Chaos Bound by Sarah Castille Page A

concrete. Gunner. Six foot six of pure muscle. Not even Tank’s rage could loosen Gunner’s hold.
    “Fuck.” Jagger’s voice was raw, thick with emotion. “Tank, stand down. Let Dax get as much information from him as he can, and then you can have him. And I promise you, T-Rex will be avenged. You have my word.” He turned to Benson, his face tight with pain and anger. “Find Sparky. He and Gun found the body during our raid on the Black Jack clubhouse. I want to know if it’s possible they made a mistake.”
    “Gimme twenty minutes.” Benson headed for the door. “Sparky’s at the shop.”
    Sparky, the Sinners’ road chief, responsible for maintaining the club vehicles, ran a garage at the edge of town with Jagger’s old lady, Arianne, a journeyman mechanic.
    “You got ten,” Jagger bit out. “Maybe seven if I lose my patience with this Black Jack bastard.”
    “He’s not gonna say anything different than we told you before.” Gunner tightened his grip on Tank as if he knew Tank was still not in control. “We found T-Rex’s medallion on the floor beside a body that was the same height and build as T-Rex. His face had been so badly beaten he was unrecognizable, but our sources had confirmed that T-Rex was in that dungeon.”
    “Bring him anyway,” Jagger snapped. “I won’t leave a stone unturned.”
    Now that he’d had a moment to cool off, and Snake was lying in a bloody heap on the floor, Tank’s tension eased. “I’ll stand down. You have my word.”
    Jagger nodded, and Gunner released him right away. A biker’s word was his bond. And Tank had given his word only because of Jagger’s promise to avenge his friend. Not that they hadn’t attacked the Jacks already. After T-Rex was abducted they turned up the heat, going after the Jacks on all fronts, trying to break the Jacks’ stranglehold on the lower-level clubs in the state. And although the executive board that ran the Sinner’s Tribe MC had decreed their actions were for T-Rex, the attacks were politically motivated and strategically executed. Tank wanted something just for T-Rex. Something that would have made his friend smile.
    Something personal.

 
    FIVE
    Should she stay or should she go?
    Naiya looked from the motel room door to the bathroom and back again. With the shower going, Holt wouldn’t hear the door close. She had enough money from Larry to pay for a cab and find another motel for the night. In the morning she could go to the bank, withdraw her savings, call Ally or Maurice, then jump on a bus heading across the state line. Away from Montana. Away from Viper. Away from Holt.
    What would Holt do if she left? Despite the fact he’d crossed the room without her help, she could see the pain etched on his face with every step. He needed medical attention and she couldn’t understand why he didn’t contact his club. Not only that, she owed him a debt. No way could she have escaped the dungeon without him. And she didn’t know anyone who could do what he did. Her loose association with the Black Jacks had taught her how ineffectual the police could be when it came to biker politics. Aside from leaving the state, if she wanted protection from Viper, she needed the Sinners and Holt was their man.
    A man who’d gone to take a shower, although he could barely stand, and she still hadn’t heard the water. She crossed the room and knocked on the door.
    “You okay in there, Holt? You need a hand.”
    “S’good.” His voice was faint, far away, and she felt a twinge of guilt at the thought of leaving him alone.
    Sticking with Holt wasn’t an entirely unpalatable idea. Yeah, he was battered, bruised, and broken. But that hadn’t stopped him from doing what they needed to do to escape. He’d been resourceful, strong, and cunning. And she had to admit, riding behind him on the bike as they raced away from the Black Jack clubhouse had been just about the most thrilling experience of her life. At least until he’d crashed.