Page 1 of Kingpin (Blackjacks MC #1)

Chapter one

Kingpin

My entire body ached. The last thing I remembered was the screech of tires on pavement and the blur of chrome as a truck careened into the intersection, blowing through a red light.

I groaned, dragging my eyes open, squinting in the harsh white glare of a hospital room. Glancing down, I spotted an IV embedded in my arm, and a machine standing guard near my shoulder like a sentry, displaying the steady rhythm of my heartbeat with a persistent beeping.

“Looks like your ticker hasn’t given out yet, Prez.”

I turned my head to see my Road Captain, Gideon “Big G” Decker, seated in a chair next to my bed, flipping through a newspaper. He was a classy son of a bitch, with a salt-and-pepper undercut, neatly trimmed beard, tattoo sleeves, and a hint of musky, expensive cologne.

“Don’t jinx it,” I rasped, my throat dry, my tongue slow. “Waking up to your ugly mug should send me into cardiac arrest at any moment.”

Big G chuckled and folded his newspaper, draping it across his knee. In our fifties, we were the oldest members of the Blackjacks MC, earning the right to take the piss out of each other. If anyone else talked to us like this though, there would be hell to pay.

“How are you feeling?” Big G prompted, handing me a cup of water from the bedside table.

I grunted as I shifted, gulping at the tepid liquid. A fresh jolt of pain stabbed me between the ribs. My entire right leg—from hip to knee—felt like it had been stripped raw. I’d probably taken off a few layers of skin during the crash when I collided with the pavement.

“Like I’m getting too old for this shit.”

“I’m sure Spike will be pleased to hear that,” Big G said. “He’s been lusting after your bike for years. She’s a beauty. As soon as you say you’re selling her, he’ll gladly fork over the cash to take her home.”

I shot him a dirty look. He arched an eyebrow in a silent challenge, egging me on.

“I said I’m getting old,” I countered. “I’m not dead yet.”

“Good. Since you’re still a cranky bastard, you’ll be interested to know there was one hell of a cute nurse who came to check on you a minute ago. Looks like getting run over by a big-ass truck has its perks.”

I laughed hoarsely and immediately winced with regret, clutching my sore ribs.

“You fucker. Don’t make me laugh.”

Big G smirked.

“Barely awake for five minutes and you’re already cussing me out. Maybe if I keep poking the bear, your blood pressure will get high enough to bring that cute nurse back in here.”

I huffed with amusement, shaking my head.

“You’re a goddamn menace, Decker. Don’t you have something better to do than sit on your ass all day and watch me sleep?”

“Blackbeard is keeping an eye on the club in your absence,” he said. “Hot Shot took your bike to his auto shop and he’s fixing her up, so she’ll be ready and waiting when you’re back on your feet. Baby Doll and I have been taking turns staying at the hospital. We’ve got everything covered.”

“You mean to tell me that I could have woken up to Baby Doll at my bedside, but I got you instead?”

Big G snorted.

“See? All these pretty ladies flitting around, and you’re too doped up on painkillers to notice.”

Someone cleared their throat. My gaze flicked to the doorway. And my heart lurched.

“Hattie.”

My ex-wife lingered on the threshold, adjusting the strap of her purse on her shoulder, looking like she regretted this decision already. I hadn’t seen her since our divorce thirteen years ago, and she’d made it clear that she wanted nothing to do with me ever again.

“Hi, Neil,” she said softly. Then she nodded in Big G’s direction. “Hey, Big G.”

A beat of shocked silence settled over the room.

Hattie and I had been so turbulent, flaring tempers and butting heads.

She never missed an opportunity to let me know how much she didn’t approve of my club or the lifestyle I’d chosen.

That fight in our blood proved to be a double-edged sword—passionate, fiery, and thrilling, but troublesome and damaging, too.

It felt strange to hear her speak so quietly now. Like the spirit had slowly leeched out of her.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

Hattie shrugged.

