn’t want you going to a strange city or country alone. But Viper finally offered me what I always wanted the night of the fire. He said he’d patch me into the Jacks if I did a good job. I could have made him proud. I was going to bring you the passport when I was done. I thought you’d understand, but you messed it up.”

  A sudden coldness hit at her core. But really, was she surprised? If she was honest with herself, she’d sensed his lack of commitment from the start, but she just couldn’t bring herself to believe he wanted to stay with Viper. Endure Viper’s abuse. Join the biker gang that had been the cause of such heartache in their lives.

  “I know you want the passport,” he said. “And I need those guns. So here’s the deal: You find out where they are and how to get in. Provide a distraction. I’ll be in and out before those damn Sinners know what hit them. You do that, I’ll leave the passport with Dawn and you can go have your happy Canadian life. I’m sorry I can’t go with you, but I’ll be a Black Jack, Ari. A full-patch. I’ll be the son Viper always wanted.”

  Arianne sagged against the door of the filthy bathroom. How could she betray the Sinners after all Jagger had done for her? “Don’t ask me to do this.”

  “Please help me,” he pleaded. “You know what Viper will do to me if I show up without the weapons. I just want to make him proud. It’s all I ever wanted, and he finally gave me a chance. Once I have that patch, I know I’ll be able to kick the drugs because I’ll know I’m not a failure.”

  “The patch won’t solve the problem.” Arianne scrubbed her free hand over her face. “You need rehab, therapy, someone who can figure out why you started in the first place and why you can’t quit. And you need to get away from Viper. You’re an artist, not a biker.”

  Jeff huffed his annoyance. “I need guns, and if you aren’t going to help me take them from the Sinners, then you’ll need to go see Bunny. He works out of his pool hall at the corner of Forty-seventh and Main. He’s a man who can get things, but he charges a premium and he only deals in person. I can’t break cover to meet him, ’cause Viper’s got spies everywhere.”

  “What about payment?” Jeff had no job. No source of income other than what he earned working for the Jacks. How the hell would he finance the purchase?

  “I’ll come up with something.”

  “Fine,” she said in a resigned monotone. “I’ll see what I can do.” Meet with Bunny or steal from Jagger? Her only other option was to work and save for a year to buy another passport. But a year was a long time to wait when she wanted to start her new life now. Sure, she could cross the border as a tourist, but eventually the immigration authorities would find her and kick her out. She wanted everything legit and the passport would allow her to live and work without fear of having her new life ripped away.

  “Whatever you do, make sure it’s fast.” Jeff’s voice rose in warning. “Viper’s coming for me—and if he finds me, it won’t be pretty.”

  After ending the call, Arianne sank to the floor, heedless of the filth around her, and buried her head in her arms. For a long time, she just stared at the dusty grey tiles. Her insides churned, her head throbbed, and a black hole had opened in the center of her chest. She wanted to call Dawn, but it was three o’clock and she knew her bestie never answered her phone between three and four in the afternoon and eight and nine in the morning. Her “sacred hours,” as she called them.

  What the hell was she going to do?

  Bang.

  The door bowed with the force of a blow, and her brain finally registered that the thumps and shouting outside had been going on for a while. Before she could get up, the door splintered and crashed to the ground.

  “What’s going on?” Jagger stood in the doorway, the scowl on his face softening into concern when he met her gaze. Sparky, Tank, and Wheels stood behind him. She tried to imagine how she looked, curled up in the corner of a filthy bathroom in her coveralls, tears and grease streaking her face.

  “Nothing.” Thoughts scrambling, she pushed herself to standing. One thing she’d learned from Viper was never to show her weakness, and right now, it was all hanging out. “I’m good. Just taking a break.” She brushed past him and stepped into the hallway, but before she could walk away, he grabbed her shoulder and waved the brothers away.

  “I’ll ask again. What’s going on?”

  “And I’ll say again,” she said. “Nothing. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a bike to fix.”

  He wiped a tear off her cheek with his thumb. “This isn’t nothing. I heard you talking. Who was on the phone?”

