Page 14 of Kingpin (Blackjacks MC #1)

Chapter nine

Kingpin

It killed me to tear myself away from Hattie like that. I wanted to stay there and hold her until she stopped trembling. I wanted to be by her side until she calmed down enough to fall asleep, safe in the knowledge that I would protect her.

Instead, I had to leave her standing there in the dark.

The memory of her nestling deeper into my arms shattered my heart into a thousand pieces. That’s where she belonged. Not fucking Seattle. Not with another man.

I headed to Hot Shot’s garage, turning into the empty parking lot sometime after three in the morning. Guiding my bike around to the back, I found three motorcycles stowed away in the shadows. If a cop happened to pass on patrol, he wouldn’t be able to see any of us from the street.

The office was dark, but a faint glow emanated from the garage windows. The side door opened and a familiar silhouette appeared. Blackbeard let out a low whistle to let me know the coast was clear.

Under normal circumstances, I preferred to keep business relegated to the clubhouse.

It served as a base of operations and a sanctuary, rolled into one.

When my brothers crossed the threshold of our clubhouse, they knew they were in territory they could trust. It was our turf, and we would defend it to our dying day.

On select occasions though, a secondary location was the wiser choice, especially when the cops might come sniffing around, asking questions.

In this case, it would only complicate matters if the boys in blue knocked on our door, accusing us of playing vigilante.

I’d rather handle this without interruption.

When I stepped into the garage, toolboxes, spare auto parts, and workbenches had been pushed aside to clear a space at the center of the room.

Gatling, Blackbeard, and Big G surrounded a kneeling man, cuffed on the cement floor.

A ghostly mask covered his face. My palms itched to wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze for scaring Hattie like that.

“Did she get a look at him?” I asked, gesturing at the intruder.

Gatling shook his head.

“Saved the unveiling for you, Prez. Figured Hattie had enough surprises for one night already.”

“You can’t keep me here,” the intruder declared, with more confidence than he had any right to, given the position he was in. “You have to turn me over to the cops—”

He broke off when Gatling gripped the back of his neck and leaned in close.

“Does it look like we give a shit about playing by the rules?”

The intruder gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Gatling glanced in my direction, silently seeking permission. I crossed my arms and nodded.

He stripped the intruder’s mask off, tossing it aside. The flimsy plastic scraped against the cement. Ted Cooley stared back at me, a perfect match to the mugshot Credence had sent to our phones earlier—white-blond lanky hair, yellow teeth, and sallow skin.

“I was told you laid hands on my wife,” I said.

Cooley scoffed.

“ Ex -wife, isn’t she?”

A muscle twitched in my jaw. He smirked, pleased at his own jibe. But he was too stupid to quit while he was ahead.

“I read up about her—your divorce years ago, how she’s been living in Seattle for the last ten years or so. I called a buddy of mine over there and he's been trying to get into her pants—"

Cooley broke off with a gasp as Blackbeard stepped up behind him and wrapped his tattooed fingers around Cooley’s throat. Then Blackbeard plucked a knife from his belt and dug the tip into Cooley’s back, right where his kidney would be.

“Keep running your mouth,” Blackbeard said, quiet and controlled. “And I’ll start carving out body parts until you learn to show some respect.”

“I–I just paid her a visit to scare her,” Cooley babbled. “Didn’t mean any harm.”

Gatling clucked his tongue and shook his head.

“I smell a big fat lying rat.”

From the pocket of his cut, he withdrew a battered switchblade with a cracked bone handle. When he passed it to me, I tested the weight of it in my grip, thinking about that sharp metal edge biting into my wife’s delicate skin.

Fury boiled in my chest.

Gatling told me everything while I was tugging on my boots over the phone—the intruder watching the house, the break in, the switchblade, Hattie defending herself…

If I had been with her all this time, I could have protected her. Could have prevented those bastards from getting anywhere near her in the first place, let alone close enough to pull a damn knife on her.

“String him up,” I said in a cold, hard voice.

Gatling, Blackbeard, and Big G moved like cogs in a well-oiled machine. While Cooley screeched in protest and struggled, Gatling held him down. Big G peeled off Cooley’s shirt. Blackbeard grabbed the chain attached to the hoist in the ceiling, wrapping it around Cooley’s cuffed wrists.

Within seconds, Cooley was suspended with his arms above his head, ribs heaving, breathing fast and shallow like a frightened rabbit.

“Soak him,” I said.

