Page 27 of Blackbeard (Blackjacks MC #2)

Chapter eighteen

Leigh

The first blush of dawn touched the horizon with a rosy glow. I sat on the curb outside the Blackjacks clubhouse, shivering, my breath frosting in the chilly air. My blazer wasn’t substantial enough to provide any warmth, but I couldn't bear the tension inside anymore.

So I stayed here, knees huddled to my chest, watching the first cars trickle by for the morning commute as Brightwater began to wake up and start the day.

The squeal of metal hinges signaled someone had opened the clubhouse door behind me. I didn’t turn around as the tread of boots on the pavement came closer.

“Coffee?”

I tilted my head back, looking up at Blackbeard. He held out a steaming mug of black coffee. My throat tightened, so I didn’t say anything and simply accepted it, wrapping my hands around the warmth.

He settled on the curb beside me, stretching his legs out.

“It was a pretty ballsy move to impersonate a federal agent in front of two dozen cops,” he said.

I huffed a dry laugh.

“Marrying you was a ballsy move, too,” I replied.

“Yes, it was.”

I studied the depths of my coffee, wishing the dark liquid held some answers to what my future might look like after this.

My father and his club were going to jail.

The Blackjacks wanted nothing to do with me now that they knew I had been planted here intentionally to betray them.

The only good outcome was the fact that I had managed to prevent a blood bath with the Makarovs.

Leaving the shipment of guns with the cops would have made the Makarovs furious, losing all that cash to law enforcement.

The Forsaken would be sitting ducks behind prison walls and the Blackjacks would be looking over their shoulders, waiting for the inevitable hit from the Russian mafia.

So I returned the guns to the Makarovs, mustering up the most charming apology I had ever given in my life. I won them over. Barely. They weren’t exactly thrilled that our agreement fell through, but it was better than dealing with cops on their ass.

"How did you get that video?" Blackbeard asked.

I shrugged.

"All it takes is a little cash to the right snitch. My dad taught me that trick."

Blackbeard hummed with approval.

"And I suppose you'll need a place to stay."

My heart squeezed. I blew out a breath and glanced away, blinking hard.

When I made this decision, I knew I was burning both bridges. There wouldn’t be a seat at the table for me among the Blackjacks or the Forsaken.

But I couldn’t live with myself, sending Blackbeard to prison. His family needed him. And I…

I loved him.

“Yep,” I replied. “I already called a motel and booked a room for the week. So, I just need to pack my bags. Then I’ll be out of your hair.”

Blackbeard made a thoughtful noise.

“Seems unnecessary, don’t you think?”

I turned to look at him, confused. He shrugged.

“My wife once told me that my bed is big enough for the two of us.”

My wife.

Fuck, I loved hearing him say that. But our contract was no longer valid. Blackbeard was free. He didn’t have to call me that anymore. Hell, he didn’t have to breathe a word to me or acknowledge my existence.

And yet…he was willing to let me share his bed, his home.

“I’m not your wife anymore, Diego,” I whispered, my voice trembling.

Blackbeard reached over and took my hand, thumbing at the ring on my finger.

“You’re still wearing my ring though.”

I set aside the cup of coffee and began twisting the ring off. Blackbeard sheltered my hands in his palms.

“You’ve met my family,” he said. “You know I would burn the world to the ground if it meant keeping them safe.”

“I feel the same way about my father.” I swallowed hard, my eyes growing misty. “But he wouldn’t do the same for me. So I burned my world for you instead.”

He nodded in understanding, kissing my knuckles, my fingertips.

“The Blackjacks want you gone,” he said.

I expected that. But it still hurt to hear it.

“I’d like the chance to marry my wife properly though,” he added. “If that’s okay with you.”

My breath hitched and I stared at him in disbelief.

“Why would you…?”

“My life was very full before you came along,” he replied. “I didn’t need to be married. I didn’t feel like I was missing anything. But there would be a massive hole in my life if you left now. And I know that I can’t fall in love a third time. It wouldn’t happen. I want you, or no one at all.”

