The Sinner’s Tribe Motorcycle Club, Books 1-3 (48 page)

“I am just a civilian, and one who had better get back to work.” She forced a smile and then quickly wove her way through the tables to the far end of the bar, away from T-Rex and his questioning looks, and out of range of a possible phone call from Jagger.

Although
 … Her hand dropped as she considered an option she had quickly dismissed in the past. Now that the wheels had been set in motion—Jimmy crossing the uncrossable line, Cade finding out about their relationship—maybe now was the time to ask for Jagger's help. No one in Montana except possibly Arianne's father, Viper, president of the Black Jacks MC, wielded as much power or had as much influence in Montana's criminal underworld as Jagger.

But why would he help her? Arianne's friendship wouldn't be enough for him to put any of the Sinners at risk. She needed more—leverage, a connection—something that would make it worth his while or call upon his sense of duty. And she'd have to give something back. Favors—or marks, as bikers called them—weren't free. They came at a steep price, and that price took her right back into the biker world she was determined to leave behind. Not only that, she had nothing to offer.

*   *   *

Fuck.

Cade tried to stretch the cramp out of his legs, but the Brethren had done a good job of hog-tying him before throwing him in the back of the van. At least they hadn't broken any bones when they'd jumped him in the warehouse. Six against one was hardly fair, especially in the dark. Three he could have handled. Maybe four.

But that's what he got for his arrogance. If he'd had any sense, he would have waited for backup before he entered the building. Now he could only hope the Sinners would find him before the Brethren decided he was worth more dead than alive. Killing him and dumping his body would send a powerful message, although he still couldn't understand how they thought they could take on his club.

Unless they weren't working alone.

He gritted his teeth as the van rattled over the bumpy road. Damn uncomfortable lying on the metal surface. But then he'd never thought about the comfort of the men he'd kidnapped, either.

The vehicle slowed to a stop and his heart pounded in his chest. He'd heard them arguing about what to do with him for most of the trip. Protocol, such as it was in the biker world, demanded they hand him over to their president, Wolf, to make the call. Cade didn't know any MC that would condone the kind of vigilante action these losers were contemplating. Executions were almost always at the discretion of the MC president, especially if the purpose was political.

The van doors slammed open and Cade blinked as his eyes adjusted to the light from the setting sun. Someone cut the ropes around his feet and he was hauled out of the van and pushed to his knees on the deserted gravel road. Mad Dog stood in front of him and pointed his Desert Eagle .50 at his head.

Pussy. With a fucking useless pussy weapon
.

“Say your prayers, Sinner.”

“Fuck, Mad Dog. This ain't right.” A tall, gangly redhead with a scraggly beard and a name patch that read
RUSTY
put a hand on Mad Dog's arm. “This is Wolf's call. You off him and we're in a full-out war with the Sinners. We gotta wait until the patch-over, then the Jacks will have our backs.”

Cade sucked in a sharp breath, as a memory twigged at the back of his mind. The warehouse belonged to the Black Jacks. Arianne had been kidnapped and held inside it last year. Jagger had saved her and almost lost his life. If the Jacks were letting the Brethren use the warehouse as a base, then the patch-over was a serious possibility.

Christ
. A union between the Sinner's Tribe's most powerful rival, the Jacks, and a solid midsized club like the Brethren could spell the end for his MC. The Sinners wouldn't just lose territory or their dominance of the state; the Jacks would have the muscle to hunt them down and slaughter them one by one.

He needed to get the information to Jagger ASAP. Problem was, he was tied and on his knees with a fucking gun to his head.

“It's my call.” Mad Dog spat on the ground beside Cade's knee. “This is personal, not political. He was with my old lady. He had his fucking paws on her. Probably been fucking her, too. I gotta right to protect my property.”

“Thought she wasn't your old lady no more.” A burly biker with a massive beer gut toyed with his barbecue gun, a nickel-plated fixed-sight .38 super 1911, low on functionality but nice for cowboy shooter types to show off at barbecues or social functions. “And it becomes political once you off him, whatever the reason.”

