Page 5 of Blackbeard (Blackjacks MC #2)

Chapter three

Blackbeard

The tension that permeated the room morphed into utter shock. Any exhaustion that had been lingering at the ludicrously early morning hour had evaporated now, replaced by wariness and anger.

I didn’t blame anyone for that. It had been an emotionally fraught few hours and everyone was on edge.

Big G huffed a laugh of disbelief and shook his head.

“Oh, this isn’t gonna be good,” he muttered.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Hot Shot said in a heated voice. He still looked weak from blood loss. Baby Doll had barely finished stitching him up when I returned to the clubhouse with Leigh. He really should be resting. “Your boys put a bullet in my leg less than twelve hours ago.”

“Take it easy,” Kingpin said, putting out a placating hand.

“Respectfully, Prez,” Hot Shot said. “I will not take it easy. This is bullshit, and you know it.”

Kingpin sighed and turned to Popeye.

“It’s an unusual request, you have to admit. We could use some time to think it over.”

Popeye shrugged.

“Leigh and I talked about it. She’s very dear to me. Given the history between our clubs, I figured a ceasefire wouldn’t come easily. What better way to earn your trust than to place my daughter’s life in your hands?”

I glanced up at Leigh, standing at her father’s shoulder.

“That’s the problem though,” I said. “If she’s so dear to you, why would you put her in such a precarious position? Why would you marry your only daughter to one of your enemies?”

“Leigh knows the risks.” Popeye paused and locked eyes with me.

“And if any of you bastards harm a single hair on her head, the truce is off. So, it would be in your best interests to keep my princess safe. If I hear a peep that you’ve been mistreating her, or—God forbid—raising a hand to her, my boys will make your life a living hell. ”

Leigh met my gaze, arching an eyebrow in a silent challenge.

“Why would you agree to do this?” I asked. “Marry a man you don’t love—a man who would likely want you, your father, and his club dead.”

She shrugged.

“Dad asked me to. Wouldn’t you turn the world upside down for your sweet little nieces and nephews if they asked?”

Big G blinked at me in surprise.

“You told her about your family?”

“No, I didn’t,” I growled with frustration. “Princess must have been nosy.”

My family meant the world to me. Our mixed heritage resulted in a melting pot of cultures and ethnicities—Mexican, Native American, Italian, and Puerto Rican.

I had three brothers, two sisters, and over two dozen nieces and nephews. On top of that, I had even more cousins, aunts, and uncles spread throughout Montana, down into Texas, Mexico, and Southern California.

Even though I didn’t have kids or a wife of my own, I took my role as the overprotective uncle very seriously. I did my best to prevent them from getting tangled up in club business though. It would destroy me if something happened to any of them on my watch.

Leigh preened, smug as a cat with a bowl of cream.

“No need to sulk about it, tough guy. I like to be prepared. When my dad suggested one of you might wife me up, I had to do my homework.”

“How old are you anyway?” Kingpin asked.

She straightened her shoulders and tilted her chin up.

“Twenty-eight.”

“Jesus,” he mumbled. “Half of the men in my club are nearly twice your age.”

“Which is a problem because…?” She ventured. “An older husband just means I will outlive him. No big deal.”

Not that Prez had much of a leg to stand on with that argument. There was a significant nine-year age gap between him and his wife. Hell, even the club bunnies that liked to hang around the clubhouse were younger than Leigh, and no one protested it.

“Crash is twenty-six,” Spike mused.

Big G grimaced and leaned back in his chair, shaking his head with a warning look.

“Don’t go there, brother.”

Gavin "Crash" Fowler was our Prospect. And he wasn’t even in the room. He wouldn’t be allowed to join Church meetings and vote until he was a full-fledged member.

As the Prospect, he typically got saddled with the dirty work and menial labor that the rest of us didn’t want to do. This marriage proposal certainly qualified as a task that no one would touch if they had a choice in the matter.

Although his brother had died at the hands of the Forsaken five years ago. Crash would be livid when he heard that we were seriously considering joining forces with the Forsaken through an arranged marriage with the President’s daughter.

God, what a nightmare this would be for him.

“You’re talking about the Fowler kid,” Popeye said with a stern tone of disapproval. “I remember him. He wanted my guts for garters.”

When the Forsaken had dropped by last October, Crash had made his feelings known about their presence. If we hadn’t stopped him, I have no doubt he would have tried something stupid.

Like strangling Popeye with his bare hands.

“You killed his brother,” I said in a flat voice. “And you’ve never apologized for that, let alone shown even an ounce of remorse. Not that it would do any good. An apology won’t bring Digger back from the dead.”

Kingpin directed a warning look at me.

“Crash is our Prospect now,” he said to Popeye. “We’ll keep him in line.”

Popeye brushed off his reassurance.

“I certainly hope you do. But I’m not marrying my little girl off to some boy who hasn’t even been properly initiated into your ranks yet. Leigh deserves protection. She needs a man who will ensure she’s kept safe and treated with respect.”

No one said a word, glancing around the table at each other. Who would be the unlucky son of a bitch to tie the knot with Leigh? And did any of us have a choice? Or would the Prez simply assign the role of husband when no one volunteered for the job?

Kingpin was out of the running. He already had a wife.

Tex was married, too, though I suspected his wedding was on the rocks. His marriage had been tense for a while.

Spike was available, but as far as I knew, he didn’t do serious relationships…ever. He was usually too busy getting under the skirts of every woman who glanced his way. Monogamy wasn’t his flavor. If he cheated on Leigh, we could kiss our truce goodbye.

And Baby Doll…

“Why don’t you and I give it a go, sweetheart?” she offered, leaning forward on her elbows. “Girls gotta stick together in a man’s world, right?”

