Viper dropped his gaze to the blond biker, and his lip curled in a snarl. “I told you to bring the fucking prisoner.”
“He can’t walk.”
Viper cuffed the lad and he staggered to the side, stumbling over a discarded soda can. Arianne growled—a sound so soft, only Jagger could hear it. Was that her brother? He looked nothing like Arianne and bore no resemblance to Viper either.
“Bring him anyway. Leo, give him a hand.”
They waited in silence until Leo and the blond dude returned, dragging a man behind them, his face badly battered and his thick red hair matted with blood. Arianne’s barely audible sigh of relief gave Jagger pause, but this wasn’t the time for questions.
“There you go,” Leo said as they lowered the unconscious man on the ground.
“This the guy who torched our clubhouse?”
“This is him,” Bear interjected, his voice thick with derision. “Acted without authorization. You can see what Viper thought of that.”
“Did he shrink over the last few weeks?” Scenting victory, Jagger licked his lips.
A puzzled Bear shot a glance at Viper and then his lips pressed into a white slash. “What the fuck?”
Jagger’s hand slid into his cut, and his fingers closed over cold steel. “We have video surveillance. Not great, but he doesn’t resemble any of the men we caught on camera.”
“This is fucking bullshit. We held up our end of the bargain.” Leo gestured to Arianne. “Hand over Viper’s property.”
Arianne bristled. “I’m not property. I don’t belong to anyone.”
Viper’s eyes glittered with malice as they slid to Arianne. “You belong to me.”
Christ. Jagger couldn’t imagine a young girl growing up with a father like Viper. Or a boy, for that matter. At the very least, the children would be starved for affection, and at most … well, he’d seen her scars. Some of them.
“You don’t accept him?” Viper gestured to the prisoner on the ground, and Jagger’s throat constricted. The man was in serious need of medical attention, but Jagger couldn’t take him when he clearly wasn’t the perpetrator of the crime. To so do would make him look weak not just to the Jacks, but to his own men as well. No doubt Viper would abandon him here, and they could call an ambulance after everyone had gone.
Jagger barked a laugh. “Some random dude who’s likely pissed you off? No.”
“Jeff.” Viper’s bark drew the blond biker to his side. So this was Arianne’s brother. She hadn’t lied when she said he was the opposite of Viper, nor had she lied about the drugs. He had the same sunken eyes and gaunt look he’d seen in the brothers he’d kicked out when they hadn’t been able to beat their addiction.
“Kill him.”
Jeff blanched and his voice rose to a whine. “You told me I just had to beat him up.”
“Now I’m telling you to kill him.” Viper gave an irritated snarl “We have no use for him. Sinners don’t want him.”
“Jeff. No.” Arianne stepped forward. “You’re not a killer. You don’t have to do this. Once you cross that line—”
“Shut it, girl.” Viper cut her off, then glared at Jeff. “You wanna be a Jack? Then act like one. Not one of my boys would hesitate to pull the trigger. Hell, your sister would do it. Wouldn’t blink an eye. You ever wonder why she got patches and you didn’t? ’Cause you don’t have her balls. Show me you’re better than a fucking girl. Make me proud. Earn your colors, or prove you really are the pussy I always thought you were.”
“But…” His pleading glance sliced through Jagger’s heart, but Viper was unmoved.
“Pussy.”
Jagger’s skin crawled with loathing as Jeff raised his weapon with a shaking hand. Fucking bastard goading his own son. And the innocent on the ground.… But what could he do? He had rejected the prisoner, so by rights the man belonged to Viper. What happened to him was Black Jack business, and if Jagger got involved, the Jacks could retaliate. With everyone armed and already on edge, interference on his part could lead to a fucking disaster. He would be putting his men at risk.
Viper snarled. “Three seconds, boy, or you’ll never get those colors.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He couldn’t let an innocent man die. Jagger drew his weapon and pointed it at Jeff. “Let him—”
Crack. The sound of the bullet tore through the silence, sending crows squawking and flapping in the air. Jeff’s hand dropped, the gun hanging from his finger, his face contorted in anguished despair.
