Pussy. With a fucking useless pussy weapon.
“Say your prayers, Sinner.”
“Fuck, Mad Dog. This ain’t right.” A tall, gangly redhead with a scraggly beard and a name patch that read RUSTY put a hand on Mad Dog’s arm. “This is Wolf’s call. You off him and we’re in a full-out war with the Sinners. We gotta wait until the patch-over, then the Jacks will have our backs.”
Cade sucked in a sharp breath, as a memory twigged at the back of his mind. The warehouse belonged to the Black Jacks. Arianne had been kidnapped and held inside it last year. Jagger had saved her and almost lost his life. If the Jacks were letting the Brethren use the warehouse as a base, then the patch-over was a serious possibility.
Christ. A union between the Sinner’s Tribe’s most powerful rival, the Jacks, and a solid midsized club like the Brethren could spell the end for his MC. The Sinners wouldn’t just lose territory or their dominance of the state; the Jacks would have the muscle to hunt them down and slaughter them one by one.
He needed to get the information to Jagger ASAP. Problem was, he was tied and on his knees with a fucking gun to his head.
“It’s my call.” Mad Dog spat on the ground beside Cade’s knee. “This is personal, not political. He was with my old lady. He had his fucking paws on her. Probably been fucking her, too. I gotta right to protect my property.”
“Thought she wasn’t your old lady no more.” A burly biker with a massive beer gut toyed with his barbecue gun, a nickel-plated fixed-sight .38 super 1911, low on functionality but nice for cowboy shooter types to show off at barbecues or social functions. “And it becomes political once you off him, whatever the reason.”
“Dammit, Trey. She’s a bitch who needs to be kept in line. A man’s got a right to punish his old lady. And that bitch has so much damn attitude, she needs it a lot. She thinks she’s untouchable living in Conundrum, just like she thought she was untouchable when she filed for divorce. But those kids are her weakness. She wants them; she comes home to Daddy. This time tomorrow I’ll be beating her into submission with a bullwhip until she learns not to defy me again, and then I’m gonna fuck her so hard she won’t remember her own name.”
Son of a bitch. Cade itched to get his hands around Mad Dog’s throat. But first he needed to get his hands free.
Mad Dog’s phone buzzed in his cut. He signaled to his Brethren brothers to watch Cade, and then he walked down the road as he engaged in a heated conversation with the caller. Cade continued working the ropes he’d loosened during the trip. Just another inch and he’d be able to show Mad Dog what a real beating was like.
Mad Dog returned a few minutes later, his face red and spittle bubbling at the corners of his lips.
“Wolf knows we got the Sinner. Wants us to let him go. One of you musta texted him during the drive. Who’s the fucking rat?”
Silence.
Although Mad Dog wore a vice president patch, Cade hadn’t been around the group long enough to ascertain just how much power he held in the club. But if one of his supporters had reported the kidnapping to Wolf behind Mad Dog’s back, then he didn’t have the type of loyalty that inspired leadership. Which meant he’d be trying to prove himself, making him twice as dangerous as any of the other Devil’s Brethren gathered around him.
“Fuck.” Mad Dog kicked Cade in the side and Cade clenched his teeth against the pain.
“Wolf says we can rough him up a bit, but until the patch-over is a sure thing, he doesn’t want to start a war with the Sinners.” His lip curled and he spat again. “Wolf is a fucking old man. He’s weak. Yeah, we need the Jacks, but why would we patch over and let them swallow us up instead of becoming a support club and keeping our power? It’s time for a change. Once I’m president, I’ll make this club great again like it was under my old man. I’m not afraid of the damn Sinners. We got lots of new blood. I say we start a war. Bring it on.”
“You got ambition and good ideas but you gotta be patient.” Rusty held up a warning hand. “You’re not gonna help your case in the election if you outright defy Wolf. You gotta show you can toe the party line until it’s your fucking party. We should do as Wolf says. Beat him good and let him go.”
“But now he knows about the patch-over.” Trey cuffed Cade on the head.
Dammit to hell. If they intended to rough him up, why not a few proper kicks and punches? Get it over with instead of pussyfooting around.
