Rough Justice (Sinner's Tribe Motorcycle Club #1)(56)
More laughter. Snickers. Arianne focused on the table and ignored the immature comments. “I don’t know why you’re complaining,” she whispered to Dawn. “You had a good time. He had a good time. No strings attached. You’re both adults.”
“I’m not complaining. I’m embarrassed.” Dawn plastered a smile on her face just as Cade reached their corner. “I’ve never had to face down a one-night stand who wanted more than one night.”
Cade stopped in front of them, giving Dawn a curt, cold nod of greeting before turning to Arianne. “Jagger’s looking for you.”
She made her shot, sinking the ball in the corner pocket. “Here I am. But you’ll have to excuse me, ’cause I’m in the middle of a game.”
“He doesn’t like you being here.”
Arianne sidestepped him and considered the table, pulling her cloak of false bravado tight around her. She’d managed to hold her own with Bunny; she could handle Cade. “Then he shouldn’t have said I could come.”
Cade grunted. “You belong to the club. Club protects you. But we can’t do that if you put yourself in danger.”
“Only danger I’m facing is losing the game because you won’t stop talking.” She took another shot, slamming the ball into the side pocket, and Peter shouted a curse. Cade’s head jerked around and he glared.
“You with him?”
“Seriously?” Arianne rolled her eyes. “I like ’em sweet but I don’t like ’em young.”
Cade gave a warning grunt. “Better watch that mouth around Jagger. He’s f*cking pissed, and Wheels and T-Rex are gonna suffer the most for not getting you back to the clubhouse on time.”
“Jagger likes my mouth.” Arianne met his gaze, her tension easing when she saw amusement flicker in his eyes. “And no one told me I had a curfew. To be fair, though, they might have suggested at one point that it would be a good idea to leave. And I might have suggested that the way club politics works is that you do what the president’s blood price wants you to do ’cause if the blood price is happy, the president will be happy, and if he’s happy, you might get home without any broken limbs.”
Cade gave her a bemused smile. “Christ. Don’t know how he manages you, but I’m gonna wait right here until he comes. This is gonna be a show I don’t want to miss.”
He turned to talk to Dawn, and Arianne walked to the far end of the table and bent low to eye the ball. A draft of cool air brushed her hair. The cacophony of voices and the clack of billiard balls quieted and the first few notes of AC/DC’s “Hells Bells” filled the hall. She didn’t need to hear the soft rattle of his belt chain to know he was there. His presence radiated through the entire hall.
Jagger.
A thrill of fear shot through her blood. Pulse racing, she focused on the table, trying to ignore the thud of footsteps, the hushed murmur of an intimidated crowd, and the soft creak of riding leathers. Taking a deep breath, she lifted her cue and slid it into position between her first two knuckles.
His steps didn’t hesitate when he reached the table, and even though she had only to lift her head to meet his gaze, Arianne kept her focus on the ball. This game was too important for distractions. And Jagger was the biggest distraction of all.
Out of the corner of her eye she caught a flash of leather and the glitter of the chain that hung off his belt. Her body trembled as he neared her, so hot, sweat beaded on her brow.
And then his hand was on her ass.
Broad and warm, his palm cupped her right cheek, fingers splayed over the sensitive crease between her thigh and buttock, thumb brushing over the rise. No words. No greeting. No permission.
See your blood price. Grab her ass. Send her a message she’ll never forget.
Utterly primitive, wholly possessive, his touch awakened something deep inside her, sweeping away civilized notions of self-respect and independence and awakening a deep primal desire to submit to his unspoken demand.
But when he squeezed her ass, punctuating the possessive move with a satisfied grunt, desire gave way to being really pissed off. Clearly his fancy speech about respecting women was baloney.
Steeling herself to control her shaking hands, she looked back over her shoulder and glared. “Why don’t you just stamp ‘Keep Off’ on my ass? Save yourself some time.”
His gaze met hers, hot, sensual, and unyielding, sparking a firestorm in her blood so intense, she thought she might combust.
“I just did.” He smoothed his hand over the curve of her buttock, his fingers perilously close to the seam. “If anyone is unclear about my meaning, I’ll kill them.”
“Caveman.” She muttered the word under her breath, never thinking he would hear.
Jagger’s hand tightened, his fingers digging into her soft flesh, a pleasure pain that made her mouth water.
“I walked in here, and every man in front of you was looking down your shirt and every man behind you was staring at your ass.” He smoothed his hand over her buttock, rubbing away the pain. “It took every bit of my self-control not to pound all their f*cking heads in because I knew what they were thinking.”
“What were they thinking?”
He slid one hand around her waist, pulling her up and against his rock-hard chest, the bulge in his jeans pressed firmly against her rear. “They wanna be the one with their hand on your ass, telling you ‘later’ has come and it’s time to go.”