Gatling stepped outside and returned with a five gallon bucket of water, ice cubes sloshing over the sides. He splashed it in Cooley’s face, making him sputter.

“What the—what the fuck are you doing!?” Cooley shrieked. “Let me go. I’ll cooperate. I’ll do whatever you want.”

I tossed the switchblade in my palm.

“It’s too late to negotiate,” I said. “Now it’s time for the consequences of your actions.”

Cooley sucked in a sharp breath, teeth chattering, drenched, and eyes wild with fear.

Blackbeard brandished his knife, trailing the tip through the spaces between Cooley’s ribs, down his abdomen.

He hooked the blade into the waistband of Cooley’s pants and released it with a snap.

Cooley flinched, nostrils flared, fighting back a whimper.

“Where's your friend, Barber?" Blackbeard said.

Cooley shifted his gaze up to the ceiling, shivering.

“I don’t know.”

Blackbeard applied just enough pressure with the blade’s tip above Cooley’s stomach that his skin bowed inward, but didn’t break.

“Not the right answer."

Big G spoke up, leaning back against a tool bench, legs crossed at the ankles as he examined a hammer.

“You should know Blackbeard has a few years of medical training. Give him a scalpel and he can cut you open from stem to stern like hot butter on a summer’s day.”

Cooley swore under his breath and thrashed like a worm on a hook.

Big G tapped the hammer’s head in his palm.

“I prefer a more direct route. Break your kneecaps and you’ll squeal like a pig. Works every time.”

Cooley spat a colorful flood of obscenities.

I waved them off. Blackbeard and Gatling retreated, leaving Cooley exposed for me. I stepped forward, gazing at him with disdain. Revulsion grew cloying in my throat at the thought of this fucker anywhere near my Hattie, let alone threatening her.

“I will say this only once,” I said in a level tone. “Tell me where Barber is.”

Cooley grunted as he strained against the chains.

“Look, I swear, I don’t know. We’ve been holed up in this motel on Dakota Drive for the past week or so.

Really charming place with fucking mushrooms growing in the bathroom.

Before that, Barber and I split up to cover our tracks, in case the cops were tailing us.

I was supposed to handle the woman, he was supposed to take care of food, cash, and gear so we could get the hell out of this town.

We were only waiting around for the trial.

If Rudy was found not guilty, we were going to grab him and go.

If he went to jail…well…he was on his own and he knew that. ”

“Your buddy could rat you out for leaving him behind,” I said.

Cooley huffed a dry laugh.

“Wouldn’t doubt it. We’re not besties or anything. It’s every man for himself. He knows that. We all do.”

Silence descended on the garage. I edged even closer, gripping Cooley’s jaw so tightly that my fingers dug into his cheeks.

“You touched my wife,” I growled. “You put this switchblade against her skin—”

I pressed the knife’s edge to Cooley’s jugular. He winced.

“No, no, wait—come on, man. You need me to find Barber. If I don’t check in soon, he’ll know something is wrong and he’ll disappear for good. You’ll never see him again.”

I paused, weighing his words.

“Better not be bluffing,” I moved away, pocketing the switchblade. “Not that it matters. Blackbeard, Gatling—dump his body at the police station.”

Cooley swore until he was red in the face, kicking and fighting for his life as I walked out of the garage and into the night.

I didn’t bother going back home, let alone attempt to sleep. It would be useless anyway. I twirled Cooley’s knife on the bar, gouging a perfect circle into the wooden countertop with the blade’s tip. To think this knife had touched Hattie still made me sick to my stomach.

By sunrise, Big G joined me in the clubhouse, rummaging around in the kitchen until the scent of coffee filled the air. Crash stumbled into the room half an hour later, squinting sleepily and rubbing a hand over his stubbly hair. He yawned as he plopped down onto the stool next to mine.

“Didn’t I tell you to go home, kid?” I said.

He shrugged, propping his elbows on the counter.

“I did. For a while. But my roommate is getting married, and I can’t afford rent anymore, so I have to find somewhere else to live.”

A pause of expectation lingered in the air.

“Well, you’re not living here,” I said.

“The broom closet is pretty comfy, actually,” Crash replied. “It’s clean and dry. You wouldn’t know I was there. I’m a light sleeper, so I don’t make any noise. And I can earn my keep.”

I turned to look at him with a suspicious squint.

“You never left, did you?”

Crash pressed his lips together with chagrin at getting caught and shook his head.

“So you’ve been sleeping in the broom closet all this time?” I added.

He shrugged.