“No.” Arianne shrieked and took a step forward, but Jagger held her back. Too late. They were both too late. And if she went to Viper now, the poor soul on the grass would have died for nothing.
“Problem solved.” Viper glanced over at Arianne. “Come, girl.” He snapped his fingers and pointed at the ground beside him.
Arianne didn’t move, her gaze fixed on Jeff, her face reflecting his despair.
“Jesus, bitch. You never listen.” Viper took two quick strides toward Arianne, fingers outstretched as if to grab her. Arianne stepped back, closer to Jagger, her hand flying to Jagger’s arm to rest at the crook of his elbow.
And in that second, everything changed.
Mine.
Her small, unconscious gesture, a statement of trust that he would keep his word, keep her safe, roused in him a protectiveness so fierce, he was powerless to stop his reaction. Shifting his stance, he positioned himself between Arianne and Viper, shielding her with his body as he met Viper’s furious glare.
“Black Jacks broke the truce,” Jagger snapped. “I lost a clubhouse and a good man.” He looked back over his shoulder and lifted his chin in Arianne’s direction. “Now I got compensation. Since she’s your daughter, I’ll call it even. I claim her as the blood price for the debt you owe us.”
Beside him, Zane hissed his disapproval, but Jagger had made his decision. He had, in fact, made the decision when he’d first received the call from Viper about the meet. But the part of him that put duty above everything else, coupled with Arianne’s insistence that she was going to the exchange, had almost convinced him he would be able to give her up.
Growls and a buzz of anger rippled through the Black Jacks.
Leo’s brow furrowed and he scratched his head. “Viper’s daughter?”
“Yes.”
“You’re taking Viper’s daughter as a blood price?” His voice rose in disbelief. “You gonna kill her?”
“She’s mine. If I want to kill her, I will. If I want to keep her as a house mama, I’ll do that, instead.” And then, because he knew Leo wanted Arianne, and Viper was already bearing down on him, he said, “And if I want to use her, I’ll keep her chained to my bed.”
Arianne clutched his arm, anger radiating off her in waves, but she stayed silent. Jagger let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. She understood he was saving her from whatever punishment lay in store if Viper thought she’d gone with him of her own volition. And he was giving her a way out. They had both been aware of the risk that night on the roadside. As she’d said, she had a choice. And she’d chosen him.
“Take her.” He shoved her back toward Gunner and was ready when Viper struck. He had already braced himself for the blow. But he hadn’t anticipated the flickblade Viper had concealed in his palm. The blade sliced through the front of his shirt, leaving a gash four inches across. Jagger grunted at the pain in his chest and grabbed Viper’s wrist, twisting it back and away until the knife dropped and they faced each other man-to-man.
“She’s dead to you.” Jagger spat out the words as Sinners and Jacks threw themselves into the fray. “You don’t touch her. You don’t look at her. You don’t call her. You don’t hunt her. She belongs to me.”
Viper jeered. “You’re thinking with your dick, boy. Are the lives of your men worth a bit of pussy?”
Shaking with rage, Jagger slammed his fist into Viper’s face, following the punch with a kick that sent his opponent staggering back.
In the distance a si
ren wailed. The shrill sound of a whistle cut through the smack of flesh on flesh, grunts and groans, and the crack of bone. A warning.
“Jag, gotta go.” Zane raced toward him, his cheek cut and bruised. “Wheels is on lookout. He says there’s at least ten cop cars on the way. Maybe more. Not sure how they found us. None of our lookouts reported cars or people in the area, and I’m sure the Jacks had lookouts of their own.”
Gritting his teeth, Jagger turned back to his opponent, but Viper was already on the move, the Jacks swarming around him as they headed for their bikes.
“Arianne.”
“Over there.” Zane pointed to the pile of rubble where Arianne knelt beside the fallen man.
“Grab Gunner and go round up the stragglers.” Jagger said, as he raced over to join her. Arianne looked up when he knelt down beside her.
