The Sinner’s Tribe Motorcycle Club, Books 1-3 by Sarah Castille Page A

honor of the club.
    â€œOkay.” Her strangled whisper deepened his frown and he drew her closer, until she could feel the heat of his body, inhale the intoxicating scent of his cologne.
    â€œThey were patched in before my time,” he continued, although he owed her no explanation. “Most of the brothers who didn’t share my philosophy left the club when I became president. Axle and his supporters stayed, thinking my first term as president would be my last.”
    â€œThey obviously didn’t know you well.”
    His face softened at last and his lips quirked at the corners. He liked the flattery, she realized, even if it was tongue-in-cheek, and she enjoyed making him smile. Maybe too much.
    â€œAnd you do?”
    â€œI know men like you.” And yet she’d never felt so at ease with a man as powerful and dominant as Jagger—not that many of those existed. She still couldn’t believe the way she was speaking to him—challenging, sarcastic, teasing—and she marveled at the words that were coming out of her mouth.
    Jagger gave her a slow, appraising glance and then turned away. “There are no men like me.” He led her to a bike at the end of the row closest to the house, and pulled a small first aid kit from his saddlebag.
    â€œAre you sure? You run this MC like every other outlaw club. There are only two penalties for breaking the rules: an ass-kicking or a kick-out with an ass-kicking on the side. You rule through violence and intimidation like any other MC president. The blood patches on your cut attest to that.”
    â€œDon’t judge me, Arianne.” His voice sharpened with warning. “If what you told me is true, and you grew up in this world, then you, of all people, should understand it. Maybe even better than me. Most of the Sinners are ex-military. They are violent men used to being led with a heavy hand. If I let one step out of line, I’ll have a situation out of control. No law. No order. And that would put civilians at risk. I can’t let that happen. Hell, it was the reason I became president in the first place.”
    â€œNot ambition and a burning need for power?” She gave him an incredulous look and Jagger laughed, defusing the tension.
    â€œThat, too.” He opened a disinfectant wipe and gently patted the tiny cut on her throat. Disconcerted by the sudden change in his demeanor, she allowed him to minister to her, wincing at the sting when the disinfectant touched her open wound.
    Jagger froze. “I’m hurting you.”
    â€œI find it hard to believe you’d be concerned about something like that after what you just did to Axle.” She also found it hard to believe he would care enough to treat her wound personally. And how many MC presidents claimed they’d taken the throne to protect civilians?
    He finished tending to her cut in silence. Arianne waved away the little bandage he produced from the kit. “It’s just a scratch. I’ll have a little scar to add to my collection as a memento of my visit.”
    Without a word, he cupped the back of her neck with one hand, holding her still, then carefully placed the bandage over the cut, overruling her objections. His breath was warm on her cheek, his lips so close, she had only to lean forward an inch to take a little lick.
    He looked up from the dressing, caught her with his gaze, and the world faded away … She’d never been so utterly at a man’s mercy, yet it wasn’t fear that made her heart pound, but a primal, gut-wrenching desire for the one man she could never have.
    â€œ Jagger . ” She whispered his name. A plea. A request.
    Spell broken, he released her, turning away too quickly for her to see his face. “Gotta get you outta here.” He gestured to his bike and then packed the first aid kit in his saddlebag again. “Hop on.”
    â€œCVO Ultra Classic Electra Glide.” Her voice came out in