  “Why the fuck do you care?” She snapped at him, mindful of keeping her voice low, but needing an outlet for her frustration. “I haven’t seen you for four days. No one will tell me what’s going on, whether you found Axle, or how long you expect me to stay here. I have a life to get on with. I have a job. Banks has been understanding, but—”

  He cut her off with a kiss, soft and sweet. The tears she’d been holding back leaked from her eyes and she pulled away. “Don’t.”

  But he didn’t listen. Instead he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her again, this time starting with the tears.

  “Jagger.” And then she was kissing him back with four days’ worth of longing, and half an hour of heartbreak, tasting the salt on his skin and the coffee on his lips, soaking in the heat of his strong body, wishing she could drown in him until all the pain went away.

  “Been thinking about you every minute of every day since I dropped you off.” He backed her up to the wall, leaning his forearms on either side of her head. “I just spent the afternoon beating the crap outta one of Axle’s men, and I couldn’t get you out of my mind.”

  “That’s sweet in a twisted, outlaw-biker kinda way.” She slid her hands over his broad chest, placing them on his shoulders. “Did you catch Axle?”

  “No, but we know where he is.”

  She leaned up to nuzzle his neck, inhaling the sharp tang of his cologne and the earthy scent of leather. Always leather. “Shouldn’t you be out there, chasing after him?”

  Jagger growled, the sound vibrating through her body. “No. I should be here, stripping off your clothes and running my hands over your body, worshipping you with my mouth, and fucking you till you scream.” He curled his upper lip, baring his teeth. “But we got a bigger problem than Axle, which is why I came. Viper knows you’re here.”

  A wave of dizziness struck her and her legs trembled. Of course he knew. No matter where she went or what she did, he knew. It was why she’d never been able to run away. Somehow he always found out where she was going before she even arrived.

  She pushed Jagger away and headed out into the shop. “My bike isn’t looking pretty, but I think it’s mechanically sound. I’d better get going.” Her phone buzzed in her jeans pocket, and she reached for the zipper on her coveralls just as Jagger held up his hand.

  “He’s offered a trade to get you back.”

  Shock fuzzed her brain. Viper didn’t trade or negotiate or even ask. He took. “What did he offer you?”

  Jagger stiffened, and for the first time, she noticed the determined set of his mouth and the creases in his forehead. Wary, she bit her lip and took a step back. Her phone buzzed again.

  “He offered me the guy who burned down the clubhouse and killed Cole.”

  Arianne grabbed the handlebar of the nearest bike to steady herself. Jeff? Had Viper found him? She immediately dismissed the idea that Viper would offer him up. For all that Jeff was a disappointment to Viper, he was still Viper’s son. His possession. His property. No way w
ould Viper hand him over to the Sinners. Which meant it was a trap.

  “You okay?” Jagger took a step toward her, but Arianne waved him away.

  “I’m fine. Just … surprised he found me so fast. Or, maybe not.” Part of her wanted to warn him, and yet, how could she betray the Jacks or give Jeff up? Although she had turned her back on the club, the biker ethos stayed with her—duty, honor and loyalty. And fear. Always, the fear. “What are you going to do?”

  Jagger scraped his hand through his hair. “I have a duty to find Cole’s killer and the arsonist and obtain justice for the club.”

  “You’re handing me over?”

  “I didn’t say I was handing you over.” He scowled, deepening his tone. “I made a promise to keep you safe, and protect you. I’ll find a way to meet both obligations.”

  “Seriously?” Arianne couldn’t hide the bitterness in her voice. “There is no way to get what you want without handing me over. I know how it works: Club first, club last, club always. You’re stuck, Jagger, and there’s no way I’m offering myself up like a lamb for slaughter. I just need to stay off his radar for a few more days, take care of a little business, then I’m gone.” She unzipped her coveralls and shrugged them off, then walked over to her bike. She hadn’t had time to test out the engine on the road, but anything was better than staying here.

