Page 13 of Kingpin (Blackjacks MC #1)

They were better off without me here, I thought.

As long as I’d remained in Seattle, these thieves didn’t bother with me. But now that I was back in Brightwater, close to the scene of the crime, they were targeting my family.

Nathan glanced at me, rubbing Wylie’s back. I suddenly realized I was still holding Connie’s cast iron skillet, and it felt like it weighed a ton. I heaved it onto the stove with a thunk.

“I’ll deal with the police,” I said. “Go check on Connie and Emma.”

It was the least I could do—cleaning up the mess after putting my sister’s family through all this.

After Nathan left the room, I grabbed the phone from the counter and sank into a chair at the kitchen table. My fingers trembled as the high of adrenaline wore off. I should have known this would happen. I should have been more careful.

When I reported the break-in, the police said they would send an officer to take a look, document the damage, and post an officer on watch.

My ex-husband has that part covered already, I thought.

But I kept my mouth shut. The cops would want to know why a crew of bikers were watching my sister’s house. I wouldn’t bring heat down on Neil’s head like that.

I’m strong enough to handle the hot seat, honey, he would have told me.

I’d been a biker’s wife for over ten years. I knew it was better to provide minimal details to the police when my husband was involved. It seemed old habits die hard.

After a few minutes, Emma finally fell asleep again, and a blanket of blessed silence descended over the house.

I sat alone at the kitchen table, waiting for the police to arrive.

I couldn’t stop shaking. My jaw ached from clenching my teeth, shoulders tense at the thought of what that man might have done—to me, to my sister, to her family—if Gatling hadn’t stopped him.

Ten minutes later, the rumble of an engine approached on the street. I’d learned long ago how to recognize the difference between the sound of a motorcycle engine compared to a car engine.

And that was definitely a motorcycle.

With my heart in my throat, I stumbled out of my chair, heading for the front door. When I opened it, there was Neil, turning into the driveway.

A sob of relief lodged in my chest.

As soon as he parked and shut off his bike, I hurried down the sidewalk. The next thing I knew, Neil gathered me into his arms, pressing his lips to the top of my head. I breathed in the well-worn leather of his cut, accompanied by the sharp scent of that awful pitch black coffee he loved.

“Gatling told me what happened,” he said.

I closed my eyes, burying my face in his shoulder.

Don’t do this, you’re making a big mistake, a voice whispered in the back of my mind, like an alarm that warned of impending destruction.

Seeking comfort from Neil while I was vulnerable would blur the lines between us even further.

Things were already getting too fuzzy, ever since that damn visit at the hospital.

As if reading my thoughts, Neil squeezed me tighter. He cradled the back of my head in his palm, his lips at my temple.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he murmured.

A rush of air punched out of me. It felt so fucking good to hear him say that. I dug my fingers into his back a little deeper, not wanting to let go.

I felt safe with him. I always did. No matter what. He was my anchor, my rock, my lighthouse amid the storm.

And I never realized how much I’d missed him since our separation. Until now. This moment, with his arms locked so tightly around me that I couldn’t breathe.

I wish I could stay like this forever, I thought.

Although I knew that wasn’t possible—a terrible idea that threatened to reignite feelings I’d tried so hard to bury.

In the distance, the echo of police sirens drowned out the faint buzz of crickets.

“Hattie,” Neil said softly.

I shook my head, throat tight, eyes burning.

No. Don’t say it. Just a few more seconds.

“Hattie,” he repeated against my hair. “I can’t be here when the cops arrive.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, burrowing into his chest a little further. Neil gently pried my arms away from him. He pressed a kiss into each of my palms, curling my fingers closed as if to hold onto the phantom heat of his lips against my skin.

Then he cupped my chin, with his thumb nestled beneath my lower lip, his rough, callused knuckles grazing my throat.

He always did that right before he kissed me.

I held my breath, hating myself for wanting that kiss, knowing it would ruin me. Craving it so badly that I tipped forward on my toes, leaning a little closer.

In the shadows, with only the wan moonlight overhead, I couldn’t see those stormy eyes I’d fallen in love with. I couldn’t read his expression.

But I felt the desire emanating from him, the heat of his body only an inch away from mine.

He didn’t hide that desire when it came to me, wearing it boldly for everyone to see.

This man loved me with every part of his soul.

It bruised him. It nestled in the marrow of his bones.

It hummed in his blood and filled his lungs with every breath…

Three months of dating, twelve years of marriage, a divorce, and thirteen years of separation…and that had never changed.

After what felt like a lifetime of waiting and hoping and silently pleading kiss me kiss me kiss me …Neil turned away, climbed onto his bike, and rode off as the red-and-blue lights of the cop car rounded the corner onto Connie’s street.

I pressed my palms to my heart, staring down the dark road, willing him to come back.