Page 7 of Kingpin (Blackjacks MC #1)

I shrugged and settled on a bar stool, ignoring breakfast in favor of nursing my coffee.

“There’s still time. I might surprise you.”

Crash jerked awake with a disoriented grunt, scrubbing a hand down his face. He blinked, bleary-eyed, and sniffed the air.

“Do I smell sausages? From the Cattle Yard?”

I pushed my plate over and gestured at it.

“Eat your heart out, kid.”

He practically flew across the room, taking a seat on the stool next to me. Baby Doll watched as he yanked the plate closer, hunched over it, and began shoveling food into his mouth.

“Do you remember having a metabolism like that in your twenties, boss?” she said.

“A very long time ago. I’m getting heartburn just looking at him.”

“Hey, kid.” Baby Doll rapped her knuckles on the bar to get his attention.

Crash glanced up with a lump of food in his cheek.

“If you don’t slow down and breathe once in a while, you’re going to choke.

And for your information, I don’t do any CPR mouth-to-mouth crap.

That’s Blackbeard’s job. He’s the medic around here.

If he’s not available, you’re shit out of luck. ”

Crash gulped, swallowing his food down. He took a smaller, measured bite of sausage.

I could tell Baby Doll was bluffing. She’d picked up some medical expertise over the years, and she certainly wouldn’t stand by while someone suffered if she could do something about it. But Crash didn’t need to know that.

Voices emanated from the corridor to the back rooms. A moment later, Roxie came into view, barefoot and wearing nothing but an oversized flannel shirt.

“I know, baby, but I’m hungry, and that food just smells so good,” she said.

Big G trailed behind her, his hair rumpled, shirt untucked, belt undone. Obviously interrupted.

“You must be losing your touch, old man,” I said. “She ditched your dick in favor of greasy diner food. Would you like some ice to put on your wounded pride?”

He grumbled and waved me off.

“Trust me, I know better than to compete with breakfast.”

Roxie started opening a container and paused when she spotted Crash.

“Hey, you’re the new kid, right?”

He nodded, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth.

“He’s visiting,” I said. “That’s all.”

“You’re kinda cute.” She reached out and rubbed Crash’s bristly head. “What’s your name, sweetie?”

“Gavin,” he said.

“Gavin?” I repeated, confused. I turned to Big G. “I thought you said his name was Jimmy.”

Big G shrugged.

“It’s close enough.”

“Not really.”

“Does it matter?” he countered. “You just call him kid .”

Roxie continued petting Crash’s head, stroking his shoulders. He inhaled sharply, and thumped his chest with his fist to dislodge a bite of food from his throat.

“Big G, can I play with him, too?” Roxie asked.

Crash wheezed and the tips of his ears turned pink.

“You can have whatever you want, sweetheart,” Big G said.

She squealed with delight and immediately reached for Crash’s fly.

“Let me take a peek, sweetie.”

“Whoa, hey, wait, I—”

Crash fumbled to grab her wrist and nearly fell off his stool in the process.

“Don’t be shy, sweetie.” Roxie lowered her voice to a loud stage whisper. “It’s okay if you’re still a virgin.”

He let out a nervous laugh of disbelief.

“I am not —”

“He might eat like a horse, sweetheart,” Big G said. “But I’d wager he won’t last more than fifteen seconds. Thirty, if you’re lucky.”

Crash’s face went red as a tomato.

“That’s not true.”

Big G arched an eyebrow.

“Are you saying you come in your pants, instead?”

Baby Doll snickered. I shook my head, smothering a smile in my coffee.

Disappointment shadowed Roxie’s features. She pulled back.

“Oh.”

Grabbing her food, she made her way over to Big G and nestled under his arm. He looked smug, victorious. Crash sulked.

“What are you still doing here anyway, kid?” I asked.

He squared his shoulders, fiddling with his fork.

“I want to join the Blackjacks.”

“No shit. I figured out that much for myself already. I told you, we’re not interested. Try another club, another chapter.”

Crash bit the inside of his cheek and stared down at his food.