“What’s he gonna do? Go to Viper and tell him it’s a bad idea? Sinners can’t stop a fucking patch-over. It’s got nothing to do with them. And it’s better this way.” Mad Dog fisted Cade’s hair and yanked his head back. “Now they’ll be running scared.”
“Sinners aren’t scared of anything, especially not roaches like you.” Cade felt the ropes around his wrists slacken and steeled himself to wait for the perfect moment. These bastards were so going down.
“You should be scared.” Mad Dog lifted Cade’s chin with the butt of his gun, forcing Cade to meet his cold, dark gaze. “Six to one on a deserted road in the mountains and your hands are tied. We might not be allowed to kill you, but we can hurt you pretty damn bad.”
THREE
I will strive to better my skill of self-control.
SINNER’S TRIBE CREED
Dawn jolted into consciousness when someone banged on her front door.
Heart pounding, she reached under her bed for the .22 Arianne had given her as a birthday present. Trust Arianne to give her a gun, and an unregistered one at that. Although she had often talked about living in the civilian world, Arianne was a biker through and through. And no biker would ever leave his or her house unarmed.
Well, Dawn wasn’t a biker. Not anymore. And the two days of lessons at the shooting range with Arianne hadn’t changed her mind. Still, it was a comfort to know that she’d be able to defend herself from the crazy person trying to break down her door at three in the morning. Or at least threaten him. She never loaded the gun because she simply wasn’t prepared to kill anyone.
Weapon in hand, she raced through the living room and stood on tiptoe to peer through the peephole. At first she didn’t recognize the man standing in front of her door, his face swollen and bloody, his shirt in tatters, but it was his hair, golden strands matted with blood, glinting in the semidarkness, that made her look again.
Her breath caught in her throat and she undid the dead bolt, then threw the door open. “Oh God. Cade. What happened?”
“Jesus, Dawn. Put the gun away.” He brushed past her and stalked into her tiny hallway, his clothes rank with blood and covered in dirt. “What the fuck were you doing with a piece of shit like him?”
Stunned, Dawn could only stare. “You almost break down my door at three in the morning, looking like you need to get to a hospital, to ask me that?”
“Yeah.”
“If we knew each other better,” she said, her voice tight. “If we were friends, or actually seeing each other, maybe I wouldn’t be so annoyed at being pulled out of bed and ordered to explain my life choices. But we’re not. We’ve slept together twice. We’ve never had a conversation that lasted more than two minutes, one minute of which consisted of deciding how we were going to have sex next. So you don’t have the right to ask me that question, and unless you’re in dire need of medical attention, I suggest you leave.”
By way of answer, Cade took a step forward into the living room, staggered to the side, and grabbed the back of her sofa for support. “Damn. Gimme a minute.”
With a sigh, Dawn closed and locked the door, then put the gun into her purse. “I see you’ve chosen door number three, ‘dire need of medical assistance.’ You want me to call the Sinner doctor or take you to the local hospital?”
“No hospital.”
“Right. I forgot. Too manly for the hospital. You got a number for the club doctor?”
Cade shook his head. “No doctor. Just … water … bandages … maybe some whiskey. I’ll be fine.”
Hmmm. Fine is obviously a
relative word. To her non-medical eye, he certainly didn’t look fine. In fact, he looked like he was about to collapse, and from the way he was holding himself, he was clearly injured far beyond the cuts and bruises she could see on his face. But that was always the way with biker beatings. Why go for the small target when you could go for the big one?
“Kitchen. Now.” Dawn gestured to the small kitchen area, visible through the open breakfast bar behind the couch. Living on her own, Dawn had more than enough space in her cheap, two-bedroom bungalow rental, although the pastel decor and white rattan furniture were not really to her taste. But she wasn’t meant to be living on her own. The second bedroom held twin beds and the toys Maia and Tia had left behind the day they’d been ripped from her arms by an overzealous court sheriff after the devastating court case in which she was declared an unfit mother.
Cade followed her to the kitchen, decorated in country-chic pink and mint green, and pulled out a white wicker chair from the breakfast nook. As he lowered himself to sit, Dawn grabbed a tea towel and threw it over the seat.