“What about the Blackjacks?” I protested. “They’ve made it very clear they didn’t like you marrying me before. I can’t imagine that sentiment has changed.”

Blackbeard sighed.

“Well, you’re not wrong. It will be a very long road to earn their trust. Some of them may never warm up to you, and you have to be prepared for that. But I’ll make sure that they treat you right as my Old Lady.”

I chewed the inside of my cheek, deliberating. It was a tempting offer. Was I being delusional to consider it though? Blackbeard had endured a lot of tension in his club because of my presence. That would only get worse now that they knew the truth about me.

On the other hand, I didn’t have anywhere else to go. No family, no friends, no club.

But Blackbeard was here beside me. While everyone had turned their backs, he held out his hand with an open invitation.

“Okay,” I said softly. “Take me home.”

I gulped down the wave of nausea boiling at the back of my throat. The blonde wig I wore made my scalp itch, but I resisted the urge to scratch it. I needed my disguise to be convincing. If any officers at the station recognized me as the fake FBI agent, I was done for.

Releasing a steadying breath, I forced myself to stay calm. I sat in the visitor’s booth, waiting for my father to be brought out.

I hadn’t told anyone—not even Blackbeard—that I came here to see Dad. I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but I needed to handle it on my own. I made this mess. I had to deal with the consequences.

Two minutes later, a security guard led my father to the booth with the glass pane between us. I managed a small, hopeful smile as he took a seat. Dad’s expression remained stony, showing nothing but cold disinterest.

He looked like he’d aged ten years in just five days. Gray stubble, frizzy hair, sallow skin. And that orange jumpsuit wasn’t doing him any favors. He looked so much better, stronger, in his leather cut.

I picked up the phone attached to the wall and waited for Dad to do the same.

He didn’t budge.

I tapped the glass and pointed at his phone.

Dad merely blinked slowly with dead eyes.

I flattened my palm to the glass. He wouldn’t be able to hear me if I tried to talk to him.

Well, this was par for the course. How many times had I been in this exact same position?

He was too busy to pick up the phone. He didn’t have time to call me back. The club kept him busy. The club was his priority.

“I was your sacrifice,” I said. “You claimed that you did all this for me, but…I didn’t care about territory or turf wars. I wanted my dad. I wanted you to pick up the fucking phone when I called but you didn’t. Just like you’re doing now.”

I gestured, indicating his silence.

“I wanted to save you,” I said. “For what that’s worth. Whether you believe it or not. But the thing is…you never tried to save me. So I chose to save the man who actually loves me instead.”

A muscle twitched in Dad’s jaw. He pushed his chair back and rose to his feet. Glancing over his shoulder, I saw his mouth move as he said something to the guard.

Then he was ushered out of the room. And I hung up the phone in silence.

I returned to my Jeep and pulled off my wig, driving through town on autopilot. Had I expected that visit to go any differently? Did I think my father would be understanding and forgiving that I had turned against him?

When I stepped into Blackbeard’s house, I let my purse slide off my shoulder and fall to the floor.

“Is that you, princess?”

The sizzle of cooking food emanated from the kitchen. A spicy scent lingered in the air—cayenne, meat, and black pepper. My chest tightened. It smelled like a home, with dinner on the stove, and someone I loved, calling for me from another room.

Blackbeard rounded the corner, carrying a plate of steak fajitas with a side of pico de gallo, and cilantro rice. He screeched to a stop when he spotted me standing there, frozen in place as tears streamed down my face.

“He wouldn’t talk to me,” I whispered.

“Who?” he asked, bewildered.

“Dad. I visited him. At the police station. I just wanted…”

I didn’t know what I wanted. To see him one last time? To explain why I did it? To justify my reason for betraying my own father? Did I really think he would ever understand, let alone accept what I’d done?