“My…brother used to be a member.”

Damn it. That complicated things. Made the kid’s mission personal, which meant he would be persistent as fuck about it. I sighed and pushed my coffee away.

“What was his name?”

“Darren. Darren Fowler.”

I glanced at Baby Doll, then Big G, searching for recognition among them. They stared back with nothing but blank faces.

“You called him Digger, I think,” Crash amended.

“ Shit. Digger.”

Yeah, I remembered him. He died in a shootout with a rival club—the Forsaken MC—four years ago. It was a damn shame, too. Digger had been a good kid, sharp, resourceful, and fearless.

“Didn’t know he had family,” I said.

Crash lifted one shoulder.

“We used to be close. Lost touch when Digger moved out.”

“You looked up to him?"”

Crash nodded, jabbing his fork into his eggs, but he didn’t eat anything more.

“Poor kid,” Roxie whispered.

Guilt slid between my ribs like a knife. Crash wanted to follow in his brother’s footsteps, but that’s exactly why I couldn’t let him join. Because of my club, his brother was dead, and my marriage was destroyed.

Crash was young. He still had plenty of time to make something of himself. Slapping that Prospect patch on his chest would ruin him forever.

“I’m sorry for your loss, kid. But you shouldn’t be here. Get a regular job. Have a regular life. Get married. Have kids. You’ll live longer.”

He frowned and took a breath to fight me on it. But he broke off when the front door opened, and a cop entered the room.

Everyone went dead silent.

Cops and bikers like us weren’t exactly on friendly terms. On rare occasions, we could navigate a gray area that served as a truce, but it didn’t happen often, and only after a significant amount of trust had been developed.

The presence of a cop usually meant one of us was getting cuffed and put behind bars.

“Take it easy.” He held up his hands in surrender. “I’m not here on duty. I’m looking for—”

Baby Doll stepped forward.

“Thanks for getting back to me so quickly, Dom. We can talk outside.”

I watched her go, even though my instincts prickled.

Baby Doll made it this far because she played hardball when she needed to.

That included keeping her fair share of secrets.

I would have felt better about the whole ordeal if the cop had been going bald with a gut that suggested he spent most of his time behind a desk with a box of doughnuts.

Instead, he was an attractive bastard. Firm, square jawline. Golden brown wavy hair. A perfectly fitted uniform that practically melted onto every sculpted muscle of his body.

Was she actually fucking a cop?

God, she better not be. Baby Doll was smarter than that.

After several minutes dragged by, the door opened again.

“Thank you for your time, Dom,” she said, stepping into the clubhouse. “I appreciate it.”

Before I could ask what the hell that was about, Zayn “Spike” Gendry waltzed in. Naked as the day he was born. With a bunny on each arm. He tongue-kissed one of them and gestured to a nearby table.

“Make yourselves at home, ladies. I’ll get you coffee in a minute.”

Baby Doll shot him an annoyed look.

“Do you have something against wearing pants?”

Spike gestured at himself—six-foot-four, ripped abs, chiseled features, thick cock on full display. I hated that my gaze involuntarily snagged on the gleam of his Prince Albert piercing. Of course the bastard had jewelry to pretty up his goddamn dick.

It was no surprise that he’d worked gigs unavailable to the rest of us ugly fuckers. Underwear model, porn star, Chippendale dancer. Even though he was just shy of forty by now, he was still in disgustingly good shape.

“Nothing to be ashamed of,” he protested. “Freeballing gets the air circulating. You should try it. We wouldn’t complain if you decided to go tits-out. In fact, we would be very supportive.”

“Spike,” I said with a sigh. “Don’t piss her off when your nuts are exposed like that. She’ll kick them into your throat.”

“No, no, let the man make his own decisions,” Big G said. “I want to see how this plays out. Wish I had some popcorn.”

Baby Doll batted her lashes at Spike.

“You’d love to get a look under my shirt, wouldn’t you, Spike?”

Big G huffed a laugh, shaking his head.

“You’re in danger, brother.”

