Sinner's Steel (Sinner's Tribe Motorcycle Club #3)(25)

Jagger glanced up from the other side of the body. “You see something?”

The pathologist rolled the body to the side and Zane pointed to the scarring on the man’s left shoulder. “Isn’t that where we burned off Axle’s tat? And isn’t that scar on his hand from the night you put your knife through his fingers?”

“Fuck.” Jagger leaned closer to take a look. “You’re right. It is Axle. And lookit the “J” carved into his chest. He must have pissed Viper off. Damn. He owed us for what he did to Arianne and the club. I promised her I’d be the one to pull the trigger.”

“Hello.” Benson waved from the corner. “Law enforcement officer here. Let’s not have any threats or admissions in front of a witness that I might be forced to report.”

“You open your mouth and it will be you in this ice box,” Zane said evenly. “And you won’t look so pretty. How’s that for a threat?”

“As far as threats go, it has a certain deterrent factor that I can’t ignore,” Benson said dryly. “What do you want me to do with the body?”

“He was a Sinner and he died a Jack. He’s dead to us. Do whatever the f*ck you want.” Jagger grabbed the pathologist’s clipboard and scrawled a name on it. “That’s his real name. Don’t know if he’s got any family, but if so, you can tell them he still owes us a debt.”

“That’s hardly fair—”

Jagger cut Benson off with a scowl. “When we choose this life, we choose it for our families, too. If he wasn’t prepared to take that risk, he never should have joined the club.”

Zane handed an envelope to the pathologist on their way out. Small payments to the local businesses smoothed the way for the Sinners to get things done quickly and quietly. Benson would get his envelope at the end of the month since he was now on a permanent Sinner retainer.

Shooter and Gunner were waiting curbside beside the bikes. Zane insisted on a security detail for Jagger whenever he left the clubhouse, but pride meant Jagger would accept their presence only on the pretense they were there to watch the bikes. Zane briefed them about Axle while Jagger called Arianne. Axle had threatened her life on more than one occasion and Jagger had promised her justice. Now, he owed her an apology.

Zane caught the reflection of sun in a mirror as he waited for Jagger to finish his call. The skin on the back of his neck prickled. What the hell? It was probably just a reflection from the vehicle behind the Jeep parked across the street, but the angle was wrong, and with the war on, they couldn’t be too careful. Especially not with the Sinner president out in the open and only three brothers to guard him. He’d tried to dissuade Jagger from coming out to the morgue, but Jagger wasn’t the type of man to sit still when there were things to be done.

“Gun. Shooter. Stay with Jagger. I’m just gonna check something out.”

“Get back, sir!” Shooter whipped his weapon from beneath his cut and slammed Jagger in the chest with his arm in an attempt to push him back from what he clearly assumed was an unseen threat to the president’s life.

“Christ, Shooter. I’m on the f*cking phone.” Jagger shoved his arm away.

Damn overzealous prospect was in for one hell of a beating when they got back to the clubhouse. No one touched the president, and especially not a prospect who hadn’t even earned the right to wear a Sinner patch.

Zane crossed the street to the fading cacophony of curses and Gunner’s sharp admonishments. He kept to the grassy verge of the sidewalk, and beneath the trees along the edge of the park that fronted the morgue. He made his way past the Jeep, and stopped when he saw a biker between two parked cars, peering out into the street, his Black Jack patch on display.

Son of a bitch. Zane withdrew his weapon and bit back a growl. Conundrum was Sinner turf. Black Jacks were not just unwelcome, but risked death if they chose to cross the border. He aimed his weapon, a Sig Sauer P226, just as the biker leaned back in his seat, giving Zane a clear view of the top rocker on his cut, “Property of Viper.”

Well damn. Not a he, but a she. Viper’s old lady. Had she come to see the body or was she watching the Sinners? Not that it mattered. Aside from Viper himself, or one of the Black Jack executive board members, there was no greater prize.

With his weapon aimed and ready, he came up behind her bike, then veered slightly to the side. He tensed, then lunged, wrapping one arm around her throat while he pressed the gun to her head.

“Don’t move, princess.”

She stiffened, pressing her head against his chest to relieve the pressure on her throat. When she looked up, her soft brown eyes pleading, Zane’s stomach twisted. She was younger than he thought, early twenties if he had to guess, and pretty, if you liked long, platinum blonde hair and a truckload of makeup. Young for Viper, who had to be in his late forties, too young to be taken prisoner, but he’d made his decision and damned if he would go back on it.

“Off the bike. Nice and slow. Hands out front where I can see them.”

She complied with his instructions, her body shaking, but she didn’t put up a fight and minutes later he had her in front of Jagger.

Jagger looked down at the prisoner, bemused. “What’s this?”

“Present from Viper. Looks like he sent us his old lady.” Zane released her throat, but kept his gun to her head while Gun called the clubhouse for transport.