Rough Justice

by Sarah Castille

  He said nothing while the bar was being locked down, the owner paid off, and the lights dimmed, enjoying Axle’s increasing discomfort and the fear only silence could bring. Instead, he checked out the pictures on the walls: Harleys mostly, and women, and women on Harleys, so scantily clad, his mind wandered to the little Black Jack he’d left behind in Sparky’s shop.

  Arianne. On his bike. Naked. Now that was something to lighten his dark mood.

  The bar was small—fifteen worn wooden tables—and narrow, smelling of yeast and stale beer. Just enough room for Cade and Sparky to walk on either side of the Blade as they dragged him to the back door. The bar counter was scratched and the walls covered in Giants’ pennants. But that’s what happened when you lived in a state with no professional sports teams.

  By the time Wheels returned with the drinks, the civilians were gone, and sweat beaded on Axle’s brow. Axle reached up to take the beer from Wheels, and his trembling hand made Jagger smile. He could see Axle’s fear, smell Axle’s guilt, and by the time the night was over, his knife would taste Axle’s blood. But first, a little fun.

  “Wheels, we need some tunes for this happy occasion.” Jagger forced a smile. “Not every day we meet up with a long-lost ex brother.” He took a beer from Wheels’ outstretched hand, and motioned to the speakers in the corners. “Find the sound system. Put on something fitting.”

  Ever the obedient prospect, Wheels headed for the back while Tank and Gunner took up guard positions near the doors. Zane joined Jagger at the table, a smirk on his face. He loved interrogations. Maybe too much.

  “Heard you’d issued a vendetta against me.” Jagger took a long sip from his bottle then reached behind his hip and pulled his knife from its sheath. “And against Vexy.” He toyed with the knife, holding it up as if inspecting the blade under the light.

  “Don’t know anything about a vendetta.” Axle’s voice rose in pitch as he stared at the knife. “Never made any threats against you or that little Black Jack wh—”

  Jagger slammed his knife through Axle’s hand, pinning it to the table just as George Thorogood’s “Bad to the Bone,” blasted through the speakers. He folded his arms and leaned back in his chair, waiting for Axle’s screams to die down.

  “Also heard you were looking to patch in to a new club.”

  Axle gritted his teeth, his entire focus on the knife in his hand. He would be desperate to remove it, but he knew if he touched it before Jagger gave him permission, the consequences would be severe. “You kicked me out, so there’s no reason I can’t patch in to a new club.” He grimaced and looked up. “Who’s been talking about me?”

  One thing about Axle, he’d never lacked balls. Not many men would be throwing questions back at him, but Jagger, now secure in his claim over Arianne, was in a mellow mood.

  “Weasel. True to his name.”

  “Fucking bastard.” Axle balled his free hand into a fist. “I don’t know why he would fucking lie, but since he’s a disloyal, dishonorable, lying scumbag, I’m not surprised. If you want to have a talk with him, he’s staying with his mom. Blue house on Fir Street.”

  “Not interested in Weasel right now.” Jagger took another swig of his beer. “I’m interested in you and only you.”

  Axle shuddered. Clearly, he knew what was coming. He’d been with the Sinners before Jagger had joined the club. And he’d seen just how ruthless Jagger could be.

  “Look, Jag. You know Weasel. Never said an honest word since the day he was born. I was always about the club. What happened at that meeting, I was doing it for the club.”

  “You were doing it for yourself.” Jagger placed his index finger on top of the knife, and Axle stilled.

  “No man.” He whined. “I’m still about the club. I got a good thing going now. Cock fighting. Easy money. I’ll let the club in on it, just to prove it to you. The brothers are still my brothers.”

  Jagger briefly rocked the knife, and Axle shrieked. Sweat trickled down his temples, and his complexion turned three different shades of green.

  “Club’s got enough money.” Jagger flicked the knife again. “But what we don’t have is information. For example, I’m interested to know why you’re having a drink with the Blade only three blocks from Sparky’s shop.”

  Axle’s voice dropped to a pathetic whimper. “Just a casual acquaintance. Bumped into him when I stopped in for a drink.”

