Page 4 of Kingpin (Blackjacks MC #1)

Ten minutes later, we arrived at the Blackjacks clubhouse. Years ago, it used to be a bustling train station for old-fashioned steam locomotives. Abandoned in the 1950s for a new, modernized train station, it fell into disrepair, neglected, crumbling, and covered in graffiti.

The Blackjacks scraped together nearly every penny we owned to rescue it from demolition. We spent every weekend for two years straight gutting the place, rebuilding it, and transforming it into our safe haven.

Now, we called it our home away from home.

At this hour of the day, just shy of 3pm, I counted six motorcycles in the parking lot, indicating over half the club was present. Seated on the curb was a young man in his twenties, with a buzzed haircut and baggy jeans, tossing pebbles across the pavement.

“What's that kid doing here?” I said.

“I told him we weren’t looking for a new Prospect,” Big G replied. “But he won’t give up.”

“What’s his name again?”

Big G shrugged.

“Can’t remember. Jimmy, I think? Spike started calling him Crash. I swear the kid could trip over nothing but air. So it stuck.”

When I climbed out of the van, the kid scrambled to his feet.

“Can I talk to you for a minute, Mr. Gibson?” he asked.

“It’s just Kingpin, kid. You should come back another time when I’m in a better mood. Today is not that day.”

“You’ve been saying that for over a month,” Crash replied.

“And yet you don’t seem to be getting the message. We’re full up, kid. Not taking new members right now.”

Crash faltered, rocking back on his heels as he glanced away.

I recognized that look. Desperation. Set adrift with nowhere to go and no one to watch your back. A prickle of sympathy jabbed at me. I knew what that was like. Until my club anchored me, gave me a place to belong and people who cared, I had been alone in the world.

“You’re welcome to hang out though,” I relented. “There’s cold beer, if you’re old enough to drink. It’s not an invitation to join the club, just to be clear.”

He perked up and his gaze flicked to Baby Doll, no doubt thinking about wetting his dick to accompany that beer. I frowned.

“Lay a finger on her, and you’ll be scattered six ways to Sunday through the mountains for wolf dinner. Got it?”

Crash gulped and ducked his head, cowed.

“Yes, sir.”

Baby Doll bit the inside of her cheek, eyes shining with amusement. She could handle this kid herself, no problem, but that wasn’t the point. She was a member of my club, and no one would mess with her on my watch.

Big G coughed to hide a laugh. He opened the front door of the clubhouse, gesturing me inside.

“Why didn’t you run him off?” I whispered.

“Thought I’d let you do the honors. The kid looks like he’s about ready to piss his pants. Admit it, you enjoyed putting the fear of God into him.”

Maybe a little, I thought.

As I entered the club, it took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the dim interior after being in the bright afternoon sunlight of early June. The lobby of the train station served as the main room of the clubhouse, with a vaulted brick ceiling and the original tiled floor still intact.

Along one wall was the fully loaded bar. Behind it was a door that led to the kitchen, mostly used for storing food instead of cooking. A handful of tables were scattered throughout the room, along with a pool table, dart board, jukebox, and a television set that had seen better days.

A corridor led to four back rooms, furnished sparingly if anyone needed a crash pad for the night. On the East side of the main room was the chapel—a meeting room with no decorations or distractions, empty save for the long table surrounded by chairs where we conducted club business.

“Hey, look who’s back from the dead,” Credence called from the pool table.

“I had to spoil your plans before you voted in a new president to replace me,” I replied.

He grinned and crossed the room, clapping me on the back.

“Big G said you were just as ornery as ever, so we figured we’re probably stuck with you for a while longer.”

“Damn straight,” I said.

Blackbeard lifted his hand in acknowledgement, standing behind the bar.

“I bet you’re starving for something besides shitty hospital food. Tex brought in some Kentucky fried steaks yesterday. Last I checked, there were leftovers in the fridge. Vlad didn’t eat everything this time.”

From a dark corner of the room, came a rumble of discontentment. Vlad leaned forward into the light, illuminating his hulking figure.

“If you don’t like my appetite,” he growled with a thick Russian accent. “Don’t come crying to me when you need a warrior to fight your battles for you, pirate.”

Blackbeard flashed a charming smile—white teeth, tan skin—bracing his hands on the counter.