I recognized that wicked gleam in her eye. If this table wasn’t separating them, Baby Doll and Leigh would be at each other’s throats.

Leigh hummed in thought and examined her blood-red nails.

“There’s just one teensy little problem with that.

I’m accustomed to being treated like royalty over here among the Forsaken.

From what I understand, you had to claw your way into the ranks of the Blackjacks.

If you and I become wives, I’ve effectively signed my death warrant to a life of bitter, bloody survival.

With me as your ball and chain, it certainly wouldn’t make things easier for you, either.

I’m not a club member, and I never will be. I’m a princess. There’s a difference.”

Baby Doll clucked her tongue and shook her head.

“Hey, I earned my place at this table. You’re only in Church because your old man is parading you around like a worm on a hook, hoping someone drools over your tits and ass enough to take the bait.”

Leigh bared her teeth.

“Bitch.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that one before,” Baby Doll replied, unfazed. “But at least I’m a bitch with a patch. Get it right, sweetheart.”

I coughed into my fist to hide a laugh. As the only female member in an all-male club, Baby Doll didn’t shy away from calling out anyone who disparaged the Blackjack patch she wore.

Since she was the only one who volunteered to marry Leigh—while the rest of us did our best to dodge the issue—Baby Doll clearly had more balls than the rest of us.

Aside from Kingpin and Tex, everyone else was unattached and ripe for the picking. We weren’t exactly jumping at the chance to shack up with the same club that had killed one of our brothers though.

Leigh might be easy on the eyes, with her pretty face and tempting body, but she wasn’t some wilting wallflower, tossed around by the wind. She had skin in the game, just like her father did, and she could be merciless in her own right.

“We need to put it to a vote,” Kingpin said. “I’m not forcing any of my men into taking a wife against his will.”

“Fine,” Popeye relented. “Then vote. But we should be part of that decision. If you make a piss-poor choice, the offer will be rescinded.”

“Now, wait just a goddamn minute,” Gatling drawled, our Sergeant-at-Arms.

Despite the even measure of his tone, his Appalachian twang emerged, betraying how he really felt about the situation. He kept his backcountry roots buried on most days, but it seeped out and colored his words when he was angry or irritated.

Even though he leaned back in his chair, blue eyes hooded, lean body relaxed and looking bored, his words indicated he wasn’t thrilled about our predicament.

Gatling didn’t like big groups, and he rarely said two words together when there was an audience. Instead, he preferred to speak his mind in a more private setting. He was probably crawling out of his skin to be sharing a table with the Forsaken, trapped in the same room together like sardines.

“This is our Church, our clubhouse,” he continued. “We’re the ones to sacrifice a brother to this marriage. Your filthy mitts don’t belong in our business.”

Popeye jabbed a finger in his own chest.

“And this is my daughter’s life we’re talking about here. Do you really think I’ll stand by while you bargain amongst yourselves who will take her from me?”

Gatling sucked his teeth and leveled Popeye with a scathing stare.

“No one asked you to trade your own kid like a side of beef on market day.”

“ Hey, ” Leigh barked. “Did you just call me a cow?”

His ice-blue gaze darted up to her with a sharp look.

Shit, things were about to get ugly.

The problem with Gatling was that he tended to be restrained, quiet, and unobtrusive, until he was pushed too far. Then he would strike, clean and fast, like a coiled snake with lightning speed.

“Trust me, that’s tame compared to what I’d be calling you if your guard dogs weren’t on duty," he said.

“Watch your mouth, boy,” Popeye growled.

Gatling huffed and crossed his arms.

“This is a fucking trap, boss. We’re idiots to even consider it.”

Kingpin remained silent, deliberating. Gatling wasn’t wrong. It reeked of a setup. But the alternative was bloodshed. A lot of it.

Hot Shot had been wounded in the leg. I got lucky, merely winged by a bullet on my right shoulder. The garage was a mess and would cost thousands of dollars to repair.

An arranged marriage didn’t seem too bad in comparison.

“Why the sudden change of heart?” Kingpin asked Popeye. “Less than twelve hours ago, your boys opened fire on my club. Now you want to hand over your daughter for a wedding and pretend like we’re one big happy family.”

Popeye sighed.

“I didn’t want to bring it up but…I had a cancer scare a couple years back. Celebrated my sixtieth birthday in a hospital bed, getting chemo.”

Shit. A grim silence settled over the room.

I glanced at Leigh. She pressed her lips into a thin line and lowered her gaze to the floor, shielding her expression with her lashes.

1%ers like us rarely get to grow old and die of natural causes. Living a life of crime and violence was a game for younger men who were agile and light on their feet, capable of sleeping with one eye open.

A cancer diagnosis was…surprising. We planned for damn near everything else—shootouts, bar brawls, territory battles, fist fights, getting shivved in prison.

But cancer? No. None of us ever thought we would go out like that.

“I’m sorry to hear it,” Kingpin said.

“Yeah, me too,” Popeye replied. “The good news is that I’m cancer-free these days.

Sadly, I’m not fool enough to think that I’ll outrun it though.

I’m sixty-four. Leigh is all I’ve got. Her mother…

she left a long time ago.” He spread his hands.

“Expanding my territory was a way to leave a legacy to my daughter when I’m gone.

But I knew you bastards would be tough. I didn’t expect you to give up without a fight.

And I didn’t want to wave the pity card. ”

Cancer or not, it didn’t change the fact that the Forsaken had been our enemies ever since killing Digger. Marrying Leigh would still be like cuddling up to a fucking scorpion.

I wasn’t fooled by that pretty face, or distracted by those gorgeous tits of hers. She was dangerous. The man who agreed to be her husband would have to watch his back.

“I could make this easier for you boys,” Leigh put in.

Every head turned to look in her direction, waiting.

She pointed at me.

“I want him. Your Vice President.”