Rough Justice (Sinner's Tribe Motorcycle Club #1)(95)

“No.” The pool cue whipped over Jagger’s back and split in two with a loud crack, leaving her holding a splintered piece of wood.

Jagger reacted so fast, she barely registered that he had moved. One moment his back was bowing under her strike; the next she was against the wall, the broken pool cue against her throat. His chest heaved, eyes glittered, unseeing.

“Goddamnit.” Banks struggled against his bonds. “Leave her alone. I’m over here if you want a punching bag.”

Arianne glared as the stick pressed against her throat. “That’s right,” she gritted out. “Hurt me. I’m the one who won’t tell you what you want to know. And I can take it. I’ve taken it all my life. There isn’t anything you can do to me that Viper hasn’t already done. Hit me, Jagger. Show me how wrong I was about you. Show me you’re all the same. Do it for the club.”

A curious mix of emotions flickered across Jagger’s face—shock, fear, self-loathing, torment—but no compassion, no love. He hadn’t meant the words he uttered last night. And even if he had, he clearly didn’t know what they meant.

“I will protect you, Arianne. Whether you want it or not.”

Without another glance, he walked over to Sparky and took the bar from his hand. Holding it like a golf club, he touched Banks’s ankle, then raised the bar over his shoulder.

If she had been in that chair, she would have let him hit her. Viper hadn’t just used his fists, and she’d survived, she knew she could survive whatever Jagger dished out. But it wasn’t her in the chair. And just as she couldn’t be the instrument of Jeff’s death, she couldn’t watch someone she cared about suffer on her behalf.

“Jeff.” She screamed the name and ran over to the chair, blocking the bar with her body. “Jeff chased me and hit me. Axle knocked me out. It was Jeff’s idea to go to Bunny. They both took me there. Jeff’s the one who tied me up and chained me to the floor.”

“Who shot you?” His voice held no emotion, no anger, no disappointment. Nothing.

“Jeff had my gun.” Her chin and lips trembled as she gave him away. “He didn’t know what he was doing. He’s an addict. He gets psychotic when he’s tweaking.”

But for the first time, she didn’t feel any conviction for that excuse. Had he been tweaking when he picked her up or decided to sell her for a kilo of meth, or when he caught her in the alley and punched her in the face? There were moments when he’d seemed like himself, when she thought he knew exactly what he was doing. But in the end, did it matter? He was responsible for his actions, and his actions had led to her being tied up in the basement of Bunny’s pool hall.

Jagger made a disgusted sound. “And yet after everything he did, you protected him right to the very last second.”

“I don’t want him dead. He’s my brother. I owe him my life.”

“And my clubhouse? Cole? He was my brother.”

“Jeff said he wasn’t the shooter.”

Jagger tapped the bar in his hand, and the skin on the back of her neck prickled. He wasn’t finished with this. What else did he want?

“Maybe it was you. You’re good on your bike, good with a gun. Hard to believe someone could knock you off. Easy to believe you could take someone out while riding.”

“You f*cking bastard.” Banks snarled and struggled against the ropes. “Arianne, get me the hell outta this chair and I’ll teach this betraying piece of shit about honor and loyalty and how to tell a good person from a piece of f*cking Sinner crap.”

She didn’t feel Banks’s anger. Or his indignation. Although she was grateful he believed in her. She felt nothing but a deep aching sadness for the loss of something she had known in her heart was too good to be true.

“If you really believe that,” she said to Jagger. “If you really believe I could do those things, then do your duty. Give your club justice. Revenge. Show us what you’re made of, Mr. President. Use that bar on me.” She spread her arms and stood in front of him, fully prepared to die.

And in that moment she was sixteen again and determined to win her freedom, even if she had to die for it. But that time, she’d been holding a gun.

His jaw twitched and he held her gaze, his face an expressionless mask. They both knew she had left him with only two choices: He could kill her, or he could release his claim. Either way she would be free.

The seconds passed in interminable silence. Finally, Jagger handed the bar to Zane. “Find Jeff. Bring him here. Take as many brothers as you need. I don’t care how many Jacks you have to go through to get him. Then go deal with Bunny. He should have called me the second he saw her, and he never should have let her go.”

Zane gave him a curt nod. “Axle?”

“Spread the word through the underground: Mafia, Triads, Russians, every MC, and our law enforcement contacts. He’s an enemy of the Sinners, and we’ve put a price on his head.”

“You want me to take Arianne home?” Wheels took a step forward, his face stark, brows deeply furrowed. He looked like he’d aged ten years in the last ten minutes.

Jagger leveled his gaze at Arianne. “I can’t protect you if you aren’t honest with me. I can’t keep you safe if you choose to protect the very people who mean you harm. And I can’t trust you if you keep secrets from me. I release you from the Sinner claim. We’re done.”