Page 20 of Blackbeard (Blackjacks MC #2)

Chapter thirteen

Blackbeard

“Earth to Blackbeard.”

I glanced up, pulled out of my reverie by Big G’s voice. He sat across the table from me and lifted his hand in a wave with a smug little smile.

“It’s nice to see you joined the land of the living like the rest of us, brother. You looked like you were a thousand miles away. Were you daydreaming about rushing home to your wife?”

I huffed and stretched my legs out.

For the past week, I had slept like a baby next to Leigh in the same bed. Which surprised the hell out of me.

She didn’t cop a feel, even though I wore nothing but my boxers. She didn’t sleep naked, hoping to tempt me. In fact, she didn’t try…anything.

And secretly, I was grateful, because spending my nights on that couch was killing my lower back.

Now, I waited in Church with the rest of my club for our monthly scheduled meeting to start. Everyone was accounted for, except for Spike who was running ten minutes late.

“Actually,” I replied to Big G. “I was thinking that I could use some extra cash. Care to join me in another round of poker?”

His smile vanished, leaning back in his chair.

“My wallet hasn’t recovered from our last game. Or the game before that.”

I chuckled.

Footsteps echoed in the hall. Then Spike veered around the corner, tugging a sleeveless T-shirt over his head and buckling his belt.

“About damn time,” Gatling grumbled.

“Can’t blame me, brother,” Spike quipped, dropping into the last empty chair beside him. “If you weren’t such an antisocial hermit, you would understand how difficult it is to tear yourself out of the arms of a club bunny. Or two. Or three.”

Gatling rolled his eyes and sighed.

“Are you allergic to committed relationships?”

Spike snorted.

“I’m surprised you even know what those words mean. Weren’t you some folklore cryptid in your little backwater Virginia hometown because you fucked off into the woods for months at a time?”

Gatling clenched his jaw and his sharp blue eyes went icy cold. Kingpin noticed the rising tension and grabbed his gavel, bringing the meeting to order.

“Be civil, boys,” he warned. “No bloodshed in Church.”

Before Kingpin could continue, a series of buzzing sounds emanated from the basket on the end table by the door.

Club rules stated that meetings in Church required respect and focus. No interruptions. No phone calls from wives or girlfriends. No sexting under the table when club business was being discussed.

Which meant that we left our phones in that basket by the door. After the meeting was over, we would get them back.

The buzzing continued. Kingpin’s gaze flicked toward it.

He had a wife at home. A pregnant wife. The club was important, but if Hattie went into premature labor, the meeting would have to wait.

“Vlad,” he said, tipping his head toward the door. “Take a look, would you?”

Pushing his chair back, Vlad rose, crossed the room to the basket, and peered inside. He frowned and dumped the basket in the middle of our table.

The same text marked every man’s phone screen. From Hattie.

SOS .

“Go,” Kingpin said.

In the blink of an eye, the club moved like one entity—streaming out of the room without jostling or bumping against each other.

Something was wrong. Very wrong. And we could all sense it.

If Hattie had a concern or a problem with her pregnancy, she would have contacted Kingpin, or her sister. But she texted that distress signal to all of us, and Hattie was too practical to cry wolf. She wouldn’t raise the alarm like this unless she had a good reason.

Crash emerged from the bathrooms, wearing yellow rubber gloves up to his elbows, carrying a bucket of soapy water and a sponge—part of his six-month sentence to scrub the toilets until they gleamed.

“Hey, what are you guys doing? I thought you were having a meeting.”

“Hold down the fort, kid,” Big G called back. “Hattie needs help. We’ll let you know when we find out more.”

Crash stood there, watching us leave.

“Okay,” he said in a small voice. “I hope she’s all right...”

Within one minute, we were on the road, speeding toward Hattie and Kingpin’s house. The neighborhood was quiet, and the quaint little cottage they lived in didn’t seem to have anything outwardly amiss. It appeared to be a perfectly ordinary late afternoon.

Until Kingpin shoved the door open and stepped inside. I was close on his heels, with Big G and Vlad right behind me.

Seated at Kingpin’s kitchen table was Popeye, sloppily chewing a piece of steak. A member of the Forsaken flanked him on either side, standing as still and silent as statues.

Hattie lingered near the stove, wearing yoga pants and a maternity white blouse, one hand resting on her swollen stomach protectively.

When she glanced in our direction, she was calm though wary and uncertain.

She had enough experience with club life that it wasn’t unusual for her house to be full of bikers like this, so she knew how to handle it.

“Good afternoon, brother,” Popeye said brightly. “Thank you for joining us.”

Kingpin moved to Hattie’s side instantly and slipped an arm around her waist.

“I’m okay,” she whispered. “He said you were expecting him, but…”

She saw right through that lie. Kingpin would never invite the Forsaken to his private home, especially when he wasn’t there to be by his wife’s side.

Popeye continued to carve into his steak with a knife. The anchor tattoo on his forearm flexed and twitched with every movement. He stabbed a bite of meat and waved his fork at Kingpin.

“Your lovely wife informed me that these steaks were dropped off by a member of your club,” he said, gesturing to the plate of meat at the center of the table. “My compliments to the chef, whoever you are.”

“That would be me,” Tex said through gritted teeth.

He had a wife and a son of his own at home. It must have killed him to see the food he’d prepared specifically for an expecting mother to be greedily taken by a Forsaken.

Popeye ignored him, acting like he didn’t even hear Tex speak at all.

“Pull up a chair,” he said to Kingpin. “Have some meat. Let’s talk.”

