Sinner's Steel (Sinner's Tribe Motorcycle Club #3)(15)
After Sherry served their drinks, Jagger gave the floor to Cade for the treasurer’s report. Tall, blond, and nicknamed “Thor” by the sweet butts for his resemblance to an actor who played the character in the movies, Cade had enjoyed the fringe benefits of being a biker—a new woman in his bed every night—until he met Arianne’s best friend, Dawn. Now the club’s notorious manwhore had an old lady, two adopted daughters, and a baby on the way. Zane had taken up the mantle of “Brother Least Likely Ever to Get Hitched” that Cade had passed down to him, and he expected to keep it until the day he died.
Cade reported that the war with the Jacks had drained their finances, and although the Sinners had some robust long-term holdings, they needed short-term gains to pay salaries and keep their businesses afloat—gains that were usually financed through the arms deals that the Jacks now sought to take over.
Dax, the club torturer, and father of five boys, offered to hire out his services to other MCs to bring in some extra cash. Lean and dark, relished his victim’s screams. Not many of the brothers could stomach Dax’s “work,” but Zane didn’t have a problem watching Dax use his psychology background to inveigle information from those who had been deemed a danger to the club. And when the psychology failed, and the tools came out, well, Zane had screamed louder the night after he got his mother’s name tattooed on his arm, and his dad cut it off with a rusty blade.
The whiskey went down smooth, with only the slightest burn, and for the first time since he’d seen Evie in Big Bill’s shop, Zane felt a flicker of warmth in his chest. He slumped back in his chair and prayed the meeting would be over soon so he could go back to the clubhouse and crash.
After turning down Dax’s offer, and similar suggestions from board members, Jagger turned the focus of the meeting back to the Black Jacks and their ambition to become the dominant outlaw MC, not just in the state, but nationwide. Instead of a full-on assault, the Jacks had infiltrated Sinner support clubs, turning members into puppet Jacks, willing to do their dirty work in exchange for the promise of being allowed to set up their own chapters. The Jacks had undercut some of the Sinners’ more lucrative arms contracts by using locals to run guns and evade detection.
Fed up with being on the defensive, Jagger and the national Sinner’s Tribe president had come up with a plan to plant an informant inside the Black Jack clubhouse who could feed them information, allowing them to gain the upper hand. National would be fielding candidates, but did the board have anyone in mind?
“I’ll do it.” T-Rex, now sporting a massive bruise on his forehead from Axle’s blow, jumped up when Jagger threw the question to the table. Easygoing and good-natured, T-Rex was well-liked and respected by the club members, but he didn’t have the edge that their rat would need to stand up to Viper, president of the Jacks.
“Needs to be someone connected to the club,” Jagger said. “But not in an obvious way. We have to assume they know who we are, so we’re looking for people who owe the club a favor. They gotta be smart and savvy otherwise Viper will sniff them out. We all know what happens to rats.”
“Same thing that shoulda happened to Axle, but the bastard got away,” Zane mumbled.
“Hard to believe he got away from you,” Gunner said. “You’re the fourth best shot in the club.”
“Fourth?” Tank, a dark-haired, slightly stockier version of T-Rex, scratched his head.
Gunner glanced over at Jagger and smirked. “Me, then Arianne, then Jagger, then Zane, then Cade.”
Cade bristled. “Girls don’t count.”
“And even if they did,” Jagger’s lips quirked at the corners. “Arianne can’t outshoot me.”
“That’s not what she says.” Gunner turned his attention back to Zane. “So now you’re bumped up to third. Makes it even harder to understand how Axle got away.”
“I had him trapped behind Big Bill’s shop and I ran out of ammo.” Zane didn’t see any need to mention Evie, or the fact he’d let Axle go to ensure she got away safely. Nor did he feel a need to mention the fact that Evie and Axle knew each other in what seemed to be more than a business-related way. Not until he understood what the f*ck was going on.
“You ran out of ammo?” Gunner’s incredulous look would have been almost comical if not for the fact he sounded really pissed off, and pissing off the MC’s sergeant-at-arms was never a good idea. At six feet five inches tall, and heavy with muscle, his bald head tatted and his fists like clubs, Gunner could beat any man in a fight without breaking a sweat. Although Zane was vice president, Gunner was in charge of order in the club, and Zane was pretty sure letting a Black Jack go was a serious breach of the rules.
“I ran out of ammo. You got a problem with that?” Obviously Gunner did have a problem because he was now out of his chair and eating up the distance between them with easy strides of his long legs.
“What were you carrying?”
“Full-size Springfield XD.” Too late Zane realized his mistake—a mistake he would never have made if he’d been sober. Gunner came by his road name because he knew everything about weapons, and he would know exactly how much ammo Zane’s weapon held.
“The magazine holds thirteen. You missed thirteen shots?”
“Maybe I emptied it out earlier when I used your bike for target practice.” Zane pushed his chair away from the table. If Gunner wanted a fight, he’d get a fight. Something to liven up an otherwise dull meeting, and take Zane’s mind off the woman who had dominated his thoughts all week.