“Viper.” Arianne’s hand flew to her parted lips. “I can’t believe he’s here.”
He stalked directly to them, his cut worn and heavy with patches, swaying slightly over his barrel chest. His hair was black, fading to gray, and long, just brushing the top of his cut. A thick salt-and-pepper beard shadowed his jaw. Taller than Jagger. Wider than Bear. His arms were thick with ropy muscles, and covered in colorful tats. When the Black Jack president swaggered to a stop, Jagger counted six gold rings, three on each hand, the largest a snake’s head with ruby eyes.
Up close, Viper’s face was broad and scarred, his nose crooked and his expression one of pure brutality. Cold, dark eyes fixed on Jagger, showing no glimmer of emotion. Fierce and formidable, yes, but aging, too, as borne out by the lines of hard living etched into his face, and the slight rounding of his broad shoulders. And yet his sheer palpable presence cowed even the men standing closest to him. Power radiated off him, a storm, barely contained.
They studied each other, eyes locked on each other, neither willing to cede the power position by being the first to speak.
Finally, Viper gave an exasperated sigh. “Jagger.”
“Viper.”
“You got something belongs to me.”
Jagger could almost feel the cords twanging in his neck. “You got the bastard who burned down my clubhouse and shot my brother?”
Viper looked back over his shoulder. “Bring the fucking prisoner.”
Motionless by Jagger’s elbow, Arianne sucked in a sharp breath. Although curious about her reaction, Jagger didn’t dare take his gaze off Viper. This was a game he was playing to win.
A few minutes later, a young blond biker joined them, his cut worn but patch-free and hanging off his rail-thin body. His face was a mess of cuts and bruises, his bottom lip split, one eye swollen shut, and his left ear swathed in bandages. He carried himself awkwardly, as if every breath pained him, and from the beating he clearly had taken, maybe it did.
Viper dropped his gaze to the blond biker, and his lip curled in a snarl. “I told you to bring the fucking prisoner.”
“He can’t walk.”
Viper cuffed the lad and he staggered to the side, stumbling over a discarded soda can. Arianne growled—a sound so soft, only Jagger could hear it. Was that her brother? He looked nothing like Arianne and bore no resemblance to Viper either.
“Bring him anyway. Leo, give him a hand.”
They waited in silence until Leo and the blond dude returned, dragging a man behind them, his face badly battered and his thick red hair matted with blood. Arianne’s barely audible sigh of relief gave Jagger pause, but this wasn’t the time for questions.
“There you go,” Leo said as they lowered the unconscious man on the ground.
“This the guy who torched our clubhouse?”
“This is him,” Bear interjected, his voice thick with derision. “Acted without authorization. You can see what Viper thought of that.”
“Did he shrink over the last few weeks?” Scenting victory, Jagger licked his lips.
A puzzled Bear shot a glance at Viper and then his lips pressed into a white slash. “What the fuck?”
Jagger’s hand slid into his cut, and his fingers closed over cold steel. “We have video surveillance. Not great, but he doesn’t resemble any of the men we caught on camera.”
“This is fucking bullshit. We held up our end of the bargain.” Leo gestured to Arianne. “Hand over Viper’s property.”
Arianne bristled. “I’m not property. I don’t belong to anyone.”
Viper’s eyes glittered with malice as they slid to Arianne. “You belong to me.”
Christ. Jagger couldn’t imagine a young girl growing up with a father like Viper. Or a boy, for that matter. At the very least, the children would be starved for affection, and at most … well, he’d seen her scars. Some of them.
“You don’t accept him?” Viper gestured to the prisoner on the ground, and Jagger’s throat constricted. The man was in serious need of medical attention, but Jagger couldn’t take him when he clearly wasn’t the perpetrator of the crime. To so do would make him look weak not just to the Jacks, but to his own men as well. No doubt Viper would abandon him here, and they could call an ambulance after everyone had gone.
Jagger barked a laugh. “Some random dude who’s likely pissed you off? No.”
“Jeff.” Viper’s bark drew the blond biker to his side. So this was Arianne’s brother. She hadn’t lied when she said he was the opposite of Viper, nor had she lied about the drugs. He had the same sunken eyes and gaunt look he’d seen in the brothers he’d kicked out when they hadn’t been able to beat their addiction.
“Kill him.”
Jeff blanched and his voice rose to a whine. “You told me I just had to beat him up.”
“Now I’m telling you to kill him.” Viper gave an irritated snarl “We have no use for him. Sinners don’t want him.”