“Lotta blood on you. Not sure how much is fresh, and the furniture isn’t mine to stain.”
“None of it since I was fighting a buncha deadbeats.” Cade grimaced. “Six of them to one of me. I used the advantage of surprise to take Mad Dog down, and then went after the better fighters. When they were all moaning on the ground, I grabbed a weapon and took off in their van.”
“I hope you parked the stolen vehicle nearby.”
“Right out front.”
“Excellent.” Sarcasm laced her tone. “Now the Brethren and the police will know where to find you.”
Dawn pulled out her first-aid kit and washed her hands in the sink. Even though he was battered and bruised, his eyes full of questions she would never answer, Cade’s presence soothed the nervous flutter that was always in her stomach. There was just something about him, beyond his obvious physical strength … Maybe it was the way he filled a room with his sheer, palpable presence. Or maybe it was the way he looked at her: Like there was no one else in the room. Like she was his and woe betide any man who dared hurt her.
Or maybe it was all in her imagination.
She eyed his bloody clothing and grabbed a garbage bag from the cupboard. “You’d better strip. I’ll throw your clothes in the wash. Looks like you get to spend the night in your undies on my couch.”
A smile tugged the corner of Cade’s battered mouth as he undid his belt. “Will I be alone?”
“Condition you’re in, you’ll most definitely be alone.” She eased herself between his parted legs to help him take off his T-shirt, freezing when he winced at her touch. “Well, that just settles it.” She carefully pulled the shirt up his body. “I’m not about to take advantage of an injured man.”
“I’m not injured everywhere.” The deep rumble of his voice made her skin tingle.
“Seriously?” Dawn swallowed hard as her hands followed the shirt up his torso, her fingers brushing over heated skin and hard muscle. God, he was magnificent, all taut pecs and rippling abs. Even the bruises couldn’t mar the perfection of his body. “How can you be thinking of sex at a time like this?”
His voice dropped, husky and low. “’Cause you’re standin’ between my legs wearing a tiny pair of shorts that only cover the top of your ass cheeks, and a damn tight top that doesn’t hide what you’re thinking.” He leaned forward in the chair, so close she could feel his breath on her skin. “And nothing underneath.”
Dawn’s breath hitched and her blood heated, thundered through her veins. Until this moment, focused on Cade’s injuries, her attire had been totally irrelevant. “How do you know I have nothing underneath?”
Cade traced lazy circles up the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, pausing at edge of her cotton PJ shorts. Dawn stilled as her brain clouded with desire. It was always this way with Cade: A chemistry so potent she was surprised they didn’t combust.
“Let’s see.” He slid his finger inside her shorts and stroked along the sensitive crease at the top of her thigh, sending a zing of electricity straight to her core.
“Hmmm. Can’t tell. Spread for me, baby. Let me in.”
Her face flushed. God, the things he said did all the wrong things to the right parts of her body. “Cade … this isn’t the time. You’re hurt. Let me look after you.”
He grabbed her hips, pulling her so close she could feel his heat through her clothes. Dawn breathed in his scent of blood and grass, mixed with heady aroma of leather and manly musk, and a delicious shiver ran up her spine.
“You are taking care of me,” he said. “Man gets in a fight. Hurts all over. He wants to feel good. He wants something to make him forget the pain. And you—all soft and sexy and smellin’ like flowers—will do the trick.”
“I thought you came here for help.” Dawn made a token effort at resistance and raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize it was a booty call.”
“You got the nicest booty I ever seen.” Cade slid a hand down her hip, and gave her ass a squeeze. Before she could move away, his finger was inside her shorts, stroking over the bare skin of her folds. She gasped as moisture flooded her sex, and her nipples tightened beneath her thin cotton tank. Had she really thought things would be different from every other time they’d been together?
“Naughty girl,” he whispered. “You go to bed without your panties and someone might take advantage.”
“Cade.” She pulled back just enough to dislodge his questing finger, at once disconcerted and aroused. “Why did you come here?”