“The hospital called. I was listed as your emergency contact.”

I grimaced.

“Fuck. I—meant to change that.”

“You’ve had over a decade, Neil,” she replied with fatigue in her voice. Fed up with my bullshit. Fed up with telling me no when I’d tried to convince her to stay.

Hattie and I met when I was thirty, freshly elected Sergeant at Arms of the Blackjacks MC, with my eyes set on that Presidential seat one day. Hattie had been twenty-one, a college graduate and a teaching assistant at the local middle school here in Brightwater, Montana.

We couldn’t keep our hands off each other, but it seemed life continued to pull us in different directions, no matter how hard we tried to fight it.

After twelve years of marriage, and thirteen years divorced, here we were again, together and separated at the same time.

Big G rose from his seat and crossed the room, hesitating for a split second before he squeezed Hattie’s shoulder and kissed her cheek.

“You look good, Hattie.”

She scoffed with an amused glance.

“Don’t butter me up. You were always a little scared of me. I see that hasn’t changed.”

“There’s a difference between fear and respect,” Big G protested.

“A very narrow one and you walk that fine line like a tightrope.”

“Folks call it self-preservation, sweetheart.”

Hattie breathed a faint laugh and playfully poked him in the arm.

“Now you’re just flirting. I’ve already learned what a headache it is to marry a biker. I don’t need to make that mistake again.”

“Who said anything about marriage?” Big G quipped back. “Fooling around is more fun anyway.”

Hattie faltered and her gaze slid over to me.

“I’ve made that mistake, too,” she whispered.

A lump formed in my throat. God, I missed her.

I fucked it up. I don’t know what I could have done differently back then—I was a biker through and through, and that was the part she hated most. The open road was burned into my bones.

My club was the only family I’d ever known.

I couldn’t be the man that Hattie wanted.

But I wish I could have been. I wish I could have changed into someone completely different if it meant she would finally be happy instead of pained and full of remorse when she looked at me.

“I’d appreciate it if you stopped flirting with my wife right in front of me, Decker,” I said.

“ Ex -wife,” Hattie said, with a hint of that familiar sharpness appearing in her voice. “I’m not yours anymore, Neil. You have no claim on me. I can flirt with anyone I want to.”

Sourness burned on my tongue. After thirteen years apart, there was no doubt in my mind that Hattie had been dating other men. Hell, for all I knew, she was probably remarried by now.

My gaze dropped to her left hand, searching for a ring. A small glimmer of dumb, na?ve, hope wanted to find my gold band on her finger. But I knew the likelihood of that wasn’t realistic, so I braced myself for another man’s ring to be there instead.

Her skin was bare. No gold band. No diamond engagement ring. Nothing.

I couldn’t decide if that was better or worse. Had she remained single after all these years? She’d always dreamed of a white picket fence life—two kids, a dog, squabbling with the HOA over petty shit.

It pained me to think Hattie never found someone to give her that happiness she’d longed for.

“I didn’t say you couldn’t flirt,” I replied. “Just not with a member of my club. Especially given how vocal you were about your disdain for the Blackjacks.”

Hattie chewed the inside of her cheek, looking like she wanted to argue further, but she knew I had her cornered.

Big G edged out the door.

“I’ll leave you two to catch up. Sounds like you have a lot to talk about.”

He ducked into the hall and disappeared. The coward.

Hattie and I stared at each other in the ensuing silence. I hated this—the chasm between us, virtually strangers when I had fully expected to live the rest of our lives together. She’d changed so much since I last saw her, thicker thighs, softer in the stomach, with gray at her temples.

But there were other things that hadn’t changed, despite the passage of a decade. Like her dark brown hair pinned back with the same blue barrette she always wore. And her favorite little red apple stud earrings that her sister had given to her when she officially became a teacher.

“So,” Hattie ventured, gesturing at me. “Who did you piss off this time to end up in the hospital looking like freshly ground hamburger meat?”

