Page 3 of Blackbeard (Blackjacks MC #2)

Chapter two

Leigh

I tapped Torch on the shoulder, signaling to circle back around. He obeyed, directing his bike into a U-turn. By the time we reached the garage, it was sheer chaos.

Four of my father’s men surrounded the building. Smoke billowed from the garage, boiling into the air. Bullet holes peppered the cinder block walls and shattered the windows until the ground sparkled with broken glass like a layer of diamond dust.

“This is as close as you’re getting,” Torch said, his voice muffled beneath his helmet.

A block away—too far to participate, barely close enough to see what was going on.

That’s the problem with being the club princess.

I was coddled, pampered, and spoiled, yet raised among wolves.

It didn’t matter that I instigated this mayhem and anarchy just like they did, because in the heat of the moment, I was kept separate from it all at the same time.

I didn’t hold rank, didn’t stand shoulder to shoulder with my father’s men, and I didn’t have the camaraderie of calling them brothers.

As the President’s daughter, these men were tasked to protect me at all costs. I could walk among them, banter and flirt, even sleep with them if I really wanted to. But there was a wall that remained between us, knowing that my survival could come at the cost of their lives.

Maybe that’s why I agreed so readily when my father asked for my help.

I would tear the Blackjacks apart from the inside, turning brother against brother. Destroying the fabric of their bonds until they were utterly decimated.

I wanted to prove I was more than just a princess.

“I’ve seen enough,” I said. “Let’s go.”

Torch took off with a roar of his engine. As we rode through the small town of Brightwater, Montana, I couldn’t wait to see the look on my father’s face when this territory officially became his after we wiped the Blackjacks off the map.

Ever since my mother walked out on us when I was five years old, I had been glued to my father’s hip. Just the two of us against the world.

But now that he’d reached his mid-sixties, it scared me to see the stoop in his shoulders, and the uncontrollable tremor in his hands that he tried to hide. He didn’t ride with his club as often as he used to either, sending someone else to serve in his place instead.

My father was getting old. What would I do without him?

Torch pulled up to the curb of the Forsaken clubhouse—formerly a pole barn, converted into a meeting space with a bar, pool tables, and a handful of spare rooms. He reached back and squeezed my knee.

“You looked good out there, Leigh,” he said, flipping up his visor.

I pushed away those morbid thoughts of my father, grateful for the distraction of Torch’s attention.

We fooled around now and then, scratching a mutual itch once in a while. There was no love involved—that wasn’t the point. Ovulating around so many testosterone-laden men drove me up the wall, and Torch was a giver. He knew how to reach every pleasure point that released my pent-up tension.

I climbed off his bike and backed up to the clubhouse, flashing him a smile.

“I look good everywhere I go, Torch.”

He chuckled.

“And so humble about it, too.”

After a high-octane club scuffle like what we just instigated, I would have grabbed Torch by his collar and dragged him into one of the back rooms to blow off steam.

Not this time though. I was too preoccupied with memories of Blackbeard—the way he looked me up and down, the heat of his skin beneath my fingertips, and the unmistakable sizzle of flirtation between us.

Sounds like foreplay to me, princess.

I wasn’t immune to the dangerous charms of a biker, despite growing up surrounded by the Forsaken.

Especially the intoxicating attraction of an older biker—experienced, dominant, who didn’t shy away from my bratty attitude.

The fact that we were in an escalating turf war with his club didn’t put any kind of damper on my appetite.

Over the past year or two, I had extensively studied every member of the Blackjacks MC, looking for the chink in their armor. Diego “Blackbeard” Mendez was far from what I would call a weak link, but I liked the challenge of bringing a strong man to his knees.

I pushed the door open and entered the clubhouse. The place had served as a biker bar since the early 1900s, and thousands of names were carved into the wall or scribbled in thick marker from previous bikers.

A handful of Forsaken were at the bar, and two more members were locked in a game of pool. Dad was seated in his favorite old leather armchair, watching a hockey game on the ancient TV set. He glanced up when I entered.

“Hey, sweetie, how did it go out there?”

“Fucked up the Blackjacks and their garage pretty good,” I replied, perching on the arm of his chair. “They’ll be pissed and looking for a fight soon enough.”

Dad hummed in thought and turned off the television, tipping his head back to look at me.

“When did you get all grown up?” he demanded lightly. “It seems like just yesterday, you were a little girl in pigtails when your mama walked out on us. Now you’re a gorgeous young woman, standing alongside my boys in the middle of this fight."

