Rough Justice (Sinner's Tribe Motorcycle Club #1)(89)

Safe. She was safe. Jagger just managed to keep himself from sagging against the wall. “Appreciate the call.”

Dawn smiled. “Had a feeling you might want to know.”

“Word of warning.” Banks lowered his weapon when Jagger took a step toward the hallway. “She’s been roughed up a bit. Dawn and I looked after her, but you might want to prepare yourself. Try not to break anything else. I don’t pay Dawn enough for extensive repairs.”

His tension returned tenfold. Rubbing the back of his neck, he stalked down the hallway. But when he reached the bedroom door, he paused. What if she didn’t want to see him? He’d failed her. He had promised to protect her, and instead he’d hurt her, chased her away, and when she needed him most … He clenched his fists. Fuck it. He’d take his chances.

Jagger pushed open the door and stepped into the dimly lit room. Arianne lay asleep on the bed, her hair spread over the pillow in a chestnut wave. From his position in the doorway, she appeared okay. And then he saw the bandage.

With a growl, he flicked the lights on and slammed the door closed. Arianne startled and shot up in bed. “Jagger. God, you scared me.”

No. No. No. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he didn’t think he would be able to contain himself. Her face was bruised on one side, her eye black, a thick white bandage plastered to her temple. His lungs constricted, and although he tried to speak, no words came out.

Soft and sleepy, Arianne gave him a wry smile. “I guess I must look pretty bad. You look like you’re about to explode.”

He pointed to her arm, knowing from the size and shape of the bandage what she would say before he even asked. “What?”

“Bullet.”

A maelstrom of emotions threatened to rip him apart. Needing an outlet, he turned and punched his fist through the door. Could he have failed her anymore?

“Always with the drama.” Resigned amusement tinged her pain-ridden voice.

He whirled back around to face her, his heart pounding so hard, he feared he would break a rib. “Someone shot you?”

“Yeah. That’s usually how someone gets a bullet wound.” Her trembling hands belied her light tone and his voice rose almost to a shout.

“Who?”

“It doesn’t matter.…”

Doesn’t matter? He had only two thoughts in his head: first make sure she was okay; and second, make sure whoever had done this never hurt her again.

“It matters to me. Tell me. Now.”

“You can growl and shout and threaten me all you want tomorrow, but right now, I just want to be alone.” She scrubbed her hand over her face. “I should just have gone with Banks to his place. He’s got a triple steel door. No Jaggers would be able to get through.”

“You should have come to me.”

She lay back on the pillows, seemingly unaware that the flimsy piece of satin she wore had slid to the side, exposing the crescent of her breast. His groin tightened painfully, and he dug his nails into his palm. Damn. Not now. Not when she was injured and looking at him like he was the last man on earth she wanted to see. But with adrenaline still pumping through his system, he was almost overwhelmed with the primal need to take her, hold her, make her his again. And then he would hunt down and kill the bastard who had hurt her.

“After what happened outside Peelers, you weren’t on the top of my list.”

His shoulders tensed. Not just because he had hurt her, but also because he’d never even considered she would look to another man for comfort or protection. And what if she had gone to Banks’s house? What if he’d found her lying in his bed? He’d have killed the bar owner most likely. Just the thought of her with another man sent rage coursing through his veins. “It’s my job to protect you.”

“You took my phone. Oh … and you betrayed me. Accused me of betraying you. Hurt me. So forgive me if I didn’t think of you when I needed protection.” She shifted in the bed and winced.

“You need medical treatment.” Jagger pulled out his phone. “I’ll call Doc. Take you back to the clubhouse.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Goddamn it. Didn’t she understand she needed proper medical treatment and not a waitress and a bar owner fumbling with her wound, no doubt leaving her with an infection or a scar or worse? His hands fisted at his sides as he fought back the urge to throw her over his shoulder and carry her out the door. “You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine.” Her voice softened. “Dawn had a full first aid kit that she brought from the bar after the fight. And Banks knew what he was doing.”

But she wasn’t fine. He’d never seen her so pale, bruised, beaten. Even now, her hands shook and the spark was gone from her eyes. But instinct warned him not to push. He was lucky she was talking to him at all.

“I’ll check to make sure.” He found the bathroom down the hall and washed his hands, barely recognizing the strained, anxious face that looked back at him in the mirror. When had he last been so emotionally volatile? Not since Christel died.

When he returned to the room, Arianne had pulled the covers around her. She edged away when he sat on the bed and winced when he lifted her arm.

“What does a biker know about treating bullet wounds?”

“Field training in the army. Everyone was taught how to treat a bullet wound.”