Page 6 of Blackbeard (Blackjacks MC #2)

Chapter four

Leigh

Blackbeard fixed his dark eyes on me. I smiled sweetly.

Everything was going according to plan. Dad and I knew the Blackjacks wouldn’t accept our idea right away. They needed convincing. And that wasn’t going to be easy.

Then Dad dropped the bomb about his cancer—a truth I didn’t like talking about, but he was in remission, and had stayed that way for four years.

A little sympathy would soften the bitterness of the deal, and make the whole thing more palatable.

The sobering reminder that a powerful man like my father could be taken down by something as simple as cancer served to lower the Blackjacks' defenses, appeal to what little humanity they harbored behind closed doors.

Bikers operated on reputation—it meant everything to them. They bragged about the women they bedded, showing off battle scars, crowing about how tough, and strong, and bad they were. Outlaws who operated outside the scope of polite society. Misfits too rough and rugged to belong anywhere else.

At the end of the day, beneath those cuts they wore and the tattoos marking their skin, they were men. Pride would be their Achilles heel. And no man wanted to die of fucking cancer. Far better to go out in a blaze of glory instead.

But that was the one hiccup to my father’s plan that could make this entire thing fold like a house of cards.

The Blackjacks didn’t want a fight on their hands. It would put them—and their families, their loved ones, their brothers—at risk.

In my experience though, men did stupid shit all the time. Especially bikers. I’d witnessed men choose their hubris over their own wives and children, on more than one occasion.

And our success hinged entirely on whether or not the Blackjacks would sacrifice their pride in favor of peace.

Blackbeard’s gaze roamed over my body, drinking me in from head to toe. I was tempted to arch my back and suck in a breath, pulling his attention to my cleavage.

But that would be testing my luck. If I was too obvious about enticing him into our trap, he might back off and leave the deal on the table.

He wasn’t stupid.

Aroused? Yes.

But not dumb enough to blindly fall for the virtues of a push-up bra.

“Now I’m the one who feels like a side of beef sold at market,” Blackbeard said. “Do I get a say in the matter?”

I shrugged.

“Of course you can say no. But your club—and your family—will pay the price.”

“Why me, princess? If protection is what you’re after, you should go with Vlad.”

Blackbeard jerked his thumb at the giant biker standing at the door, with the Enforcer patch on his chest. His biceps were as big as my head, and the scowl etched into his face made me wonder if he even knew how to smile.

The brute looked as if he knew how to throw his weight around like a battering ram.

I considered for a moment. It would be fun to break the Blackjacks’ muscle. Watching their strongest member crumble—the one man who was supposed to keep them safe, no matter what—would make our victory over them ten times sweeter.

But that only worked if I could break Vlad. And I wasn’t entirely sure I could pull that off.

Blackbeard, on the other hand, had that big family, which made him the perfect target. I could use that vulnerable chink in his armor to my advantage.

“Your President is spoken for,” I said, gesturing at Kingpin.

“So, you’re the next in the chain of command.

Like Dad said—you’re not going to pair with me a useless Prospect who doesn’t hold any weight in your club.

I’m the President’s daughter. If you want this peace agreement to work, you need to make a fair trade. ”

Blackbeard scrubbed a hand over his mouth.

I was mesmerized by the tattoos on his knuckles, along the digits of each finger.

His tanned skin and the shadowy ink contrasted with the myriad of silver rings he wore.

Bracelets clustered at his wrist—black and brown beads, tangled threads of dark green and ocean blue, studded with silver charms.

To think that same hand had been wrapped around my throat only an hour ago…inked knuckles nestled beneath my chin, warm, callused palm pressing against my pulse…

I swallowed hard and shoved that memory to the back of my mind. Not now. I’d revisit that memory later, privately, when I could properly indulge it.

Unfortunately, the throb between my thighs wouldn’t be silenced so easily. I couldn’t do anything about it at the moment in a room full of men, so I did my best to ignore it.

If I was going to be married to Blackbeard, I might as well enjoy myself, I reasoned. There was no denying how attractive he was—tall, with broad shoulders, dark stubble, black hair tied back at the nape of his neck, and a swagger in his stride that spoke of confidence and charisma.

Besides, it wasn’t like Blackbeard and I would be husband and wife forever. After the Forsaken decimated the Blackjacks and took over their territory, I would have no need to play house anymore. The marriage would be annulled and I would regain my freedom.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet,” I said. “As the VP, I thought you’d have more of a spine than that.”