Blackbeard set the plate on the end table by the door and wrapped his arms around me. He cradled the back of my head in his palm, tucking my face into his shoulder so tenderly. And I sobbed, dry heaving through the grief that had settled in my belly for days.

It took three months before the Blackjacks allowed me to set foot in their clubhouse again. And only to serve drinks for a few hours on the weekend.

Baby Doll slid onto a bar stool and propped her elbows on the counter.

“So,” she said. “I think it’s time we had that talk.”

“What talk?” I asked.

“The one where I threaten to break your kneecaps if you break Diego’s heart,” she said brightly.

I stifled a sigh and busied myself wiping down the counter. This was part of the deal. Blackbeard had warned me. People weren’t going to trust me easily for a long time.

“Since he’s my best friend,” Baby Doll continued. “It’s my duty to say these things.”

“I understand,” I said.

A diplomatic answer with no heat or sarcasm to it. I wasn’t interested in picking any fights tonight or getting a rise out of anyone. I promised Blackbeard I would be on my best behavior and I intended to keep that promise.

Baby Doll leaned over the counter with a sparkle in her eye.

“It’s also my duty to show you embarrassing pictures of him that I keep stashed on my phone for blackmail purposes. Wanna see?”

She held up her phone. An olive branch—an offer to bond and forget the past in favor of building a better future.

“Hell yeah, I do,” I said, immediately dropping my rag and angling my head to get a look.

Five minutes later, Baby Doll and I were trying—and failing—to smother our laughter.

Seated on the other side of the room, Blackbeard had been preoccupied for the past hour with a poker game. But he lifted his head now with a suspicious look.

“What are you girls talking about over there?”

“Nothing, dear,” I called back. I pointed at Baby Doll’s phone screen. “What’s the story behind this one?”

A shirtless Blackbeard, about ten or fifteen years younger than he was now. Very drunk, sweaty, the tendons in his neck straining and his hair hanging loose. Was he… singing?

“Tequila and karaoke,” Baby Doll said. “Celine Dion is his kryptonite.”

“Goddamn it, Lillian,” Blackbeard growled, shoving to his feet. “I told you to delete that picture.”

Baby Doll cackled and bolted out the door with Blackbeard close on her heels. I smiled to myself, returning back to the bar.

Someone cleared their throat. I glanced up to see Crash stiffly standing off to one side.

“Could I…?” he faltered with a vague gesture. He looked so tense, like he wanted to be anywhere else but here. “Could I get a drink?”

I raised my eyebrows and nodded.

“Sure. What would you like? A cold beer?”

He shrugged.

“That’s fine.”

I hurried to grab one from the refrigerator, popped the top off, and set it on the bar, sliding it toward him. After Crash accepted it, I expected he would sit somewhere far away from me.

Instead, he tentatively perched on a bar stool.

“I don’t hate you, by the way,” he said in a tired, rough voice. “Just…so that’s clear. It’s your dad who’s the piece of shit for killing my brother.”

“That’s fair,” I replied. “To be honest, I’m not exactly a fan of him either.”

A beat of silence settled between us.

“And I’m sorry,” I added. “About Digger. I know an apology won’t bring him back. But it’s the least I can offer.”

Crash nodded, scratching at the label of his beer with his thumbnail. I wiped my palms on my jeans, wishing I had something to do.

“Would you tell me about him?” I prompted. “Diego talks about his family all the time. I love hearing his stories. I’d like to hear yours, too, if that’s…um…well, if that’s okay with you.”

Crash sat up a little straighter, but he didn’t say anything right away. I braced myself, preparing for him to refuse.

After nearly a minute of consideration, he spoke.

“No one has ever asked me that before.”

Was that a good sign? Or would he shut down, protecting what little he had left of his deceased brother?

Then Crash started to talk.

“We were thick as thieves growing up together. I always thought he was so cool, and I wanted to be just like him…”

I propped my chin on my hand, resting my elbow on the counter, and I listened, watching Crash’s face light up with memories.