  “Arianne…”

  As she made one last quick check of her bike, she marveled at Viper’s genius. No doubt whomever he handed over would be so badly beaten, he wouldn’t be able to tell the Sinners they had the wrong man, and whoever he was, Viper wanted rid of him. So he saved himself the time and energy of killing the poor soul while forcing Jagger to give her up because he would know Jagger would choose the club over anything else.

  “I know the biker culture, probably better than you.” She ran her hand over the recently repaired fairing. “But I also know something else: Unless you’re prepared to tie me up and hand me over to him, I have a choice. And if I didn’t believe that, I’d still be at home, being beaten by Viper and molested by the Jacks because that is the lot of women in the club.”

  “Not here,” Jagger began, but Arianne held up a hand to stop him as the words poured out of her.

  “When I was sixteen, I made a choice. I wanted safety. I wanted happiness. I wanted freedom. I wanted to give my body, not have it taken. So I put a gun to my head and told Viper if he didn’t agree to let me leave, I’d kill myself. And you know what? He let me go because he knew I would do it. I left with only the clothes on my back and got a room in a house with an old lady who waived the rent in exchange for the company and some chores.”

  “Jesus Christ. I’m gonna fucking kill him.” Jagger took a step toward her, but stopped when she backed away. “We’re not Jacks, Arianne. Yes, the club is first, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t another solution.”

  Instinct screamed at her to run. Jagger was just throwing words around. In the end, his choice was no choice at all. Her phone buzzed yet again, and she pulled it out of her pocket, hoping it was Jeff. But the moment she looked at the text from Viper, she knew she’d been trumped.

  He’d sent her a picture. A man. So badly beaten, she couldn’t make out a single distinguishing feature on his face. And a message. Time to come home.

  Sweat beaded on her forehead and a tremor coursed through her body. He knew her that well. If she didn’t go back, he’d kill the patsy he’d picked up to take Jeff’s place. Her shoulders slumped in defeat. “Guess I’ll make it easy for you,” she said. “I’ll go.”

  Jagger’s brow wrinkled. “What was that message?”

  “Family business.”

  “Family business mean you’re gonna get hurt?”

  She turned away. “Why do you care? You were going to hand me over even if I didn’t want to go.”

  Her heart sank when he didn’t refute her words. She’d been wrong about Jagger. He wasn’t like Viper. He was Viper. All over again.

  TEN

  The club will defend its own.

  He couldn’t keep his eyes on the damn road.

  Instead, all he could see was Arianne’s sweet ass as she bent low over her Ninja, burning up the road like she was desperate to get to the meet. Damn, that woman could ride. No fear. No hesitation. If she really wanted to get away, she could, and he almost wished she would just break and run. He still hadn’t thought of a way to uphold the honor of the club and protect her at the same time. And although she’d agreed to the exchange, there was no damn way he was letting her go.

  Lost in thought, torn between duty and desire and the unfamiliarity of remorse, Jagger almost missed the turnoff to the vacant lot in the run-down north end of town.

  He signaled to the brothers behind him to form a perimeter in case of trouble, and sent the second wave ahead of them to form a smaller circle around the meet site. Sparky was already in the parking lot with the cage, ready to take back the civilian Viper thought to pawn off on him. He’d already sniffed out the trap. Hell, he would have done exactly the same thing. No biker president would voluntarily give up one of his own men, and especially not for a woman. “Club first” meant brothers first.

  Arianne slowed for directions and he motioned her toward the parking lot. She hadn’t spoken to him since they left the shop. Did she think he would have handed her over if she hadn’t volunteered to go? Despite his decision to become an outlaw, he was a man of honor. He’d said he would protect her, and he would. But he still had to put the club first. An impossible dilemma.

  He pulled up beside Arianne and gave her the details of the meet. Three men to a side, unarmed, one hostage each. He’d laughed at Viper’s terms. As if either of them would send in a single unarmed man or show up without as many brothers as they could round up on short notice.

  “He won’t be there.” Arianne combed her fingers through her hair. “He’ll send Leo or Bear, his sergeant-at-arms. He never shows at things like this.”