“Dammit, Trey. She's a bitch who needs to be kept in line. A man's got a right to punish his old lady. And that bitch has so much damn attitude, she needs it a lot. She thinks she's untouchable living in Conundrum, just like she thought she was untouchable when she filed for divorce. But those kids are her weakness. She wants them; she comes home to Daddy. This time tomorrow I'll be beating her into submission with a bullwhip until she learns not to defy me again, and then I'm gonna fuck her so hard she won't remember her own name.”

Son of a bitch
. Cade itched to get his hands around Mad Dog's throat. But first he needed to get his hands free.

Mad Dog's phone buzzed in his cut. He signaled to his Brethren brothers to watch Cade, and then he walked down the road as he engaged in a heated conversation with the caller. Cade continued working the ropes he'd loosened during the trip. Just another inch and he'd be able to show Mad Dog what a real beating was like.

Mad Dog returned a few minutes later, his face red and spittle bubbling at the corners of his lips.

“Wolf knows we got the Sinner. Wants us to let him go. One of you musta texted him during the drive. Who's the fucking rat?”

Silence.

Although Mad Dog wore a vice president patch, Cade hadn't been around the group long enough to ascertain just how much power he held in the club. But if one of his supporters had reported the kidnapping to Wolf behind Mad Dog's back, then he didn't have the type of loyalty that inspired leadership. Which meant he'd be trying to prove himself, making him twice as dangerous as any of the other Devil's Brethren gathered around him.

“Fuck.” Mad Dog kicked Cade in the side and Cade clenched his teeth against the pain.

“Wolf says we can rough him up a bit, but until the patch-over is a sure thing, he doesn't want to start a war with the Sinners.” His lip curled and he spat again. “Wolf is a fucking old man. He's weak. Yeah, we need the Jacks, but why would we patch over and let them swallow us up instead of becoming a support club and keeping our power? It's time for a change. Once I'm president, I'll make this club great again like it was under my old man. I'm not afraid of the damn Sinners. We got lots of new blood. I say we start a war. Bring it on.”

“You got ambition and good ideas but you gotta be patient.” Rusty held up a warning hand. “You're not gonna help your case in the election if you outright defy Wolf. You gotta show you can toe the party line until it's your fucking party. We should do as Wolf says. Beat him good and let him go.”

“But now he knows about the patch-over.” Trey cuffed Cade on the head.

Dammit to hell
. If they intended to rough him up, why not a few proper kicks and punches? Get it over with instead of pussyfooting around.

“What's he gonna do? Go to Viper and tell him it's a bad idea? Sinners can't stop a fucking patch-over. It's got nothing to do with them. And it's better this way.” Mad Dog fisted Cade's hair and yanked his head back. “Now they'll be running scared.”

“Sinners aren't scared of anything, especially not roaches like you.” Cade felt the ropes around his wrists slacken and steeled himself to wait for the perfect moment. These bastards were so going down.

“You should be scared.” Mad Dog lifted Cade's chin with the butt of his gun, forcing Cade to meet his cold, dark gaze. “Six to one on a deserted road in the mountains and your hands are tied. We might not be allowed to kill you, but we can hurt you pretty damn bad.”

 

THREE

I will strive to better my skill of self-control.

SINNER'S TRIBE CREED

Dawn jolted into consciousness when someone banged on her front door.

Heart pounding, she reached under her bed for the .22 Arianne had given her as a birthday present. Trust Arianne to give her a gun, and an unregistered one at that. Although she had often talked about living in the civilian world, Arianne was a biker through and through. And no biker would ever leave his or her house unarmed.

Well, Dawn wasn't a biker. Not anymore. And the two days of lessons at the shooting range with Arianne hadn't changed her mind. Still, it was a comfort to know that she'd be able to defend herself from the crazy person trying to break down her door at three in the morning. Or at least threaten him. She never loaded the gun because she simply wasn't prepared to kill anyone.

Weapon in hand, she raced through the living room and stood on tiptoe to peer through the peephole. At first she didn't recognize the man standing in front of her door, his face swollen and bloody, his shirt in tatters, but it was his hair, golden strands matted with blood, glinting in the semidarkness, that made her look again.

