Rough Justice (Sinner's Tribe Motorcycle Club #1)(12)
Without warning, his hand struck her left cheek and sent her reeling across the floor. Her head hit the bedpost, everything fading to gray. With a bark of derision, he slowly walked to where she lay and prodded her shoulder with the toe of his boot, forcing her onto her back. He didn’t bother to crouch, merely towered over her, his face twisting in disgust. “Black Jack bitch. My name’s Axle. Soon to be President Axle. Should have killed you when I had the chance, but I’m about to remedy that now.”
With a jerk of his chin, he motioned for his pierced companion and his now-recovered friend to pick Arianne up off the floor.
Cheek stinging, still dazed from the fall, she didn’t struggle when the two men clamped a hand around each of her arms and yanked her upright.
Choose your fights. The words of the old Black Jack road captain drifted through her mind as she contemplated how she could get free. He had sheltered Arianne and Jeff from the worst of their father’s wrath, and it was because of him Arianne had developed her skills as a mechanic. She still took flowers to his grave, an unmarked mound north of town at the base of the Bridger Mountains.
But this was a fight she couldn’t win. Not through physical force and not with the two bikers holding her arms so tight, she had to grit her teeth against the pain. And wouldn’t her options be better downstairs?
“Does Jagger know about this?” She struggled to keep up with her captors as they dragged her down the hallway.
“He will soon enough.” Axle smirked. “We’re gonna take you to the meeting and give everyone a show they’ll never forget.”
Meeting? Her heart skipped a beat. Were they taking her to church? Outlaw MCs never allowed anyone other than full-patch brothers to attend “church,” the monthly or extraordinary mandatory meetings required of club members. Bad enough dealing with these goons, but facing the entire full-patch contingent at once, knowing so many of them wanted her to pay for the attack—
She squared her shoulders and swallowed her fear as Axle preceded them down the stairs. If her father had taught her anything, it was that fear made people weak. And weak people couldn’t fight.
Her captors were either stupid or desperate if they thought they could drag her into church without causing a minor riot. But at least Jagger would be there. Hopefully, he would keep her safe. If not, she’d be kicking ass and taking names. Today was not a good day to die.
They stopped outside a set of double doors, the paint chipped and cracked and the once gold-colored handles now blackened with age. The redhead with the piercings lightly slid a knife across her neck. “Be a good girl while the boys are talking.”
Axle threw open the doors and her captor pushed her forward, the knife still at her throat.
“Justice for the Sinner’s Tribe.”
She had only a moment to take in the faded grandeur of what must once have been a massive living room, the sea of Sinner cuts, and Jagger sitting at the head of a table before the room exploded in chaos.
*
Justice?
Jagger grimaced as shouts and yells echoed around the room. Axle wasn’t here for justice. He wanted Jagger’s position, pure and simple, and knowing he was facing a possible dismissal, he’d decided to risk a stunt like this. Arianne was a pawn to him. Unnecessary. Expendable.
In danger.
He forced his gaze away from Arianne—the bright red mark on her cheek, the bruise on her temple, and the knife gleaming at her throat—and focused on the men seated at the table beside him. The executive board consisted of the president, vice president, secretary, treasurer, road captain, and sergeant at arms, as well as two members at large. He had served with the same board for five years, the only change being to the members-at-large, now Tank and Bandit. None of them would support Axle’s bid for power. But he wasn’t so sure that they were as convinced of Arianne’s innocence as he was. All Axle needed was a seed of doubt to set in motion a chain of events that could topple Jagger from his throne.
A seed he wasn’t going to sow on Jagger’s watch.
Feigning weariness, Jagger raised his voice. “Stand down, Axle. Let her go.”
“Someone’s going down.” Axle sneered and gestured to Arianne, who was standing stiff, the knife against her throat. “And it won’t be me.”
Rage pumped through Jagger’s veins and every instinct screamed at him to protect her. But Christel’s death had taught him to show no emotion when women were involved; reveal no weakness. So he focused his attention on the real threat: Axle. His eyes were bruised and swollen after the beating Zane had given him last night, but they gleamed victorious nonetheless. Not since Christel died, had he wanted to kill a man more.
“You do it or we do it,” Axle shouted. “No more of this bullshit. The executive board will do what you tell them to do, but no one really wants to let her go. They’re just afraid to tell you. Viper wants a war. Let’s give it to him.”
A few of the brothers dipped their chins in assent. Jagger leaned back in his chair, affecting an air of indifference while inside he seethed. Axle wasn’t helping himself by making a mockery of their bylaws, despite the kernel of truth in his words. Cold, cruel, ruthless, and incredibly cunning, Viper wouldn’t hesitate to kill Arianne if he were in Jagger’s position, no matter that she was a woman.
Gunner pushed himself to his feet, wincing slightly as he stood. As sergeant at arms, he was responsible for keeping order in the meeting, and right now the room pulsed with tension, a powder keg ready to explode.