Page 6 of Beyond the Cut
“Yeah.”
“You tell Jagger?”
Puzzled, she frowned. “Why would I tell Jagger?”
But T-Rex already had his cell in his hand. “We’re supposed to call in if we see Cade or hear anything about him. He sent a text to Jagger saying he was up at a warehouse in the North West checking out a Brethren sighting. He didn’t report back. I figured he probably just hooked up with some chick and…” He cut himself off with a grimace. “Sorry.”
“No problem. It’s not like we’re together. I’m sure he was with some ‘chick.’” But she wasn’t so sure. Could Jimmy have hurt Cade? Although Jimmy hadn’t made any effort to drag her back to the clubhouse after she ran away—he had someone new to warm his bed the next day—he’d told her through Shelly-Ann he would kill anyone who touched her. And Jimmy wasn’t one to make idle threats.
“Actually…” She hesitated, not wanting to share her business, but sufficiently concerned to give him the most relevant information. “He saw Jimmy ‘Mad Dog’ Sanchez, VP of the Devil’s Brethren, outside St. Francis Xavier’s School about three-thirty this afternoon and went chasing after him. They headed north on Twenty-Seventh Avenue.”
T-Rex texted her information and then looked up. “How do you know Mad Dog, or the Devil’s Brethren? I thought you were just a civilian.”
Damn. She’d managed to keep her past a secret from all but her closest friends. The last thing she wanted was Jagger breathing down her neck, hounding her for details of an enemy MC. Arianne described Jagger as a sensual, loving, caring man, but all Dawn saw was a powerful, violent, ruthless biker who would let nothing stand in the way of his goals. And Arianne had been one of them.
“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 readRUSTYput 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.