“He’s still alive.”
“We gotta go.” Jagger tugged on her arm. “Cops are on the way.”
She pulled away. “I can feel his pulse. We need to call an ambulance, and his family…”
Still alive. Jagger’s head fell back in relief. “The police are only minutes away. They’ll take care of him. There’s nothing you can do.”
“I don’t want to leave him alone.” She looked up, her eyes glittering with tears. “He’s hurt because of me.”
Jagger stood, tugging her to her feet. “He must have done something pretty bad to the Jacks or they wouldn’t have caught him in the first place. And it was Jeff who hurt him and Viper who pulled the strings. Not you.” He kissed her lightly on the forehead, puzzled when she pulled away. “You know what happens if the cops catch you here,” he continued. “Either you walk or I’ll carry you, but you’re coming now. We can watch from the hill, where it’s safe, to make sure they find him.”
She hesitated, then pushed to her feet, refusing his outstretched hand. “Okay.”
Still curious about her rejection, Jagger tried to catch her gaze as they jogged across the lot, but her eyes were firmly fixed on the road ahead.
“You’re on my bike.” He pointed to the pillion seat. “We’re meeting at Sparky’s shop. One of the prospects will bring your Ninja. Can’t risk losing you now.”
Not now. Not when she was finally his.
Jagger’s heart pounded as she mounted the seat behind him. He had claimed her under the biker code. Arianne belonged to him. No one would ever touch her again. No one would hurt her. And she wouldn’t run away. An almost primitive joy suffused his body, and a fierce primal instinct to claim her in the most carnal way tightened his groin.
Mine.
ELEVEN
What belongs to the club, belongs to the brothers unless the president says otherwise.
She’d known he would come.
While her fingers stayed busy, twisting bolts and pulling wires on her Ninja, and her mind tried to sort through her tangled emotions, her body remained tense, alert, every sense heightened by the knowledge that you did not turn your back on a man like Jagger and walk away without paying a price.
And she had turned her back. After he accepted the cheers and commendations from his men for snatching Viper’s prize from under his nose, he’d dismissed her enraged declaration that she was nobody’s property with a simple, “You’re mine.”
Well … not so simple. He’d curled his hand around her neck, dragging her toward him, plastering her body against his. Then he had pressed his lips to her ear, his voice dropping to a low, threatening growl, and repeated the word that set her teeth on edge: “Mine.”
So she’d walked away. The alternative was to slap him, and although she longed to do so, she couldn’t bring herself to challenge him in front of his men. Her lessons in respecting the authority of the president were too ingrained. Inside and out.
The door closed and she tensed when the dead bolt snapped into place. Still, she didn’t bother to turn around. Instead she carefully positioned the repaired fairing on her Ninja and inspected the result. Damn. The lacquer hadn’t dried evenly. She’d have to start again.
A draft of cool air made her shiver despite the coveralls she had thrown over her clothes, but not so much as the shadow she glimpsed out of the corner of her eye. The shadow of a man who had defied Viper. A man who had protected her. The man who now called her “mine.”
“Leave me alone.” She swiped a grease-covered hand over her nose and grabbed a socket wrench from the set beside her. “I have nothing to say to you.”
“How about thank you?”
She pushed herself to standing and whirled around to face him. Jagger leaned against the tool bench, thick arms folded over his cut. Her gaze traveled down his muscular body, to the hand-tooled leather belt and the Harley-Davidson buckle shining in the last rays of the afternoon sun, which streamed through the window. And then her focus slid below his belt to the powerful thighs and the prominent bulge at his groin. Her cheeks heated and she looked away.
Mind out of the gutter.
“For what? For doing to me what Viper did? For treating me like a piece of property? You can’t own me.” Her voice rose in pitch and her body shook with the effort to contain her emotion. “This is the twenty-first century. It’s against the law.”
“Since when do one-percenters obey the law?” Although his voice was calm and even, there was no mistaking his tone. This wasn’t a discussion. It was a fait accompli.
