Rough Justice (Sinner's Tribe Motorcycle Club #1)(70)
Jagger had noticed. He’d also noticed that Arianne had been at every location where they’d been ratted out. But he couldn’t believe she was a Black Jack spy.
“Get Tank to help you and maybe another one of the junior patch. I can’t believe someone slipped through our net, but when we find the bastard, we’ll make him wish he’d run when he had the chance.”
After business was done and the brothers had tossed around names of possible support clubs, everyone headed out to Riders. Jagger stayed in his seat, sensing Zane’s impatience, and resigning himself to a lecture about things he didn’t want to hear.
As expected, Zane waited until the room was clear and then launched his attack. Did Jagger realize he had become the subject of numerous discussions that bordered on disrespect? The president should be above gossip. His behavior should be exemplary. He shouldn’t be f*cking the daughter of the club’s greatest enemy in the guise of claiming her as a blood price. If she’d been any other woman, the club would have set her to work. She should be cooking and cleaning and washing their clothes. Instead, Arianne had freedoms the sweet butts didn’t have, and she slept in Jagger’s bed.
Steeling himself to keep his temper in check, Jagger fired out question after question, giving Zane no time to consider his answers. Zane was a thinker, intellectualizing everything until the moment had passed to react. He wanted Zane’s honest answers, his true impression.
Yes, Zane said, she did contribute to the club by fixing the brothers’ bikes. And okay, she saved Bandit’s ass on the hill, and probably the lives of a couple of brothers by shooting at members of her own club. Maybe she was a better pool player than anyone he’d met, and she’d drunk the prospects under the table at the party even though she was half their weight. Her shooting was good … okay … spectacular, just like her dart game. But the only reason she outraced everyone on her bike was because she didn’t ride American.
And didn’t that say it all.
SIXTEEN
There will be no fraternizing with rival clubs.
Arianne stood on the edge of the tiny dance floor in Riders Bar, watching Dawn’s friends tangle together with a handful of junior patch bikers as they gyrated to Steppenwolf’s heart pumping, “Born to Be Wild.”
Lights twinkled on the faux vines twisted around pillars and hanging from beams on the exposed ceiling in the reclaimed mill house on the West Side of Conundrum. Smoke drifted upward through the semidarkness, giving the bar the look of a primordial swamp. She caught a glimpse of Dawn in the crowd and made her way over to her.
“Looking good.” Dawn smiled when Arianne joined her. “That dress looks even better in this light.” She pointed to the retro disco ball overhead and Arianne winced at the sight of multiple images of herself in the formfitting red dress Dawn had retrieved from the stash of emergency clothes she kept at Dawn’s apartment.
The dress had attracted more than its fair share of attention, but it was clear the bikers were operating on a hands-off-or-die policy with her. No pinches, grabs, or subtle brushes of an arm over her breast in passing. No bad lines or come-ons. In that respect, it was the tamest evening out she’d ever had.
They danced through two more songs, but when the DJ spun a heavy metal ballad, Arianne’s nose wrinkled. “Let’s get a drink.”
“I’d forgotten how hands-on bikers are.” Dawn slung her purse over her shoulder and followed Arianne off the dance floor. “I swear if I have to slap another hand away from my ass or my boobs, I’m gonna scream.”
Arianne pushed her way through the crowd and found them a standing space at the bar. “Not that I’m wanting to be touched, but I also don’t like feeling like an outcast. Everyone stands at least two feet away when they’re talking to me. When some guy stumbled into me on the dance floor, everyone scattered and he screamed and ran out the door. It’s like I have a big sign stamped on my forehead that says ‘Keep Off.’”
“You do.” Dawn waved down the bartender. “And it’s ’cause your man is Jagger, president of the Sinner’s Tribe MC and expert scowler.”
“He’s not my man,” Arianne grumbled. “If it’s a relationship, it’s the most confusing one I’ve ever had. We’ve never had a date. We don’t hang out like normal couples. When we’re together, we’re either having sex or being shot at, chased, or attacked. No one can figure out where I fit into the club hierarchy, so they say things like, ‘So how’s the little blood price today?’ or ‘Yo, blood price, fix my puncture.’ I don’t even know where I stand with him.”
“He claimed you.” Dawn gave her a nudge. “Possession doesn’t get more primitive than that. Not many people would understand what that means in the biker world, but I do. And you do, too. You just can’t accept it.”
“If I accept it, I’m staying in Conundrum.”
Dawn laughed. “If you didn’t want to accept it, you would have contacted Jeff already and made your trade.”
Arianne cringed inwardly. Should she tell Dawn she’d been in touch with Jeff? Dawn ran hot and cold with Jeff depending on how drugged up he was when he showed up at the bar or her apartment, but how could she not share with her bestie?
“I did.” She waved the bartender over, not daring to look Dawn in the eye. “I texted him the phone number Bunny gave me, and he offered to drop off the passport with Jeft. But I wanted to see him again. I just need to know, whatever decision I make, he’s going to be okay.”