I huffed a laugh and broke off with a groan at my aching ribs, gritting my teeth.

“I didn’t piss off anybody. Some prick ran a red light. Clipped my bike. The next thing I know, I’m wearing this flimsy fucking hospital gown instead of my leathers.”

Hattie fully stepped into the room now, setting her purse on Big G’s vacated chair. I noticed she didn’t sit though, choosing to slide her hands in the back pockets of her jeans instead. She clearly had no intention of staying longer than she had to.

“Well, I spoke to the head nurse at the front desk. She said you’re very lucky you didn’t become Mr. Potato Head with parts scattered everywhere.

Just two cracked ribs, a concussion, some road rash, and a couple bruises.

I could have sworn you ran out of your nine lives ages ago, but it seems you still have one or two spares tucked up your sleeve. ”

“I told you before, baby,” I replied. “I’m too stubborn to die.”

She swallowed and a shadow crossed her face. It took a split second before I realized what I just said.

“Don’t call me that, Neil,” she countered. “I’m not your baby. And I hate that damn motorcycle. It’s a death trap. A car would be safer. At least it has airbags.”

Now this felt like the well-worn rut we always fell into—fighting about my club, my bike. The danger I put myself in on a regular basis. Hattie’s fear that she would become a widow before she had a chance to become a mother.

Nearly every damn day, we fought like cats and dogs over one thing or another. And it always resulted in the nastiest, filthiest sex.

Until the divorce. That was the one fight where we didn’t end up in bed together when it was over.

“I’ll tell you what,” I said. “In my will, I’ll leave the bike in your name. You can sell it for cash. Or you can drop it off at the wrecking yard. Your choice.”

Hattie scowled and crossed her arms.

“Stop being morbid. The nurse said you’re fine. I hopped a flight from Washington, thinking you’d been…”

She trailed off and shook her head, pressing her lips together.

Killed. Hattie thought I’d been killed. And she came anyway. Fuck, I hated putting her through this. The turmoil she must have felt when she got the call, revisiting the hell she’d endured with me for years.

“You’re like a bad penny that keeps coming back, you know that?” Hattie said with her familiar stern tone.

“Careful, Hattie. That almost sounded like a compliment. I’m surprised you didn’t call me a cockroach.”

“Don’t tempt me.” She waved a hand in my direction. “Are you warm enough? Do you need an extra pillow?”

A small smile tugged at the corner of my mouth, listening to her cluck over me like a mother hen.

“Big G was right,” I said. “You do look good.”

The tips of Hattie’s ears turned the slightest shade of pink. It wasn’t easy to fluster her, let alone make her blush, so when I did manage to pull it off, I savored every second.

“And you’re full of shit, as usual,” she said. “I’m going gray. I’ve packed on thirty pounds that I can't lose to save my life. I’m nothing like the twenty-something bride I used to be.”

“Can’t really tell. All those clothes you’re wearing obstructs my view.”

Hattie rolled her eyes and fussed at the sheets, leaning in close to plump my pillow.

With her lashes lowered, I couldn’t see her eyes, but at this close proximity, I smelled the same tartly-sweet green apple soap she always used, and a faint hint of her favorite honey blossom perfume I bought for her birthday every year so she didn’t run out.

I reached up and grasped Hattie’s chin, pressing my thumb beneath the swell of her lower lip. She froze and her gaze darted up to meet mine. After so many years had passed, my heart still skipped at the sight of those molten chocolate brown eyes.

I braced myself, waiting for Hattie to swat my hand away. To chastise me for touching her when I had no right to, when that privilege belonged to another man she favored over me.

There were a thousand things I wanted to ask her.

Are you happy?

Do you regret the divorce as much as I do?

Do you think we could have made it work if we tried just a little harder?

In the end, there was only silence between us. We used to shout, argue, flirt, banter, tease. We used to talk late into the night, tangled with each other under the sheets, until we drifted off to sleep.

And now…silence.

I hated that more than anything.