“Zane, he’s yours for tonight.” Jagger’s voice cracked through the silence. “But make sure he’s fit to attend the executive board meeting in the morning to answer for his disrespect.” He tossed Axle’s gun to Zane and glowered at the crowd. “Anyone else got a problem?”
Without waiting for a response, he bent down and removed the fallen biker’s helmet. Long, dark hair spilled over the pavement in a silken wave.
“Well, damn.” Zane exhaled his words in a shocked whisper. “He’s a she. We’ve been disrespected by a fucking girl.”
No, not a girl. A woman. An angel. From Black Jack hell.
Jagger pressed his fingers to her neck, feeling for a pulse beneath her soft, cool skin. She moaned and her eyes fluttered open, startling him with an emerald-green brilliance like nothing he had ever seen before.
For an instant he couldn’t speak, and then her thick, dark lashes drifted over creamy cheeks and her head drooped to the side. Beneath the pads of his fingers, her pulse beat steady but faint. Reassured, he removed his hand. Only then did he see her injuries—long, thick, finger-shaped bruises around her neck.
With a light touch, he traced along the fine line of her jaw. Mottled black-and-blue marks extended from her temple to her chin. His eyes slid to the helmet and then back to her pale face. Definitely not injuries from the accident. For some reason he couldn’t name, he wanted to hunt down whoever had hurt her and pound him into the ground.
Ironic, really, since he might have to kill her.
TWO
Club first. Club only. Club always.
The dream was always the same: soft bed, dim light, fluffy pink duvet, homework on her desk.
Leo on top of her.
Screams and shouting. Her arms pinned. His hand yanking down her jeans. Her thrashing on the bed, a wail escaping her lips.
“Wake up.” A rough hand stroked her cheek and wiped away a tear.
Arianne’s eyes fluttered open and she squinted to adjust to the dim light, trying to make sense of her surroundings.
She tried to push herself up and then fell back on the pillow when her stomach heaved.
“Don’t move.”
Panicked, Arianne froze and peered in the direction of the deep, rich voice. She blinked to clear her vision and he came into view, leaning back on the chair beside her bed, long legs stretched out in front of him, thick arms covered with tats and folded over a massive chest. Under his cut, a Harley-Davidson T-shirt stretched taut over toned pecs and a washboard stomach. Black jeans hugged his narrow hips, and thick dark hair brushed the top of his wide shoulders. Rough and weathered, he sported at least a day’s worth of beard over his square jaw.
Delicious.
His sheer presence drew her in. No. Not presence. Power. Raw and untamed.
“Who are you?” Her voice wavered despite her best efforts to slow her pounding heart. Running and screaming would do her little good if she knew nothing about her situation.
“Jagger.”
“Jagger?” The name was familiar, but with her brain still fuzzy she couldn’t place him. In fact, she couldn’t place anything. Not even herself. She forced her mind backward, trying to pinpoint her last memory.
“Maybe this will help.”
He removed his cut and spun it around, holding it up to give her a good view of the back. She recognized the three-piece patch at once: a winged skull set above flames, with two stars on either side and two curved rockers above and below, proclaiming the name of his club and the chapter.
THE SINNER’S TRIBE MC.
She was going to die.
And on the very day she had planned to escape this life forever. Gritting her teeth, Arianne forced back a whimper. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of begging for her life. Death with dignity. She would make her mother proud. And her father, too, if he was even capable of that emotion.
Jagger grimaced and shrugged on the cut, his fingers brushing over the patch identifying him as president. “Looks like you know who we are.“
Blood pounded in her throat and she dipped her chin. Who didn’t know the Conundrum chapter of the Sinner’s Tribe, the dominant outlaw MC in Montana, and one of the top outlaw MCs in the country? The club boasted nine hundred members across the northern United States alone. Archenemies of the Black Jacks MC in which she had been born and raised, the Sinner’s Tribe were unequaled in size or power in Montana. And Jagger was their king.
A sickening wave of terror cleared the fog from her brain. Everything came back in a rush. All her hard work to save enough money to procure false passports and new identities for her and Jeff. Favors pulled to arrange for them to get to Canada under the Black Jacks’ radar. The excitement of knowing they would finally be free from their father, Viper; the Black Jacks; and the biker world. And then Jeff’s text: he wasn’t coming. Viper had caught him on his way out and sent him with a team of Jacks to torch the Sinner’s Tribe’s clubhouse and steal a shipment of weapons.