Rough Justice (Sinner's Tribe Motorcycle Club #1)(60)
“She all right?” Zane clasped his shoulder and knelt down beside him. He knew. Zane always seemed to know when the PTSD kicked in and Jagger lost himself to the ghosts of his past.
Jagger knelt beside her, placing his fingers lightly on the artery in her neck, praying he would feel her pulse.
“I’m alive.” She turned to look at them, her eyes bright in the darkness. “Just hit my head kinda hard, so I thought I’d lie here for a few minutes until I stopped seeing stars. But it’s night. So maybe that’s why the stars aren’t going away.”
Words failed him, so instead he lifted her into his arms, wincing when her shoulder brushed against his wound.
“I’ll take her,” Zane said. “We’d be at least two men down if not for her, and you need to get that arm checked.”
Arianne twisted to look at his injury, but he passed her over to Zane and headed for his bike.
“Jagger? Where are you going?”
He kept walking. Zane would explain without giving too much away, and he would look after Arianne. No doubt he would also check her phone. If Jagger had suspicions now, then Zane would have had them from the start.
Jagger mounted his bike and started the engine. He needed to clear his head before returning to the clubhouse for the party that would invariably follow the successful operation.
Before ending it with Arianne.
And it had to end. By bringing her with him tonight, he had not only broken a club rule about involving women and outsiders in club business, but he had also put her in danger.
Unforgivable and totally unacceptable. There was no reason for her to be there. He could have dropped her off, called a cab, or sent one of the brothers to pick her up, but he hadn’t been thinking straight.
He had wanted her with him every minute of every day, in part because she had been so adamant about leaving, but mostly because he enjoyed her company. She was smart, sharp, and savvy with a dry sense of humor and good sense of fun. They’d gone to the shooting range together, shot some stick at Riders Bar, and spent an afternoon racing through the mountain pass. For the first time in his life, he’d let his guard down. And now he had to pay the price.
Frustration speared through his heart as he peeled away from the hill. He was supposed to be holding her in his arms, stroking her sweet curves, burying himself deep inside her, listening to her moan as he made her his in every sense of the word. Instead, he was driving through the dark streets of Conundrum. Alone. Wondering how the hell he would let her go.
The party was just getting started.
While Wheels and T-Rex hauled crates of beer into the kitchen, telling the story about the ice house explosion yet again, Arianne helped Jill and Tanya unload the snacks from the cage. She’d assured Zane she was fine except for a headache, and although reluctant, he’d agreed not to call the club doctor who had been out of town the night she’d been knocked off her motorcycle.
When the beer had been opened and the snacks laid out, everyone gathered in the living room for a toast. First, they toasted Bandit, who had taken one in the ass when he panicked and ran and had to be saved by a girl. With all due respect to Arianne and no offense intended, of course.
Then they toasted Sparky and Cade, who had taken Bandit to the hospital. They toasted Zane for staying outside to guard so they could party without his wet blanket presence, and Gunner for going out to find them some girls. Again, no offense to the ladies, but it was a party and there wasn’t enough * to go around.
Only slightly offended, Arianne joined Jill and Tanya on the porch while the inebriated bikers texted Gunner with their specific requests.
“So, how do you like being a blood price?” Tanya handed Arianne a beer and grinned. Her golden-brown hair swung over her shoulder as she settled on the porch steps beside Jill.
Small and slender, with a heart-shaped face and wide green eyes, Tanya had quickly established herself as the dominant sweet butt in the club, with a mouth unfettered by social norms of politeness. Her friend Jill, a tall Nordic blonde, was more reserved, and unlike any of the sweet butts Arianne had ever met at the Black Jack clubhouse, who were all gregarious by nature.
“I’m no one’s property.” She sipped the beer, cringing as the bitter liquid slid over her tongue. Part of her wanted to belong to Jagger, but only in the same way he would belong to her.
“Seriously?” Tanya’s eyes widened. “If Jagger wanted me, I’d be over the moon. He’s sex on a stick, and president of the MC, although he’s pretty damn terrifying. Except for Sherry, he’s always been a one-night-stand kinda guy, probably because he scares most of the girls away. At least, that’s how it’s been since I joined the club.”
“How did you wind up here?” Arianne couldn’t hold back her curiosity. What kept the sweet butts coming back, aside from the promise of power and prestige if they were chosen as a biker’s old lady?
Tanya looked past them and down the driveway to where Zane stood, keeping watch. “I was married. My ex was abusive. I ran away but he kept finding me. One night I was at a bar and I saw the Sinners beating up some guy ’cause he’d tried to rough up one of their sweet butts. They were real good to her after, and I decided I wanted some of that. So I started hanging around. Did some things I wasn’t proud of, but generally tried to be helpful, if you know what I mean. Eventually, Jagger said I could stay.”
“I get it.” Arianne said softly. The Jacks had had a revolving door of women that turned so fast, she hadn’t even bothered to learn their names. Had any of them been like Tanya—just needing a safe haven? She hoped not because they would have found themselves in hell.