“The magazine holds thirteen. You missed thirteen shots?”
“Maybe I emptied it out earlier when I used your bike for target practice.” Zane pushed his chair away from the table. If Gunner wanted a fight, he’d get a fight. Something to liven up an otherwise dull meeting, and take Zane’s mind off the woman who had dominated his thoughts all week.
“Stand down.” Jagger shoved Zane back in his chair. “Gunner, take a seat. I’m not paying to have this bar redone again. The Jacks did enough damage the night they came here after Arianne.”
“Fucking Jacks,” Zane mumbled. And they were. Fucking. Jacks. They’d shot up Rider’s Bar in retribution for the Sinners blowing up their ice house, and only Arianne’s timely intervention and skill with a weapon had saved the bar from being totally destroyed.
“Fucking Axle,” Gunner said as he settled back in his chair.
“He’s like a cockroach.” Cade drained his glass. “No matter what we do, he keeps coming back. We can’t catch him. We can’t kill him—”
Gunner cut him off with a snort. “He’s been at Big Bill’s shop twice in the last few days. There’s something there he wants which means he’s gonna be back. This time, I’ll be there waiting for him. I don’t mind keeping watch, especially if that cute little detailer is around. Man, she’s got the sweetest little ass, and those jugs…”
Zane pushed himself up so fast his chair fell backwards. He didn’t want any of the Sinners around Evie. Although she was married, he knew his brothers, and some of them weren’t deterred by things like wedding rings or kids.
“Christ. Not again. Get a fucking grip.” Jagger held out an arm, blocking Zane’s path to a stunned Gunner.
“She’s an old friend.” Jagger raised his voice over Ted Nugent’s “Cat Scratch Fever,” now blasting through the speakers. “Zane and I both knew her growing up. So no disrespect.”
Gunner held up his hands in a placating gesture. “No disrespect intended, brothers.”
Still primed and ready for a fight, Zane turned and pounded his fist into the wall, leaving a dent beside the many other dents from the many other bikers who came to the bar to drown their sorrows and vent their rage during a war that had seen far too many causalities.
“I agree with Gun.” Jagger folded his hands on the table as if Zane wasn’t about to explode beside him. “We need someone posted inside Big Bill’s shop during work hours and someone outside when it’s closed over the next few days. It’s our best shot at catching Axle. Evie said he was there for personal reasons. I’ll give her a call to see if she’ll give me any more information, but she’s reluctant to talk because both the Jacks and the Sinners are potential clients for her.”
Zane opened his mouth to ask Jagger to handle the surveillance personally, and closed it again when he remembered the kiss that had started it all, and the night he’d discovered that there was pain worse than the abuse he had suffered at the hands of his father. Although nine years had passed, and Jagger had found the other half of his soul with Arianne, Zane didn’t think his heart could go through that kind of pain again.
“I’ll do it.” Zane settled back in his chair. “Shooter can stay outside and I’ll take the inside watch.”
“You sure? I need someone to check out the local support clubs for puppet Jacks.” Jagger lifted an eyebrow, giving Zane an out if he wanted it.
“Yeah. Although maybe not first thing in the morning, ’cause I don’t think I’m gonna be able to get out of bed.”
Jagger clapped him on the back. “Shooter will take you back to the clubhouse. He’s waiting outside with the bikes. I couldn’t let him come in because last time he almost shot the place up when he saw some dude at the bar wearing a TV show cut.”
“That boy’s got a serious gun problem,” Zane said. “He carries more weapons on him than Cade had notches on his belt before hooking up with Dawn. Sometimes I wonder how he stands upright.”
“Well then it’s a good thing he’ll be your second.” Gunner raised a challenging eyebrow. “No risk that boy’s gonna run out of ammo.”
“Fuck you.” Zane steadied himself with the back of the chair. Holy Hell. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this drunk. Usually he stopped at one drink, sometimes two, because he didn’t want to impair his ability to ride. Well, he’d kicked that record under the table tonight.
“Easy, brother.” Jagger steadied him with a firm hand. “You need a good night’s sleep.”
“Haven’t had a good night’s sleep in nine fucking years,” he mumbled, half to himself. “I doubt I’m gonna start tonight.”