Spike sidled forward, reaching for the hem of Baby Doll’s black tank top.

“You’ve already seen mine. It’s only fair you show me yours. I promise to treat the girls right.”

She stood dangerously still as he lifted her shirt by one teasing inch. Then she tipped my coffee over, spilling hot liquid across the bar, splashing over the edge.

Spike leaped back, shielding his crotch.

“Shit! Fuck! That’s hot!”

“Oops,” Baby Doll said with faux innocence.

I gazed in dismay at the remains of my coffee, sprawled across the bar. This is what I get for staying at the clubhouse instead of going home, where I could enjoy my coffee in peace without all these theatrics.

Spike examined his dick, then glanced at Baby Doll with a sullen expression.

“Doesn’t look like you did any damage. Which is a fucking miracle.”

“Are you sure?” she cooed, saccharin-sweet and dripping with sarcasm. “Maybe I should take a closer look. Just to double check.”

When she advanced, Spike scuttled backward, putting distance between them, cupping his dick protectively.

“Absolutely not. Stay the fuck away from me. Sadist.”

She smirked and blew him a kiss.

“Fuckboy.”

Spike scowled again and turned to leave the room. Baby Doll tilted her head, boldly checking him out as he stormed off.

“Why don’t you two just have hate sex already?” I asked.

She scoffed.

“He’s probably loaded with every STD known to man. All that bait and tackle below the belt might be tempting. Until he opens his mouth. Then suddenly, I’m as dry as the Sahara desert.”

I stifled a groan, rubbing my throbbing forehead.

“Too much information.”

Baby Doll continued, unfazed.

“Besides, there are plenty of times where I wanted to ride the dick but not the dude. And not a single one of you would ever look me in the eyes again if I slept with him anyway. I’ve worked too damn hard to blow it on a skirt chaser like him. Give me more credit than that, boss.”

“Didn’t mean any offense,” I said.

“None taken."

Crash sat at the bar, mouth hanging open slightly, eyes wide.

“You’ll catch flies like that, son,” Big G said.

“He’s getting one hell of an education right now,” I said.

“Did I break his brain?” Baby Doll mused.

“I think so.”

“I bet he has a hard-on that could poke a hole through his jeans,” Big G said.

Roxie reached over and palmed the front of his pants.

Crash flinched.

“Whoa! Hey, what is wrong with you people? Ever heard of personal space?”

“Stiff as a board,” Roxie chirped. “Poor guy. I bet you could use some lovin’ to get rid of that tension.”

Big G took a seat at the bar, accepting defeat.

“Go ahead, sweetheart. He’s all yours. Make a man out of him.”

Roxie bounced on her toes as she pulled a bewildered Crash off his stool, tugging him toward one of the back rooms.

I fixed my attention on Baby Doll.

“Are you going to tell us why you were so friendly with that cop a minute ago?”

Big G and Baby Doll started mopping up the coffee with a rag, moving containers away from the spill zone.

“Dom owed me a favor,” she said. “So, I asked for info on Hattie. Strictly off the books and under the table. Just to see if she had a special man in her life.”

My spine straightened. Checking up on my ex-wife without my order defied the chain of command, but in this case, I was grateful that she had her head on straight while I had my head in a bottle.

“What did he say?”

Baby Doll blew out a breath and spread her hands.

“I think she’s in some trouble, boss.”

Fuck. My blood ran cold. That’s the last thing I wanted to hear.

“What kind of trouble?” I prompted as my mind whirled through dozens of possibilities.

“She was caught up in a bank robbery a few months ago. Here, in Brightwater. And now she’s due to testify in court.

The problem is that the cops only bagged one guy.

The other two are still in the wind. Cops weren’t worried about it since she lived out of state, but with the trial date coming up, it sounds like they’re expecting things to get a little bumpy. ”

I swore under my breath. There was no way in hell I would trust the cops to look after my woman. I knew she wouldn’t want my protection, but I didn’t give a shit.

She’s my wife. And I would walk through the fires of hell to keep her safe.