His shoulders slumped and he leaned back in the chair, his easy capitulation more disturbing than his injuries. “The minute I got outta there, I called Jagger. Told him what had happened. The Brethren are planning to patch over to the Jacks. You know what that means.”
“The Black Jacks could destroy the Sinners.” She pulled the shirt over his head, biting her lip when she saw the extent of his injuries. Not an inch of his torso had been spared. His skin was a mass of swelling and bruises, with a few surface knife slashes across his abdomen below the fabulous tat of blue wings and twin pistons across his chest. And were those boot prints on his side?
Cade stiffened when she reached for his belt. “He called an executive board meeting for eight o’clock tomorrow morning.”
“I’m not surprised.” The executive board—consisting of a president, vice president, secretary, sergeant-at-arms, treasurer, road captain and two members-at-large—governed all outlaw clubs. The board made all the key decisions about the club and reported back to the members in weekly mandatory “church” meetings attended only by full-patch members of the MC.
Cade pushed himself to standing and unzipped his fly, wincing when he tried pushing off his jeans. Dawn gently moved his hands away from her body, taking a moment to collect herself, before she said, “Let me.”
Licking her dry lips, she eased his jeans over his narrow hips, dropping to her knees in front of him to slide them over his powerful thighs and muscular calves.
Without taking his gaze off her, Cade stepped out of his clothes, seemingly unembarrassed to be standing in her kitchen, wearing only black boxers and sporting a sizable erection.
“Dawn…” Cade’s voice cracked even as his gaze burned into her. Focused. Intent.
She should get up. Kneeling in front of him like this was sending all the wrong messages … for both of them. He was hurt. Badly. His injuries needed tending, and she didn’t want this. Didn’t want to open this door again. And yet she couldn’t pull herself away.
“You still haven’t told me why you came here,” she said.
Cade sifted his hand through her hair, his touch more soothing than erotic. “I needed to tell you something … Fucking bastard’s coming after you. He’s gonna make you choose between going back to him or losing your kids.”
Dawn stood, removing herself from temptation. “I knew the risks, but I couldn’t help myself. I miss my girls so much I ache inside every minu
te of every day.” Her throat tightened and she looked away. “I’ve been fighting to get them back for a year now, but the court process is slow and Jimmy has the money to pay a lawyer to drag out the case with frivolous motions that are draining me dry.”
“How the fuck did the courts get involved?” He toyed with her curls, twirling them around his fingers as he cupped her jaw in his hand. “One-percenters don’t do civil weddings. We find a woman we want to be with; we make her an old lady. Fuck the courts. Fuck the law. And when a biker says it’s over, it’s over. Simple.”
“Simple if he says it’s over. Hell if he doesn’t. Double hell if he was the one who initiated the civilian wedding. Triple hell if he was clever enough to use the system against me.” She sighed and tipped her head against his hand, his palm warm and soothing on her skin. “He was so angry when I filed for divorce, but he’d planned for it, and he used the system against me. He hired a shady private investigator to set me up. The guy wore a school sweatshirt and said he was selling tickets for the school picnic. I handed him the money. He handed me a Baggie filled with crack. I was thrown off for a moment, trying to figure out what it was. Even though I’d seen quarters like that before, because we were behind the school, and I wasn’t expecting it, I thought for a moment it was a sugary treat for the kids, or some kind of fairy dust. By the time I figured it out, it was too late. Someone was secretly filming our encounter. Jimmy produced the tape at the custody hearing. He paid off the judge so no questions were asked. My lawyer did everything he could, but on its face, and given my history, it looked bad.”
“Bastard.”
“I was so scared for the girls,” she said softly. “I didn’t know he planned to give them to Shelly-Ann just to spite me. He’d hit Tia once before…”
“He hit your kids?”
Instantly she realized her mistake. Cade was nothing if not protective. The first time they’d met, she and Arianne had been fleeing the Black Jacks and Cade offered to take her to the safety of the clubhouse and spend the night watching over her. One motorcycle ride pressed up against Cade’s broad back later, and she’d let him watch her in more ways than one.
The Sinner’s Tribe Motorcycle Club, Books 1-3 Page 37