  “Really?” Cade appeared at Jagger’s side and tossed a cell phone on the table, then leaned down to wipe away a drop of fresh blood from the screen. “The Blade offered to give us his phone. He’s got something on there that makes me think Axle’s not telling us the truth.”

  Now standing behind Axle, Zane leaned over and stared at the screen. “Well, isn’t this a coincidence? The Blade knows Vexy. Even has a picture of her working at Banks’s Bar.” He wrapped his arm in a stranglehold around Axle’s neck. “How did the Blade know where she worked?”

  “Don’t know.” Axle’s eyes bulged as he struggled for breath.

  “You knew she worked there.” Zane tightened his grip. “You were coming for her the night the Jacks were there.”

  Axle clawed at Zane’s arm with his free hand. “Yeah, I knew she worked there.”

  “So maybe you set the Blade on her? Told him to go check her out, maybe make your job easier when you got to the bar.”

  “No.” Axle’s rasped, his face turning purple.

  Jagger took the phone from Cade and stared at the picture of Arianne. She was smiling at someone, clearly unaware of the threat only a few feet away. His stomach lurched and it was all he could do not to pull out the knife and drive it into Axle’s heart.

  But that would be too easy.

  “Axle’s looking a little pale, Zane. Let him go. I’m thinking he needs some air.” Jagger yanked his knife from Axle’s hand. Axle wheezed in a breath and slumped in his chair.

  “Up and at ’em, cowboy.” Cade tugged on Axle’s shirt to help him up and then gawked in mock disbelief. “Uh-oh. Someone forgot to remove his Sinner’s Tribe tattoo.”

  Jagger fixed Axle with a frigid stare. Kick-outs had seven days to remove their tattoos and hand in anything bearing the Sinner’s Tribe mark. Although he had intended simply to teach Axle a lesson about making threats against club members, his flagrant breach of the rules of his banishment was a much more serious matter.

  “I’m sorry.” Axle babbled as Zane and Cade pulled him out of his chair. “I meant to have it covered, but the guy in my local shop was booked solid. He said he could do it next week.”

  “Lucky for you, I’m in a good mood.” Jagger finished his beer and thumped the bottle on the table. “I’ll just remove it for you myself. There’s a room in the basement of the new clubhouse. No windows. Nice and quiet. You can choose … fire or acid. No one will hear you scream.”

  TWELVE

  Members are responsible for their own property. This includes chicks.

  “So, how’d she take it?” Zane stretched out in his chair in the “reserved” corner of Riders Bar and tipped back his beer bottle.

  They’d spent a night and a day extracting information from their prisoner. Finally, after burning away Axle’s tattoo with a blowtorch, they’d dropped him off at a local hospital, and adjourned to the bar for a little celebration. Cade had promised to join them when he finished shaking down some locals who didn’t think they needed Sinner protection. And Sparky had one more bike to finish up before he was done for the day.

  “What?” Jagger drummed his thumb on the table. He hadn’t seen Arianne since leaving her in Sparky’s shop yesterday, and although he needed this drink after dealing with Axle, he wanted to talk to her, try to smooth things out. In retrospect, he might have been a bit insensitive with regard to her past, but when she’d made it clear that despite what they’d shared together, she was still planning to leave Conundrum, his possessive instinct had risen to the fore, and all he could think was No.

  “Claiming her as a blood price.�
��

  “Not so good.” Jagger took a sip of whiskey, grimacing at what was clearly a watered-down inferior brand.

  Zane smirked. “I can imagine. What are you gonna do?”

  “Keep her.”

  “You can’t keep a woman like that.” Zane brushed back his hair. He alternated growing it long with shaving it all off. Right now it was as long as Jagger had ever seen it, straight, and edging past his shoulders.

  “She’ll stay if she wants to stay and go if she wants to go.” He lifted a casual shoulder. “Nothing you can do to stop her, short of tying her up.”

  Or locking her up.

  Jagger gripped the glass. He’d meant it when he told her she wouldn’t be leaving Conundrum. But he hadn’t realized until this moment just how far he would go to keep her or how important she’d become in his life. Hell. It made no sense. He barely knew her. They’d never had anything close to a normal date. They’d fucked once, and although he’d never wanted a woman so bad or come so hard in his life, it was, as she’d said, just sex, without the kind of intimacy on which a lasting bond could be built.

