Rough Justice (Sinner's Tribe Motorcycle Club #1)(90)
She tilted her head to the side. “You were in the army?”
“Fourth Infantry Division. Two tours of Afghanistan.”
When she didn’t respond, a niggle of doubt worked its way through his mind. By way of distraction, he carefully removed the bandage and examined the wound, testing the edges with his thumbs for tenderness or infection. “I’ve rendered you speechless.”
“Why did you quit?” She blurted out. “How did you go from the army to being an outlaw biker?”
“I didn’t quit.” He felt a familiar heaviness in his chest. Although he had never regretted his decision to join the Sinners, the circumstances that led to the end of his military service still pained him. “I was honorably discharged. Shrapnel from a rocket-propelled grenade got lodged in my heart during a raid. Doctors said it was too risky to take it out and an even bigger risk to have me in the field. Couldn’t handle a desk job, so they booted me out.”
Concern replaced her curiosity, and she lightly stroked his forearm with her free hand. “You have shrapnel in your heart? Aren’t you worried that one day—?”
He waved a dismissive hand. “Only a problem if they have to open up my chest. That’s when there is a risk of it dislodging. Otherwise, there isn’t anything I can’t do. But despite all the medical reports, the army didn’t see it that way. They thought it was too much of a risk.”
“I’m sorry.”
He looked up and met her gaze, warmed by her genuine sympathy and moved to tell her more. “Found a place with the Sinners. Lots of ex-military, discharged ’cause of injury like me. Some just lost in the civilian world. Others unhappy with people’s lack of understanding of the sacrifices we made for our country. Same core values of brotherhood, trust, and honor…”
“I can’t believe I had to get shot to hear the story behind your scar,” she said as he wrapped the wound. “I should have made you get shot before I told you about the belt.” She flinched when he finished the wrap, and Jagger stilled.
“I hurt you.”
“No … you’ve been surprisingly gentle.”
He clasped her hand, twining his fingers through hers. “Surprisingly?”
“From what I’ve seen so far—Axle, the bar brawl, pounding Leo’s face into the counter, putting your fist through the door—‘gentle’ isn’t the word I would have used to describe you.”
She was right about that. He wasn’t a gentle man. And yet with Arianne, it was no effort to hold back.
“And this.” He brushed his thumb over the cut on her cheek. “I did this.” He cupped her jaw and stroked over the cut again as he fought back a wave of remorse. “I didn’t want you to leave.” Jagger clasped her hand and ran his thumb over her knuckles. “When we got to Peelers, all I could think about was that I might not see you again. I didn’t want to care. I didn’t want it to affect me, and I was angry at myself that it did. I took it out on you.”
A smile ghosted upon her lips. “You grovel well.”
He brought her hand to his mouth and lightly kissed each finger, tasting the salty sweetness of her skin, breathing in her scent. It was as close to an apology as he had ever come, as open as he had ever allowed himself to be.
“You need to be held.” Even as he spoke the words, he knew they were for him, as much as for her. He checked the bandage, then pulled her onto his lap.
“I’m not a child, Jagger.” But her body softened when he put his arm around her, and she leaned against his chest with a gentle sigh. Perversely, the ease with which she gave up the fight increased his agitation. Whatever had happened tonight had taken the fight out of his fighter, and damned if he wasn’t going to ensure that never happened again.
“What happened tonight? Who hurt you?”
She went rigid against him. “I don’t want to talk about it right now. Please.”
Torn between the urge to hold her and the need to get the necessary information to hunt down and eliminate the threat, he enfolded her in his arms, listening to the steady rhythm of her breathing and the rapid thud of her heart against his chest.
“I always tell the boys, you aren’t a real biker until you get shot.” He kept his tone light, teasing. “I guess you’re a real biker now.”
“Maybe I always was a real biker.”
“My biker,” he said. “And I’m taking you where bikers belong.”
She gazed up at him, and the defeated expression in those beautiful green eyes stabbed him in the heart. “No, Jagger. I just want to go home.”
*
Caught in the last remnants of her nightmare, Arianne sat up so fast, her head spun. But Viper wasn’t beating her in the Black Jack clubhouse. And Leo wasn’t pinning her to the bed with his heavy body. And Jeff wasn’t in a parking lot, shooting her as she ran.
But she was alone for the first time in two days.
After reluctantly taking her home, Jagger had called the club doctor to come and check her over, and then he’d held her all night long, his arm around her, his body tucked against hers. He’d stayed with her the next day, hanging out in the shop with Sparky, fiddling with his bike, and shutting down all the gossip—to everyone’s disappointment. And last night they’d made love for hours. But they hadn’t talked. And it was clear from his unnatural silence and haunted expression, there were things he wanted to say.