I smiled softly and patted his shoulder.

“You taught me well.”

He grunted and pushed out of his armchair, rising to his feet.

“Now you’re just flattering an old man. These Blackjack bastards won’t be easy beasts to tame, Leigh. I hope you realize that.”

“I like a challenge,” I countered.

He kissed the top of my head as he passed on his way to the bar.

“Yeah, I noticed. If I was a better man, I would be worried about that. But I’m building this kingdom for you when I’m gone, so you have to be strong enough to keep it. Beer?”

“Yes, please.”

I watched Dad gesture to the bartender for two beers.

When he told me about my role in taking down the Blackjacks, I agreed without hesitation. Would it be dangerous? Without a doubt. And if I didn’t pull it off, I could lose my life, while putting my father and his club at risk.

By the time I returned to my apartment, it was late—nearly three o’clock in the morning. My brain felt like it was sloshing around in my skull with alcohol. I stumbled into my building and into the elevator, giddy over today’s victory with the Blackjacks.

Glancing back over my shoulder as the door closed behind me, I spotted a motorcycle headlight lingering for a moment. Then it flashed by and disappeared.

Most likely Torch. Checking to make sure I got home in one piece.

I debated sending him a text to turn around and spend the night with me. But then I fumbled with my keys and tipped to one side so violently that I felt like the floor had heaved beneath me.

Swearing under my breath, I directed all my concentration on focusing my bleary eyes, finding the right key on my keychain, and stabbing it into the lock. Then I pressed my shoulder against the door and pushed in.

The back of my neck prickled. Despite the gloom of my apartment, and my tipsy state, I could feel something wasn’t right.

For a split second, I lingered on the threshold. Keys in my hand. The dark apartment yawning before me. Sluggish thoughts chugging through the haze of alcohol in my brain. And the bone-deep, gut-wrenching certainty that someone was here.

Slowly, I reached into my riding jacket, curled my fingers around the handle of my pistol—

A strong, heavy body slammed into mine, knocking the air out of my lungs. My back hit the wall, and a hand clamped around my throat, putting just enough pressure on my windpipe to make me wheeze.

I gritted my teeth and rammed my knee upward, aiming for a groin.

But the intruder was too close, his hips pinned to mine. He twisted my arm to the side, putting a strain on my elbow that made a scream of agony well up in my throat.

“Behave yourself, princess.”

Blackbeard’s low, rumbling voice near my ear in the dark shouldn’t have been that sexy, given the circumstances. A rush of heat swept through my body, nipples tight, core throbbing, a knot of arousal burning in my lower belly.

“Make me,” I rasped.

He huffed a faint laugh, his warm breath fanning the curve of my neck. A moment later, I felt the sharp edge of his teeth against my skin, and the quick, teasing flick of his tongue.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Before I could reply, Blackbeard released his grip on my throat and reached into my jacket, plucking my pistol out of the hidden pocket.

My head swirled, and my eyes still hadn’t adjusted to the dark well enough to make out anything more than Blackbeard’s silhouette.

But I felt his body heat, his closeness, the weight of his bulk against me. And I smelled him—earthy leather, crisp pungent lime, with a hint of something sharp and clean, like bleach or antiseptic.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t put a bullet between your pretty eyes,” he murmured.

“You’d miss the best sex of your life,” I replied.

He growled—low, dark, and dangerous.

“Your daddy’s boys fucked up our garage, put a bullet in one of my brothers, and winged my shoulder. Sex isn’t exactly high on my list of priorities at the moment. Payback is, though, and I’ll make Popeye fucking bleed for what he’s done. So that means hurting his sweet, innocent little girl—”

I scoffed.

“If you think I’m sweet or innocent, I hate to disappoint you.”

The cold bite of my pistol’s muzzle pressed beneath my chin. I didn’t flinch, staring at the dark shadow of Blackbeard’s face in the night. I wouldn’t beg or cry for mercy. Hell, I wasn’t even fighting as hard as I could have been.

“You can put an end to all this,” I whispered.

Blackbeard went so still that I couldn’t even hear him breathe.

“By killing me,” I went on. “You’re going to turn this town into a goddamn war zone. One injured brother will be the least of your worries. You’ll be swimming in blood. We won’t stop until your whole fucking club is in the ground. Or…”

I trailed off, dangling the bait right in front of his nose.