  So why did it feel like something more? And why did he want it to be? He had created the perfect situation: The biker world would now see her as property of the Sinners. The Sinners knew she belonged to him. He could keep her without exposing her to the risk of being the old lady of the president. She wouldn’t suffer the way Christel had suffered, or become a target.

  She would be his.

  “If that’s what it takes.” He spoke with a conviction he didn’t feel. Wouldn’t it be better to prove he could protect her? Convince, rather than force her to stay?

  “You’re fucked, man.” Zane leaned back in his chair and propped his foot up on the table brace. “She’s got you by the balls. Only woman I’ve ever met who is worthy of you is the only woman who doesn’t want what you have to offer.” He chuckled and gestured to the dance floor, which was packed with biker chicks. “Any one of those women would fall over herself to be the old lady of the president of the Sinner’s Tribe Motorcycle Club. You could take any one of them home with you right now, and she’d be on her fucking knees begging to please you. But that Vexy chick you just claimed—”

  Jagger bristled. “Arianne.”

  “Arianne. Vexy. Whatever.” Zane gave a curt laugh. “My guess is she’s sitting at Sparky’s, plotting a way to escape—if she’s not gone already. And I gotta respect that. She doesn’t play games or lead a man on. She doesn’t twist a man’s nuts while she’s stabbing him in the back, or sleep with the first dick that walks in the door—”

  “Zane.”

  “There’s no deceit in her. You’re not gonna love her all your days only to have her betray you, rip out your heart, and stomp it on the fucking ground. She’s not gonna tell you she loves you and that she’s gonna wait for you forever, and then the minute you’re gone, she’s fucking anything that—”

  Jagger cut him off mid rant. “What’s riding your ass?”

  Zane took a long swig of his beer. “Nothin’.”

  He almost pushed. Zane had never shared this much about what happened in the years they’d been apart. He’d always suspected Zane had been burned by a woman, but now he wondered if the answer lay closer to home.

  “She’s not at Sparky’s,” he said, not wanting to risk Zane shutting him out. “She texted this afternoon and asked if she could go shoot stick with her friend Dawn. Since we had Axle and she belongs to us now, I let her go, but I sent Wheels and T-Rex with them.”

  “You shoulda sent Cade,” Zane grinned, his momentary lapse seemingly forgotten. “He’s been panting after her friend since they met at Banks Bar. He took her to his place for a drink, and they wound up in bed together, but she left in the middle of the night. Drove him crazy. He’s never had a woman walk out on him.” He pulled out his phone and tapped the screen. “I’m gonna tell him where she’s at, just for kicks. What’s the address?”

  “Pool hall at Forty-seventh and Main. I think it’s called Sticky’s.”

  “Forty-seventh and Main?” Zane tilted his head to the side and the skin on the back of Jagger’s neck prickled.

  “Yeah.”

  “Isn’t that Bunny’s new place?”

  Blood pounded in Jagger’s throat. A notorious underworld kingpin player, Bunny had connections that made him untouchable even to the Sinners and the Jacks. You wanted something—anything—Bunny could provide, but the price was high and always involved laying down a mark that meant he owned a piece of your soul. Bunny also had a habit of taking things without asking. Pretty things. Things other people wanted.

  “Bunny’s working out of a pool hall now?” Heart thumping, he threw a wad of cash on the table and pushed his chair away.

  “Feds broke up his last human trafficking ring, so he had to move house. Last I heard he’d bought that pool hall and was back in business: drugs, arms, human trafficking … the works.”

  “Fuck.” Jagger stalked through the bar, shoving tables and chairs aside in his haste to get out. “Of all the pool halls in Conundrum, why the hell did she pick that one?”

  * * *

  Sticky’s was heaving for a Thursday night. The smoky pool hall in the basement of an ancient brick building at the edge of Conundrum was known for its watered-down beer, old-fashioned jukeboxes, sticky floors, and pristine pool tables.

  “You boys want a drink?” Arianne gestured to a table and T-Rex and Wheels took their seats, clearly uncertain about the protocol involved in babysitting the president’s blood price.