Her breath caught in her throat and she undid the dead bolt, then threw the door open. “Oh God. Cade. What happened?”

“Jesus, Dawn. Put the gun away.” He brushed past her and stalked into her tiny hallway, his clothes rank with blood and covered in dirt. “What the fuck were you doing with a piece of shit like him?”

Stunned, Dawn could only stare. “You almost break down my door at three in the morning, looking like you need to get to a hospital, to ask me that?”

“Yeah.”

“If we knew each other better,” she said, her voice tight. “If we were friends, or actually seeing each other, maybe I wouldn't be so annoyed at being pulled out of bed and ordered to explain my life choices. But we're not. We've slept together twice. We've never had a conversation that lasted more than two minutes, one minute of which consisted of deciding how we were going to have sex next. So you don't have the right to ask me that question, and unless you're in dire need of medical attention, I suggest you leave.”

By way of answer, Cade took a step forward into the living room, staggered to the side, and grabbed the back of her sofa for support. “Damn. Gimme a minute.”

With a sigh, Dawn closed and locked the door, then put the gun into her purse. “I see you've chosen door number three, ‘dire need of medical assistance.' You want me to call the Sinner doctor or take you to the local hospital?”

“No hospital.”

“Right. I forgot. Too manly for the hospital. You got a number for the club doctor?”

Cade shook his head. “No doctor. Just … water … bandages … maybe some whiskey. I'll be fine.”

Hmmm.
Fine
is obviously a relative word
. To her non-medical eye, he certainly didn't look fine. In fact, he looked like he was about to collapse, and from the way he was holding himself, he was clearly injured far beyond the cuts and bruises she could see on his face. But that was always the way with biker beatings. Why go for the small target when you could go for the big one?

“Kitchen. Now.” Dawn gestured to the small kitchen area, visible through the open breakfast bar behind the couch. Living on her own, Dawn had more than enough space in her cheap, two-bedroom bungalow rental, although the pastel decor and white rattan furniture were not really to her taste. But she wasn't meant to be living on her own. The second bedroom held twin beds and the toys Maia and Tia had left behind the day they'd been ripped from her arms by an overzealous court sheriff after the devastating court case in which she was declared an unfit mother.

Cade followed her to the kitchen, decorated in country-chic pink and mint green, and pulled out a white wicker chair from the breakfast nook. As he lowered himself to sit, Dawn grabbed a tea towel and threw it over the seat.

“Lotta blood on you. Not sure how much is fresh, and the furniture isn't mine to stain.”

“None of it since I was fighting a buncha deadbeats.” Cade grimaced. “Six of them to one of me. I used the advantage of surprise to take Mad Dog down, and then went after the better fighters. When they were all moaning on the ground, I grabbed a weapon and took off in their van.”

“I hope you parked the stolen vehicle nearby.”

“Right out front.”

“Excellent.” Sarcasm laced her tone. “Now the Brethren and the police will know where to find you.”

Dawn pulled out her first-aid kit and washed her hands in the sink. Even though he was battered and bruised, his eyes full of questions she would never answer, Cade's presence soothed the nervous flutter that was always in her stomach. There was just something about him, beyond his obvious physical strength … Maybe it was the way he filled a room with his sheer, palpable presence. Or maybe it was the way he looked at her: Like there was no one else in the room. Like she was his and woe betide any man who dared hurt her.

Or maybe it was all in her imagination.

She eyed his bloody clothing and grabbed a garbage bag from the cupboard. “You'd better strip. I'll throw your clothes in the wash. Looks like you get to spend the night in your undies on my couch.”

A smile tugged the corner of Cade's battered mouth as he undid his belt. “Will I be alone?”

“Condition you're in, you'll most definitely be alone.” She eased herself between his parted legs to help him take off his T-shirt, freezing when he winced at her touch. “Well, that just settles it.” She carefully pulled the shirt up his body. “I'm not about to take advantage of an injured man.”