Beyond the Cut (Sinner's Tribe Motorcycle Club #2)(39)

“Hard to believe a major arms dealer was shot in your territory along with four of his men and you didn’t know anything about it.” Zane toyed with his glass, his free hand under the table, no doubt within easy reach of his weapon.

“We’re a support club, not a f*cking babysitting service.”

Zane withdrew his weapon and placed it on the table. “Maybe you don’t understand the role of a support club.”

“I’m sure he does.” Cade put a warning hand on Zane’s arm. “I think it was just a poor choice of words. He knows what would happen if Jagger had to send up some of our brothers to remind him that we tolerate Demon Spawn’s presence only as long as they remain loyal.”

“Yeah, that’s right. Poor choice of words.” Matchstick ordered a bottle of whiskey on the house and then waved over his old lady, a statuesque blonde with fake tits and an orange tan.

“You want her for the night, Cade? I heard you appreciate a fine piece of *.”

Christ. His reputation preceded him, even up north. Usually, he would have laughed and made a joke, then accepted the offer, but tonight the reminder grated on his nerves. “Appreciated, but I got this little sweet butt in my lap to keep me busy … and a girl at home.” He squeezed the girl’s ass and made her squeal, cutting off Zane’s snort of disbelief.

Matchstick apologized again and excused himself to take a call. His VP, Skid Mark, a short, stocky man with a military buzz cut, took his seat and they segued into a conversation about the arms trade up north. But Cade felt a growing sense of unease. Whether it was the way some Demon Spawn brothers kept looking at them or the VP’s slightly off manner, Cade’s instincts were blasting a warning at full volume.

The blonde nuzzled his neck and Cade tensed. He’d almost forgotten about the sweet butt in his lap. Her hair wasn’t soft or curly like Dawn’s hair, and he was damn sure that color wasn’t real. He picked up his phone and sent a quick text to Jagger expressing his concerns about Demon Spawn, then flicked to Dawn’s number. He liked seeing her name in his address book. What she was doing right now?

Zane and Skid Mark were deep in conversation, and the girls were talking to each other. A quick glance around the bar assured him nothing was obviously wrong. Why not send a quick text and find out what the hell was going on?

Hey

He couldn’t think of any better way to start so he pressed SEND and drank his beer as he waited.

Hey yourself

Hmmm. No humor in her tone, but at least she’d texted back.

U working tonight?

Took the night off to spend with the girls. Just dropped them off. U back from Whitefish?

Still here

Nice place 2 be working

Not nice work 2 be doing. What r u doing on ur night off??

Fixing the sink

My kind of woman

Not so sure about that. You alone?

At a bar with a local MC

Another strip bar?

Fuck. Why hadn’t he lied when she asked him about Peelers? He wanted her to forget he’d gone there. Ever. He wanted her to forget the rumors about him. He wanted her to trust him, but how could he expect trust from her when he couldn’t even trust himself?

Just a bar

They give you a sweet butt?

Ah. Of course she would know what went on when bikers visited another club. He should lie this time. Zane wouldn’t tell her what was going on, and the truth would just reinforce in her mind that he was exactly the kind of man she thought he was.

And she would be right.

“Hey brother.” Zane leaned across the table and tapped a spoon on Cade’s glass. “Skid Mark asked you a question about passenger pegs. Wake the f*ck up.”

The blonde looked down at the phone and laughed. “He’s busy texting Dawn.”

“Jesus Christ.” Cade pushed her off his lap. “You don’t look at a man’s phone.”

“But you can text one woman while you’ve got another on your lap?” Zane refilled Skid Mark’s glass from the pitcher on the table. “Cade’s got a way with the ladies. A good way. No relationships. No complications. No women making promises they can’t keep. No shattered dreams or promises. No betrayals or jumping into bed with the first bastard who knocks on the door. He’s got it right. Women can’t be trusted. Not to keep the faith. Not to hold true. Not to respect a man’s soul.” He thudded his fist on the table and the woman beside him beat a hasty retreat, pulling the blonde with her.

“Whoa, brother.” Cade held up a hand. “Maybe you’ve had one too many. You wanna step outside for some fresh air?”

Zane nodded and they excused themselves from the table and walked out into the night.

“What the hell did that bitch do to you?” Cade asked as soon as the door closed behind them.

“Nothing I want to talk about.” Zane kicked at a stone and then leaned against a pillar, his arms folded. “It was a very long time ago, like when Jagger and I were kids long.”

“Well, you scared those girls pretty good, so it looks like neither of us is gonna have a good night. You wanna go back to the motel? Something felt off in that bar.”

“Thought it was just me,” Zane said. “Didn’t like the way they were watching us. I’m thinking we should head back home tonight. Not keen on having my throat slit while I’m sleeping.”