Beyond the Cut (Sinner's Tribe Motorcycle Club #2)(5)
But not this time. After he dealt with Mad Dog, he’d pull out all the stops and get her back in his bed. Then he’d f*ck her until they were so exhausted neither of them could run away. She wanted him. He knew it from the way she licked her lips when she looked at him, and how her cheeks flushed when he touched her, the way her mouth parted, inviting him in …
Fuck me, Cade.
Sweeter words he’d never heard.
Shaking off the memory of Dawn moaning beneath him, Cade pursued Mad Dog through residential areas and then north on the interstate toward the airport. What the f*ck? The Devil’s Brethren had moved south of Conundrum after the turf war. If Mad Dog had any sense, he’d head to the Brethren clubhouse where Cade couldn’t touch him.
But that was the problem with the Brethren. Whether it was stupidity or arrogance, they just couldn’t accept Sinner dominance of the state. Even after the hellish battle in which the Brethren president, JC, was killed and his brothers were stomped, beaten, and chain-whipped to a pulp, their patches and bikes confiscated, legs and arms broken to prevent them from riding, they’d simply regrouped under a new leader, JC’s brother, Wolf. No matter what the Sinners did to them, the Brethren just kept coming back. Like the roaches they were.
Leaning low on his bike, Cade closed the distance between him and Mad Dog, the icy wind sending a shiver down his back. Living in Montana had its challenges, not the least of which was winter riding. But with the advent of spring, he’d dumped the tire chains and Gore-Tex gloves. The bandanna, however, was still a must.
Mad Dog’s bike screeched to a stop outside a warehouse nestled at the foot of the Bridger Mountains, just outside the town boundaries. Something about the warehouse niggled at the back of Cade’s mind. He knew for certain he’d ridden past it last year in pursuit of a gang of Black Jacks intent on taking out Jagger and Arianne, but there was something else about the building … something he couldn’t quite remember. An offhand comment made a long time ago.
Cade parked his bike, then did a quick reconnaissance of the building: Two windows, blacked out. A side door, locked. Tire treads near the front door. White panel van parked out back. He searched the trees nearby but found no other vehicles, bikes, or Brethren.
Maybe Mad Dog had run out of fuel … or courage. Or maybe he thought he’d be able to take Cade out from a secure position inside. He had to know Cade followed him here. So was it a trap or a challenge? Not that it mattered. Cade had a duty to address the wrong done to his MC: the blatant disrespect of daring to ride in Sinner territory wearing the colors of a rival club.
Steeling himself for the confrontation, Cade drew his weapon and stalked toward the door, a thrill of adrenaline shooting through his veins. Nothing Cade had accomplished as a child—school, sports, summer jobs—had been good enough for his father, but Cade excelled at using violence to solve his problems. Just like his old man.
He sent a quick text giving Jagger his location and the barest details of what had happened. He had no hesitation going in alone after Jimmy, preferring solo missions to group efforts where he invariably would be put in charge of inexperienced prospects or junior patch who had never fired a gun. Not that he had any issues with being in charge. He’d led his squad through countless missions while on tour in Afghanistan, until the night they were caught in an ambush. His discharge hadn’t come about because he’d been the only man to survive, but because afterward he’d sought comfort the only way he knew how. And damned if anyone had told him that the lush blonde with the big blue eyes who tried to convince him life was still worth living by inviting him into her bed was the Lieutenant General’s daughter.
But that was a long time ago. He no longer needed the soft sweetness of a woman to soothe his pain. He had the club, his bike, his brothers, and he had a f*cking kick-ass weapon, a military-issue SIG Sauer P228 begging to be unloaded in a dirty piece of Brethren ass.
Cade slowly turned the handle on the front door, his weapon raised and ready. The hunt was on.
TWO
I do not fear death. Death will fear me.
SINNER’S TRIBE CREED
“Doors open in five minutes. Quit your yapping and get out front.”
Joe Banks, proprietor of Banks Bar, lifted a warning eyebrow and glared at Dawn and her best friend, Arianne, engaged in a deep discussion in the middle of the stockroom.
“The bar isn’t open yet.” Dawn returned his scowl. “There are no customers I need to serve, and I haven’t seen my bestie in a week. We have a lot of catching up to do.”
“That’s what phones are for.”
Arianne laughed as she twisted her long, dark hair into a ponytail. Tall and slim, with startling green eyes and a perfectly oval face, she and Dawn had bonded her first day on the job over Banks’s gruff manner, his pawing customers, and a shared fondness for flavored vodka.
“That’s what stockrooms are for,” Arianne said. “So wipe that frown off your face and let us have our little catch-up, or this bartender is going to walk and take your best waitress with her.”
“Ever since you became Jagger’s old lady, you got a serious attitude problem,” Banks grumbled as he hoisted a box on his shoulder. “Before you hooked up with him, you were sweet, nice, easy to get along with. Now you’re telling me how it is, wearing your damn cut while you’re working the bar, throwing me out of my stockroom … I liked you better when you were just Viper’s runaway daughter. Before, you had more respect.”