Rough Justice (Sinner's Tribe Motorcycle Club #1)(43)
Jagger’s brow wrinkled. “What was that message?”
“Family business.”
“Family business mean you’re gonna get hurt?”
She turned away. “Why do you care? You were going to hand me over even if I didn’t want to go.”
Her heart sank when he didn’t refute her words. She’d been wrong about Jagger. He wasn’t like Viper. He was Viper. All over again.
TEN
The club will defend its own.
He couldn’t keep his eyes on the damn road.
Instead, all he could see was Arianne’s sweet ass as she bent low over her Ninja, burning up the road like she was desperate to get to the meet. Damn, that woman could ride. No fear. No hesitation. If she really wanted to get away, she could, and he almost wished she would just break and run. He still hadn’t thought of a way to uphold the honor of the club and protect her at the same time. And although she’d agreed to the exchange, there was no damn way he was letting her go.
Lost in thought, torn between duty and desire and the unfamiliarity of remorse, Jagger almost missed the turnoff to the vacant lot in the run-down north end of town.
He signaled to the brothers behind him to form a perimeter in case of trouble, and sent the second wave ahead of them to form a smaller circle around the meet site. Sparky was already in the parking lot with the cage, ready to take back the civilian Viper thought to pawn off on him. He’d already sniffed out the trap. Hell, he would have done exactly the same thing. No biker president would voluntarily give up one of his own men, and especially not for a woman. “Club first” meant brothers first.
Arianne slowed for directions and he motioned her toward the parking lot. She hadn’t spoken to him since they left the shop. Did she think he would have handed her over if she hadn’t volunteered to go? Despite his decision to become an outlaw, he was a man of honor. He’d said he would protect her, and he would. But he still had to put the club first. An impossible dilemma.
He pulled up beside Arianne and gave her the details of the meet. Three men to a side, unarmed, one hostage each. He’d laughed at Viper’s terms. As if either of them would send in a single unarmed man or show up without as many brothers as they could round up on short notice.
“He won’t be there.” Arianne combed her fingers through her hair. “He’ll send Leo or Bear, his sergeant-at-arms. He never shows at things like this.”
Jagger frowned. “You’re his daughter.”
“I’m a woman.” She didn’t need to explain. Misogyny was pervasive in the outlaw MCs, with women usually ranking lower than bikes, clubhouses, and sometimes pets.
But damnit, he didn’t need a reminder. Didn’t want to think about her soft curves beneath his hands, the brush of her lips, her sweet ‘n’ sassy mouth. His protective instincts were already stretched to breaking, and it was everything he could do not to bundle her up and hide her away where no one would hurt her ever again.
Damn. Damn. Damn. This was exactly why he preferred simple hookups to serious relationships. This is what he feared; the real reason he had stayed away from the safe house for four long days, although he ached every night to hold Arianne in his arms. He’d put her in danger, just as he’d put Christel in danger. And like Christel, Arianne would pay the price. He should have just let her go. But instead, he went on instinct. And instinct was telling him to keep her close.
With the perimeter established, Jagger signaled to Zane and Gunner to cover his back as he walked with Arianne through the garbage-strewn grass. A soft breeze ruffled the tendrils of Arianne’s hair, and he had to clench his fist against the urge to run his fingers through those silky strands just in case he didn’t get another chance.
By the time they reached the meet point, the lot had filled with bikes and bikers, primed and ready to fight if the handover didn’t go as planned. Leo was already waiting for him near a pile of rubble, accompanied by a huge bear of a man who had at least three inches on Jagger in height and maybe one hundred pounds in weight.
“Bear.” Arianne muttered under her breath. “Viper’s sergeant-at-arms. He almost never leaves Viper’s side. He’s Viper’s shadow, except he’s all brawn, no brains, and no mercy.”
Jagger swallowed a laugh. He doubted he’d ever heard a more suitable road name. With the dark, full beard, short curly hair, and thick furry forearms, Bear was a bear indeed. But it was clear from Bear’s posture and his position slightly back from the group that he wasn’t the one in charge.
A murmur rippled through the crowd of Black Jacks, and the temperature dipped as a cloud drifted in front of the sun. Half-lit in the gloaming, a towering man stalked toward them. Black Jacks scattered, deferential even as they stumbled away.
“Viper.” Arianne’s hand flew to her parted lips. “I can’t believe he’s here.”
He stalked directly to them, his cut worn and heavy with patches, swaying slightly over his barrel chest. His hair was black, fading to gray, and long, just brushing the top of his cut. A thick salt-and-pepper beard shadowed his jaw. Taller than Jagger. Wider than Bear. His arms were thick with ropy muscles, and covered in colorful tats. When the Black Jack president swaggered to a stop, Jagger counted six gold rings, three on each hand, the largest a snake’s head with ruby eyes.
Up close, Viper’s face was broad and scarred, his nose crooked and his expression one of pure brutality. Cold, dark eyes fixed on Jagger, showing no glimmer of emotion. Fierce and formidable, yes, but aging, too, as borne out by the lines of hard living etched into his face, and the slight rounding of his broad shoulders. And yet his sheer palpable presence cowed even the men standing closest to him. Power radiated off him, a storm, barely contained.