Sinner's Steel (Sinner's Tribe Motorcycle Club #3)(77)
“We don’t know if it’s true, Connie. But we need to find out.”
Not just to rescue the woman, if she did exist, but because she needed to know just what kind of man Zane had become. And whether she could accept him as he truly was.
*
They were waiting for him when he pulled up to the clubhouse three days after he’d disappeared.
Zane gritted his teeth and parked his bike. He had expected nothing less than the full executive board, but it was going to take a hell of a lot of willpower to cross the driveway and follow them out back, especially since he had returned empty-handed.
Well, not totally empty-handed. He pulled the phone from his pocket and checked the picture file one last time. At least the punishment would be worth it. He had filled the whole damn memory card with pictures of the Black Jack clubhouse, including the door to the dungeon where T-Rex was being held prisoner.
Zane took one last look at the midnight sky, clear save for a sprinkling of stars. He’d have plenty of time to look at the stars when Jagger was done with him. The last time he’d disobeyed a direct order he’d been flat on his back for three days and pissed blood for an entire week.
Yet, despite that beating, he’d left the club three days ago to go hunting. After his night with Evie, unburdening himself of the secret he’d carried for so long, he’d decided three things: first, T-Rex had to be rescued; second, Viper had to die; and third, he couldn’t wait even a day if it meant Viper was out there and Evie was in danger. Simply put, he couldn’t go through the hell of thinking he’d lost her again, and with Viper on the loose that was a very real possibility.
He’d spent the first day of his hunt watching the Black Jack compound from a hill, well hidden with trees. Security was tight, just as Doreen said, and he was glad Jagger had held off the raid until they pulled in some support clubs. But Viper wasn’t inside. Nor had he been seen in any of the bars, restaurants, clubs, strip joints, or whorehouses around Devil’s Hills where the Black Jacks were based. He knew this because he’d checked them all. The second and third days, he’d called in every favor, paid informants, and talked to every low-life scumbag he could find. Viper was off the grid. No doubt in hiding, the snake that he was. The hunt was a bust and he would pay a heavy price.
Zane took a deep breath and walked slowly up the drive. He had texted ahead to make sure Evie was out of the clubhouse and safe at Sparky’s shop when he arrived. He would need a couple of days to heal up and he didn’t want her to see him until he had recovered enough to stand.
“Brothers.” He nodded at the group and tossed the phone to Tank. “Give that to Hacker. I got pictures and videos of the Black Jack clubhouse, roads, grounds, vehicles, terrain … everything you need for the raid. I tried everything I could to get to T-Rex, but they got tighter security than the White House.”
Tank gave him a pained smile. As the second youngest member of the executive board, he’d only sat in on a few disciplinary sessions, and none involving a senior board member. “Will do.”
Zane met Jagger’s gaze full-on, felt the need to exert the small measure of control he had left. “Let’s get this over with.”
Jagger grimaced, his lips thinning into a tight line and he nodded for Gunner, responsible for disciplinary matters, to proceed.
“You disobeyed a direct order to stand down until we could all go after Viper together. Penalty is a kick out or an ass kicking.” Gunner folded his arms across his massive chest. If Zane hadn’t been so sure Jagger would take over the disciplinary session, he might have been more concerned. Gunner’s ass kickings usually involved ambulances, hospital stays, and weeks in bed being attended by the club doctor. Jagger was no lightweight, but he wasn’t Gun.
“You left the clubhouse on club business without letting anyone know where you were going,” Gunner continued. “Penalty is an ass kicking. You put a member of the executive board, namely you, in a f*cking shitload of danger. Penalty is a kick out or an ass kicking. Since you brought some useful intel and you got a good history with the club, the board has decided on an ass kicking delivered by Jagger out back at the shooting range.”
“Agreed.” Zane shrugged off his cut, folded it, and handed it to Tank. Then he followed the rest of the board, who had come as witnesses, to the back of the clubhouse.
“I f*cking hate you for this,” Jagger murmured as they walked through the long grass. “Last f*cking thing I want to do. You couldn’t have waited one damn f*cking day?”
“If I’d waited, we would have been slaughtered. They had at least fifty men on the grounds and I think I saw some heavy artillery. They would have blown us up before we even left the main road.”
Jagger exhaled a long breath. “I’ll have to call National about it. Where the hell did they get that kind of weaponry? Once word gets out, the ATF will be breathing down all our necks something fierce. No one will be able to do anything around here.”
Their movement tripped the motion detectors, lighting the vast grass-covered space they used as a shooting range, and for the monthly fights they set up with the local support clubs.
His brothers formed a circle and Zane grabbed Jagger’s arm before stepping inside. “Just so you know. We’re tight.” He didn’t want Jagger to worry that this would affect their friendship. He had gone on the hunt, knowing what waited for him when he returned.