Rough Justice (Sinner's Tribe Motorcycle Club #1)(39)
Her eyes flashed with annoyance. “So I am a prisoner.”
“You’re mine,” he said simply. “Until I let you go.”
He expected some kind of outburst; a sarcastic comment, or even Arianne walking away. Instead, she snaked her arms around his neck, pulled him close, and ground her hip into the erection still straining against his fly.
“Let me go, Jagger,” she whispered.
“No.”
“I’ll take a guard with me.” She nuzzled his neck, her breasts pressing against his chest, and his body flamed, tightened in response. He could feel his control slipping, giving way to a fierce, primal urge to rip off her clothes and take her against the cold brick wall—to fully possess the woman who challenged him on every level and whom he wanted with every cell in his body. He wanted to hear her scream in passion; he wanted his name on her lips when she lost control; he wanted her body under his when he plunged his cock deep inside her and claimed her as his own.
What if I don’t want your protection anymore? What if she walked away?
“Four.”
She slid her tongue along the seam of his lips, then kissed him when he opened his mouth, her lips soft and sweet, tasting faintly of mint. “Two. And I’ll text you every hour.”
He kissed her hard, bruising her lips, sharing the pain of his desire. “Every half hour.”
“And when I see you again?” She rubbed up against him, a cat in heat, and he groaned, wondering how the hell he would make it through the day with a hard-on that just wouldn’t quit.
“Your sweet body just made me a promise. And I intend to collect.”
NINE
All debts owing to the club will be secured by collateral and can be discharged only by the president.
Out of the frying pan …
Arianne’s lips pursed with suppressed fury as Sparky pulled his bike into the parking lot of a small warehouse at the edge of Conundrum’s commercial district, still seething over Jagger’s words: You’re mine. Until I let you go.
Who did he think he was? Only one person spoke to her like that—claimed her like a piece of property—and only because she was powerless to stop him. In many ways, Jagger and Viper were very much alike.
Too much alike.
Powerful and in control, dominant and unyielding, Viper wanted nothing more than her complete and utter obedience. She had never been able to get under his skin. But Jagger … she’d rattled him with a kiss. Maybe she should rattle him some more. She’d never find Jeff if she had Tank and Wheels flanking her wherever she went. Her brother was clearly in hiding, afraid to face the consequences for the botched raid on the Sinner weapons shed. And likely he’d stay hidden until he could salvage the situation by producing the missing weapons before Viper found him. Weapons that were now locked in the shed behind Sparky’s shop, or so she’d overheard.
She followed Sparky across the gravel and waited as he unlocked the door.
“Here she is.” He stepped to the side to let Arianne enter.
After her eyes adjusted to the light, she inhaled the familiar scents of grease and diesel, then looked over a shining sea of chrome, and smiled. “Nice shop.”
“Yeah, it’s like a second home.” Sparky led her through a row of bikes while Wheels made himself comfortable on a worn couch in the corner. Tank stood guard at the door.
“Got something over here I think you’ll appreciate.” Sparky whipped a drop cloth off a bike in the corner and grinned.
Arianne gasped. “That’s not—”
“My secret project. A Ducati 1098S. One of the fastest motorcycles in the world and manufactured only from 2007 to 2009. This one crashed in the Superbike World Championship in 2008, and the owner wanted to offload it for cheap. Didn’t take long to replace and fix up the fairing, but the engine is still running rough. It’s supposed to be able to do zero to sixty miles per hour in under three seconds and hit a top speed of a hundred eighty miles per hour, but I haven’t been able to get it anywhere near that.”
Arianne crouched beside the bike. “They have a few known problems like stalling on idle and leaking gaskets. And did you check the gas tank? The plastic one leaked ethanol, and the replacement is covered under warranty.”
Sparky grinned. “Feel free to tinker with it if you want a break from your Ninja. I’ll take it up to the work bay.“
Sparky’s shop was clearly the hub for club-related gossip, and over the course of the afternoon, at least a dozen bikers came in ostensibly to chat about mechanical problems, but for the most part to catch up on what was going on. No one seemed to notice Arianne in her coveralls, fixing up her Ninja in the corner.
So she heard about the two sweet butts Bandit took up to his room and how disappointed he was to find out they weren’t sisters after all. And that Axle had been getting it on with Gunner’s old lady before he’d been kicked out of the club. And how Cole’s funeral had been especially heartbreaking because, save for the brothers, he had no one to mourn his death.
Tank reported that Dex, the reclusive club torturer, had sneaked some weed into a party the other night but was caught by Zane. No one had seen Dex since. Did anyone try the weed? T-Rex had, and it was good-quality stuff. He thought Zane had kept it to smoke in his room.
A heated discussion ensued about whether Zane was the kind of guy to smoke weed. They concluded that a guy as reserved as Zane wouldn’t smoke weed, and how much did anyone really know about him aside from the fact he was Jagger’s best friend? Bandit and Wheels didn’t trust him. T-Rex wondered what it would be like to be Jagger’s best friend and whether it would be fun. Bandit didn’t think so. After all, Jagger rarely smiled or relaxed. Show of hands, anyone who had ever seen Jagger drunk or stoned. No hands went up. What about getting it on with the sweet butts during a party? Still no hands. Dancing or kicking back? Nope. Definitely not fun to be his friend.