Arianne shuddered. In the short time she’d known Jagger, she had come to realize he was far more dangerous than any of the Jacks, maybe even more dangerous than Viper. So cool. So calm. So utterly in control of everything and everyone around him. Nothing surprised him. He seemed to plan every move at least three steps ahead, enforcing his will before ever making a demand.
“What are you saying?” She squeezed her wrench so hard, her knuckles whitened. “I’ve paid for my life with my freedom? And now that you own me, you expect me to do your bidding?”
He held up his hands palms forward. “You’re upset. I understand that. But stop right there before you say something we’ll both regret.”
But she couldn’t stop. A lifetime of anger, pain, and humiliation bubbled over in her utter despair at letting her guard down only to see there was nothing on the other side except more of the same. She had trusted Jagger despite herself, only to have the freedom that had almost been within her grasp snatched away.
In frustration, she threw the small wrench at him and reached down to pick up another as he dodged her throw. “It’s not going to happen. I’m not property. Not for Viper. Not for Leo. Not for you. Not for anyone.” Her voice rose, to a shout. “How could you do this to me? All I ever wanted was to be free.”
“Stop.” Louder now, his voice cut through her rant but not through her rage.
“I’m leaving. If not on my bike, then on someone else’s, and if I don’t have a bike, I’ll damn well walk.” She threw another wrench and Jagger stalked toward her, ducking to the right to avoid the flying tool.
Her third wrench went wide, but by the time she picked up a fourth, he was bearing down on her too fast, an unstoppable force. She took one step back and then another, but he kept coming and coming until her back hit the wall and his hand clasped firmly around her wrist. Arianne turned her head to the side, squeezed her eyes, and steeled herself for his fist.
“Drop it.” His forceful tone left no room for argument.
She dropped the wrench. But when he released her wrist, and the strike didn’t come, she slapped at his chest in a frenzy of blows. “Get away from me. You treated me no better than Viper ever did.” She cut herself off and glared. “This is why I hate bikers. I hate being part of this world where women are nothing but pawns in a game, property to be traded and used and abused and cast aside. The only way I ever got any respect was to be as good as or better at what they did. So I learned to shoot better and ride better and play pool better. And yet in the end, I’m still nothing. I’m a ‘girl.’ I’m the prize you snatched from Viper.”
Her chest
heaved as she rasped her breaths, her breasts brushing against his cut. But when she looked up, she saw neither anger nor scorn in the depths of his eyes. Instead she saw concern, sympathy … and goddamn unyielding determination.
He hugged her face with his warm hands, even as he trapped her with his body. “The things that happened to you—and one day I want to hear everything—don’t happen in my club. I won’t deny that misogyny exists, or that women take on roles that might be looked down on generally by civilians, but in return for what they do for the club, they are given respect and protection and they know they won’t be harmed.”
“Why would you care what happened to me? That’s all in the past.”
Jagger bent down and touched his forehead to hers. “Because you’re mine. And ‘mine’ means you have my protection. ‘Mine’ means I’ll look after you. It means nothing happens you don’t want to happen and no one touches you without your consent. It means your life is in my hands and I will do everything in my power to ensure you are safe and secure and your needs are met. It means something happened to you that twisted your perception so bad, you look at us and you see only them. I’ll make that right. I’ll give you justice. I’ll give you back whatever was taken from you.”
“Respect?”
His face softened and his lips quirked at the corners. “I remember someone telling me respect has to be earned.”
A violent, desperate tremble shook her body as she struggled against a deep-seated longing for what he offered. A gift she could never accept because the price was simply too high—freedom and control, the two things she had fought for all her life. “You can never give it back.” She pushed him away. “What I lost is gone forever.”
His hands slid to her shoulders and he pulled her toward him, his intoxicating scent of leather and autumn leaves confusing her senses.
“‘Mine’ means I’ll find a way, Arianne. It means I will do everything I can to make you happy, give you as much freedom as I can. But always, you will belong to me.”
The Sinner’s Tribe Motorcycle Club, Books 1-3 Page 14