“You say pirate like it’s a bad thing. I’ll win you over one day, you gigantic freak of nature.”

“Not in this lifetime,” Vlad muttered into his beer.

I rolled my eyes as I took a seat at the bar.

“Squabbling like children, as always.”

“I certainly hope you didn’t expect us to be on our best behavior, boss,” Blackbeard said. “I don't think we're capable of that. Besides, that would be boring as hell.”

I waved him off.

“Just pour me a whiskey, will you?”

He raised his eyebrows.

“Didn’t you get loaded up with meds during your stay-in-vacation at the hospital? Alcohol and drugs don’t mix well.”

“What’s your point? I’m a free man now, and I want a drink. I’m sure you heard that Hattie stopped by to pay me a visit.”

Might as well get it over with and address the elephant in the room, I thought.

Blackbeard winced.

“I’ll get you that whiskey.”

Baby Doll retrieved a beer from the bar and tossed it to Crash, who lingered by the doorway, looking unsure of himself.

“Don’t be shy,” she said. “Come in. Get settled. Most of us won’t bite.”

“Most of you?” he squeaked.

She chuckled.

“If that has you spooked, you’re hanging with the wrong crowd, buddy. We can do so much worse than a friendly little love-bite around here.”

Crash scanned the room, clutching the beer as if his life depended on it. Leaving him to fend for himself, Baby Doll slid onto the stool next to me. She propped her elbows on the bar, leaning closer like we were sharing a secret.

“So, I’ve been thinking.”

“That usually means bad news for the rest of us,” I said. “Go on.”

“Why don’t I set you up with a lady friend to keep you company? I can think of three names off the top of my head who would be perfect for you. It’s been a while since you dated, right? Might be just what you need to take your mind off Hattie.”

I’m not yours anymore, Neil. You have no claim on me. I can flirt with anyone I want to.

I closed my eyes at the memory of Hattie’s words, inhaling a breath to steady myself. More than enough time had passed. I should have put myself out there again, should have found another woman to soothe the ache of emptiness in my bed.

I just couldn’t do it. Hattie was the only one I wanted.

My first long-term relationship. The first woman I hoped to share my life with, instead of spending the night together just to scratch a mutual itch and burn off some adrenaline.

I never proposed to anyone else—never dreamed of it, let alone thought about it every waking moment.

I’d entertained the idea of hooking up with someone else after the divorce, of course. And with the President patch on my chest, it wasn’t particularly difficult to catch a woman’s eye.

But I couldn’t take her home. Not to the house I used to share with Hattie. It felt wrong, like a betrayal.

I tried a motel room. I tried one of the back rooms here in the clubhouse. Didn’t matter. As soon as I was on the brink of taking another woman to bed besides my Hattie, I bailed.

“Thanks, but no thanks, Baby Doll,” I said.

“It doesn’t have to be a date,” she offered. “If a serious commitment is giving you cold feet, then some harmless flirtation couldn’t hurt.”

“I’d rather stick a fork in a light socket.”

“This is exactly what I mean.” Baby Doll poked me in the chest with one manicured black fingernail. “You’re getting bitchy in your old age. Companionship would do you some good.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but she beat me to it.

“And I’m not talking about the club,” she said. “You might feel responsible to keep these harebrained idiots in line, but that’s not the kind of companionship you need.”

Blackbeard placed a shot glass before me and started to pour.

“Leave the bottle,” I said.

He fixed me with a long look and a heavy, beleaguered sigh.

“If you end up back at the hospital in an hour or two, getting your stomach pumped, you owe me fifty bucks.”

“Deal.”

I pushed the glass over to Baby Doll. Then I took the bottle and chugged a deep drink that burned my throat like a trail of fire. She shook her head, tossing the shot back.

“You’re a bit of a drama queen when you’re grumpy, Prez,” she said. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

“As a matter of fact, my ex-wife used to say it all the time.”

Baby Doll patted my shoulder with sympathy.

“Pour me another shot. And then I’ll let you beat me at darts.”

I snorted, tipping the bottle until the amber liquid filled her glass. I didn’t protest though as she took my arm, leading me toward the dart board on the other side of the room.

I had ruined everything with Hattie because of my club.

And now, my club was all I had.