I seethed at how brazen these Forsaken were. Just because we shared territory with them now didn’t mean they had access to our personal lives around the clock. I didn’t waltz into any of my brothers’ homes without being invited or asking permission, and I’d known several of them for years.

“If you have something to say,” Kingpin countered with steel in his voice. “You come to me. Not my wife. Not my house. We discuss it over a beer, or in Church. Not at my fucking kitchen table.”

A small smile curled the corner of Popeye’s mouth up.

“We’re all family here now, remember? Or do I need to refresh your memory that your Vice President is married to my daughter?”

Kingpin’s nostrils flared with irritation.

“What do you want?”

Popeye sniffed and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, despite the napkin tucked next to his plate.

“I need a favor.”

I huffed a dry laugh of disbelief and crossed my arms.

“And you think this is the way to go about it? Hattie doesn’t need your bullshit.”

Popeye waved me off.

“Keep raising a fuss, son. All you’re doing is dragging out this visit and making it longer than it needs to be.”

Oh, fuck the bastard sideways. Legally, he was my father-in-law, but I certainly wouldn’t be feeling any warmth or positive regard for him anytime soon.

Popeye pushed his plate away, picking his teeth with the tip of his knife.

“For many years, I’ve been a close friend of the Makarov family,” he said.

“Russian mafia,” Vlad grunted, to my left. With his own Russian ties, he would know what we were dealing with here, better than anyone else. “Wealthy. Connected. Based out of Denver, last I heard.”

“Vicious sons of bitches, too,” Big G put in. “I’ve seen their handiwork—sadistic stuff.”

“Exactly,” Popeye said. “They’re powerful, influential people, and they don’t like to be crossed. They’ve asked me to deliver a shipment of guns for them, to a dealer here in Montana.”

I closed my eyes and stifled a groan. I knew where this was going and I didn’t like it.

“Let me guess,” I said. “You have to go through Brightwater in order to do it.”

Popeye grinned and pointed his knife at me.

“Smart man.”

Kingpin pressed his lips into a thin line.

“What you’re asking is more than a favor. It’s club business. Not to be discussed around my wife.”

Popeye spread his hands.

“No need to discuss anything, brother. We share the same territory now. I don’t have to ask your permission anymore. The Forsaken will take care of it. I’m simply extending the courtesy of letting you know what’s going down.”

Fuck, this was really not good.

Popeye wasn’t proposing anything. He was doing this, and he didn’t give a shit if we approved or not.

“I thought you came here to ask for a favor,” I replied.

“Well, yes, I did,” he said. “I could use you boys for backup on this run. The Makarovs are slippery snakes. Everyone knows that. And I’m a little wary about going into business with them.”

“Then call it off,” Vlad grumbled. “Don’t do it.”

“There’s a payout,” Popeye said. “Fifty grand to every man who agrees to help.”

The room went dead silent. I could have heard a pin drop.

Fifty thousand dollars. For each of us. We wouldn’t even have to split it. Only an idiot passed up an opportunity like that.

“Nobody throws around that much cash unless the stakes are high and the demons of hell are yapping at their heels,” Big G pointed out. “The higher the payoff, the more likely you could get caught. Or killed.”

“It’s not without risk, I admit that,” Popeye said. “FBI and CIA have been sniffing around the Makarovs for a while. You boys are used to small town gigs. But this is big league stuff.”

He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender and pushed his chair back, standing up.

“Now, if you can’t handle that kind of pressure, I understand. You’re tough guys, but maybe this is outside of your wheelhouse.”

I clenched my hands into fists, resisting the urge to punch Popeye’s teeth to the back of his throat for baiting us so blatantly.

Kingpin scrubbed the back of his neck. He had a pregnant wife to think about, and bringing a notorious Russian mafia family through his little mountain town sounded like more trouble than it was worth, even with the fat bundle of cash that accompanied it.

“What timeframe are you working with?” he asked.

“The Makarovs want a response within forty-eight hours,” Popeye said. “They need to know how many men they’re working with—a headcount, so to speak, for payment purposes.”

I sucked in a hissing breath through my teeth. Shit, this was tight. Too tight. Too soon. We had to think it over, weigh the pros and cons.

“The delivery takes place in two weeks,” Popeye added, for an extra kick to the gut. “Whether you’re there or not.”

“You’ve got to be kidding ,” Big G said.

“Fine,” Kingpin said.

I glanced at him in surprise.

“Every brother in my club has to make that decision for himself,” Kingpin added. “I’ll give you a list of volunteers in twenty-four hours.”

Popeye nodded.

“See? I knew that marriage contract was a good idea. We’re getting along already.”

No one said anything as Popeye walked out. Even when he was gone, a heavy silence settled over the house. Kingpin pulled Hattie close, kissing her temple. She released a sigh of relief.

“I’m okay, Neil, I promise,” she said softly.

“You should get some rest,” he replied, clasping her hand. “This much stress isn’t good for you or the baby.”

“Worry wart.” Hattie cast a small smile up at him, patting his chest. “I’ll go lay down for a nap. It sounds like you boys have a lot to talk about.”

I waited until she was out of earshot when I rounded on Kingpin.

“That was a quick decision on your part to get involved here,” I said.

“The other option was to let the Forsaken run wild in our town without supervision,” Kingpin replied evenly, meeting my gaze.

I had to admit, that would have been worse.

“This way,” he continued. “We will be breathing down their necks. And if they screw us over, we’ll throw them to those Russian snakes.”