“Yeah, take one for the team,” Spike piped up.

Blackbeard glared at him.

But an expectant pause settled over the room. Everyone knew I was right. Blackbeard was the sensible choice, the right man for the job. I had him cornered.

He sighed.

“When would this marriage take place?”

“The sooner, the better,” Popeye replied. “Since we’re all present and accounted for already, we might as well make it official now.”

Blackbeard raised his eyebrows and blew out a breath of surprise. I could practically see him mourning the death of his bachelorhood in real time.

“Just like that?”

Popeye shrugged.

“Why put it off? Any length of engagement would be a hassle to bog us down and get in the way of what our clubs are after. My Enforcer, Cajun, can act as the officiant. By sunrise, we can put this turf war to rest, while you and my daughter greet the day as husband and wife.”

“Fuck,” he mumbled under his breath, shaking his head, bewildered.

“You wanted someone to make a move, brother,” Kingpin said. “You got your wish.”

A muscle twitched in Blackbeard’s jaw. He flexed his fingers open and closed, causing the tendons in his forearms to contract.

“This is not what I had in mind.”

Cajun stepped forward and pulled a piece of paper and a pen from an inner pocket of his cut. He slapped them onto the table in front of Blackbeard.

“Good news is,” he said. “You don’t have to recite any sappy wedding vows. Just sign your name on the dotted line with Leigh and the deal is done.”

“In other words, romance is dead.”

Blackbeard unfolded the paper and scanned it. Everyone in the room seemed to hold their breath, waiting. Then he picked up the pen, rolling it between his fingers.

Come on, I silently pleaded. Come on. Stop dawdling.

After another agonizing moment or two, Blackbeard dragged his gaze up to meet mine. My stomach squeezed as his dark eyes locked on me.

I was supposed to hate him. An enemy of my father. A prominent officer in an opposing club. This same man broke into my apartment with the intent to cause me harm—maybe even to kill me—for payback after shooting up his club’s garage.

There would be no love in this marriage. It was purely for strategic purposes only. I would wear down his defenses, use him to bring down his club, and leave him with nothing except the grief that the Blackjacks were ruined because of him.

But my body had other ideas. The fact that we were on opposing sides seemed to stoke the fire in my blood for him even more—knowing he would normally be forbidden, knowing the facade of our marriage wouldn’t last.

I wanted to be fucked until I memorized every ridge and vein of his cock inside me. I wanted the heat of his mouth to brand every inch of my skin.

When I was finished with Blackbeard, I intended to make him utterly delirious with desire for me. And then I would sit back and watch him fall apart as his world crumbled down around him.

Blackbeard brought the pen to the paper. Then he paused and it felt like a lifetime passed before he finally scribbled his name.

Gotcha.

I circled around to stand behind him and plucked the pen from his fingers. Leaning in close enough to brush my breasts against his shoulder, I signed my name next to his. My signature was curly and elegant compared to his firm, regimented block-like letters.

“Congratulations,” I said. “You’re a married man.”

Cajun swept the marriage certificate away and tucked it into his cut. He tossed a pair of wedding rings onto the table with a delicate pinging sound.

“Don't forget your jewelry, lovebirds. I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

I turned to look into Blackbeard’s face, only a few inches from mine. There would be no reception, no cake, no champagne, no celebration. I wouldn’t wear a wedding dress, or walk down the aisle.

Just a room full of bikers who hated each other, and a piece of paper as proof that my life was now intertwined with this man before me.

“I’ll pass,” he growled. “No offense, princess.”

“Too shy to make out with your new wife in front of your buddies?” I goaded, swiping one of the rings off the table and sliding it on.

He smirked and shook his head.

“Believe me, that wouldn’t be a problem under normal circumstances. But there was nothing in that marriage contract about PDA. I married you for the sake of peace between our clubs. Not sex.”

“You’re a stronger man than me, brother,” Spike muttered.

I straightened into a standing position and stepped back. Blackbeard pushed his chair aside and rose to his feet, turning to face me.

“One little kiss is hardly sex, dear,” I replied with sharply-sweet honey in my voice. “I had no idea my husband was such a prude.”

Blackbeard huffed a dry laugh.

“If you really did your homework, then you know calling me a prude is an empty threat and I won’t fall for that.”