  Jagger frowned. “You’re his daughter.”

  “I’m a woman.” She didn’t need to explain. Misogyny was pervasive in the outlaw MCs, with women usually ranking lower than bikes, clubhouses, and sometimes pets.

  But damnit, he didn’t need a reminder. Didn’t want to think about her soft curves beneath his hands, the brush of her lips, her sweet ‘n’ sassy mouth. His protective instincts were already stretched to breaking, and it was everything he could do not to bundle her up and hide her away where no one would hurt her ever again.

  Damn. Damn. Damn. This was exactly why he preferred simple hookups to serious relationships. This is what he feared; the real reason he had stayed away from the safe house for four long days, although he ached every night to hold Arianne in his arms. He’d put her in danger, just as he’d put Christel in danger. And like Christel, Arianne would pay the price. He should have just let her go. But instead, he went on instinct. And instinct was telling him to keep her close.

  With the perimeter established, Jagger signaled to Zane and Gunner to cover his back as he walked with Arianne through the garbage-strewn grass. A soft breeze ruffled the tendrils of Arianne’s hair, and he had to clench his fist against the urge to run his fingers through those silky strands just in case he didn’t get another chance.

  By the time they reached the meet point, the lot had filled with bikes and bikers, primed and ready to fight if the handover didn’t go as planned. Leo was already waiting for him near a pile of rubble, accompanied by a huge bear of a man who had at least three inches on Jagger in height and maybe one hundred pounds in weight.

  “Bear.” Arianne muttered under her breath. “Viper’s sergeant-at-arms. He almost never leaves Viper’s side. He’s Viper’s shadow, except he’s all brawn, no brains, and no mercy.”

  Jagger swallowed a laugh. He doubted he’d ever heard a more suitable road name. With the dark, full beard, short curly hair, and thick furry forearms, Bear was a bear indeed. But it was clear from Bear’s posture and his position slightly back from the group
that he wasn’t the one in charge.

  A murmur rippled through the crowd of Black Jacks, and the temperature dipped as a cloud drifted in front of the sun. Half-lit in the gloaming, a towering man stalked toward them. Black Jacks scattered, deferential even as they stumbled away.

  “Viper.” Arianne’s hand flew to her parted lips. “I can’t believe he’s here.”

  He stalked directly to them, his cut worn and heavy with patches, swaying slightly over his barrel chest. His hair was black, fading to gray, and long, just brushing the top of his cut. A thick salt-and-pepper beard shadowed his jaw. Taller than Jagger. Wider than Bear. His arms were thick with ropy muscles, and covered in colorful tats. When the Black Jack president swaggered to a stop, Jagger counted six gold rings, three on each hand, the largest a snake’s head with ruby eyes.

  Up close, Viper’s face was broad and scarred, his nose crooked and his expression one of pure brutality. Cold, dark eyes fixed on Jagger, showing no glimmer of emotion. Fierce and formidable, yes, but aging, too, as borne out by the lines of hard living etched into his face, and the slight rounding of his broad shoulders. And yet his sheer palpable presence cowed even the men standing closest to him. Power radiated off him, a storm, barely contained.

  They studied each other, eyes locked on each other, neither willing to cede the power position by being the first to speak.

  Finally, Viper gave an exasperated sigh. “Jagger.”

  “Viper.”

  “You got something belongs to me.”

  Jagger could almost feel the cords twanging in his neck. “You got the bastard who burned down my clubhouse and shot my brother?”

  Viper looked back over his shoulder. “Bring the fucking prisoner.”

  Motionless by Jagger’s elbow, Arianne sucked in a sharp breath. Although curious about her reaction, Jagger didn’t dare take his gaze off Viper. This was a game he was playing to win.

  A few minutes later, a young blond biker joined them, his cut worn but patch-free and hanging off his rail-thin body. His face was a mess of cuts and bruises, his bottom lip split, one eye swollen shut, and his left ear swathed in bandages. He carried himself awkwardly, as if every breath pained him, and from the beating he clearly had taken, maybe it did.