  Wheels looked over at T-Rex and shrugged. T-Rex made a show of checking out the pool hall and then nodded. “Sure. Beer’s good. You want us to get the drinks?”

  “We’ll get them.” Dawn grabbed Arianne’s hand and tugged her away from the table. “After all, you deserve a reward after keeping up with Arianne’s bike on the way over here.”

  Biting back a laugh, Arianne followed Dawn through the bar at the end of a low row of pool tables, wrinkling her nose at the acrid scent of smoke mixed with stale beer. Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Free Bird” played in the background, and the clack of billiard balls filled the air.

  “We’ve got a few minutes to ourselves.” Arianne checked over her shoulder at the prospects, now busy talking to each other. “I’ll ask the bartender to send a chatty waitress over to keep them distracted. Hopefully we can be in and out of Bunny’s office before they realize we’re gone.”

  Dawn laughed. “If there is one thing I miss about my biker days, it’s abusing the prospects.”

  They skirted around the edge of the hall and made their way to the bar in the far corner. “Thanks for coming with me,” Arianne said. “Bunny didn’t sound like the kind of man I would want to meet alone.”

  Dawn looked back over her shoulder. “You know you can always count on me. But seriously, usually when you ask your bestie to be your wingman for the night, it’s usually because you’re planning to hook up with some hot guy in a bar, not shake down a dangerous underworld kingpin at the back of a pool hall.”

  “I’m not shaking him down. I’m asking him if he’s got weapons for sale. And with you there, it should be a civilized conversation. From what Jeff said, Bunny doesn’t like to get involved with civilians or draw the attention of the police.”

  They grabbed two seats at the bar, and Dawn waved the bartender over with a flip of her long blond hair and the kind of wink that sent Banks’s male customers to their knees.

  “Ladies. You here to play or just watching your men?” The bartender’s eyes dropped to Dawn’s cleavage, and she looked over at Arianne and rolled her eyes.

  “We’re looking for a talkative waitress to keep the two bikers near the front door busy.” Dawn handed him two crisp twenty dollar bills. “They’re drinking draft.”

  He took the money and lifted an eyebrow. “Anything for you?”

  “We’re looking for Bunny,” Dawn said.

  The bartender tensed and glanced around the pool hall. �
��Don’t know anyone named Bunny.”

  “We heard he’s a man who can get things, and there are things we want.” Dawn leaned forward, giving the bartender a better view, and smiled. “Tell him Dee wants to see him. I’ll make it worth your time.” She whacked Arianne’s leg under the counter and then tugged on Arianne’s purse.

  “Uh … yeah … here.” Arianne pulled out a handful of bills and tossed them on the counter.

  The bartender stuffed the money in his apron. “I might have seen him around.” He disappeared into the stockroom, and Arianne stared at her friend. “Tell him Dee wants to see him? You’re Dee? And you act like you bribe bartenders every day? Who are you and what did you do with my best friend?”

  Dawn stared down at her hands. “I had a very different life when I was with Jimmy. The stuff we did together … Not something I’m proud of and not something I go out of my way to revisit. But if you’ve got the skills—”

  “I can’t believe we’ve been friends for so long and there’s so much about your life you’ve never told me.” Arianne raised her voice over the music. “I would never have asked you to help me if I knew you’d be going back to something you left behind.”

  “And right there is the reason I didn’t,” Dawn said in a quiet tone. “Yeah, you grew up in the Black Jack clubhouse, but you got a soft heart. Same as Jeff when he’s not high or tweaking on drugs. That time he came to help you look after my girls when I was stuck at work, and he let them dress him up and pretend to be their daddy—” Her voice caught and she looked away. Dawn’s twin girls were the joy and sorrow of her life, and she rarely talked about them.

  Pool cues clacked behind them. Someone laughed. The music segued into AC/DC’s “Overdose.” Arianne inhaled the thick acrid smoke and coughed. “Jeff changed. Viper changed him. I’m not sure I really know him anymore.”

  “And I’m not sure I know you anymore.” Dawn fiddled with her watch. “From what you said on the phone, it sounds like you’ve broken all your dating rules with Jagger, and you guys are—”

  “Nothing.”