Page 9 of Kingpin (Blackjacks MC #1)

“Don’t,” he hissed, voice low. “Don’t say that.”

I needed to hang up. He was just going to make things worse.

“I want to be there, at the trial,” Neil continued. “When you testify.”

I sputtered with disbelief.

“Are you insane? Absolutely not.”

“Hattie, you’ve already been through enough on your own—”

“You’re not going to that damn trial, Neil. What will the jury think when a biker rolls up to the courthouse, wearing his leathers, while his ex-wife is on the stand? The validity of my statement could be called into question because—”

I snapped my mouth shut, wishing I could bite clean through my tongue for what I was about to say.

“Because you have a history of associating with criminals?” he finished for me.

I clenched my teeth and rubbed my forehead.

Neil had been on the wrong side of the law since his childhood.

At barely fourteen years old, he was kicked out of the house by his abusive father.

Surviving on the streets had required petty crimes left and right.

Then he fell into club life, and it was only natural that he gravitated to the 1%—bikers with rap sheets a mile long, and proud of it.

Neil never hid that fact from me when we were together. Within forty-eight hours of that damned first kiss, he made sure I knew exactly what I was getting into with him. He wasn’t ashamed of the sins he’d committed, and he would commit a thousand more if need be.

Still, bringing up his criminal record was a low blow. Something my mother used to fling in my face on a regular basis. Even if I was concerned about his appearance at court affecting my testimony, I could have brought it up more tactfully than that.

The silence on the other end of the line was so complete that I wondered, did he hang up on me?

“Neil,” I said quietly.

“I’m here, baby,” he replied without missing a beat.

I stifled a groan and pinched the bridge of my nose.

He really needed to stop calling me that.

Every time I heard it, with the delicious rumbling bass of his voice, he chipped away at the walls I’d diligently fortified over the years to keep him out, to guard my heart, to train myself to stop loving him.

“You don’t have to worry about me anymore,” I whispered.

I knew that would hurt him, too, but not with malicious intent this time. He was so protective of me, going to great lengths to make sure someone was always watching my back if he couldn’t be there himself. He wouldn’t even wear his wedding ring on his hand, where everyone could see.

Any prick with half a brain cell would take one look at the ring on my finger and make a beeline straight for you, he used to say. I would never forgive myself if something happened to you because of me.

Instead, Neil wore his ring on a silver chain around his neck, tucked under his shirt and close to his heart.

Right where you belong, baby, he said, cupping my chin to kiss me.

“You’ve changed,” Neil rasped in a hoarse, raw voice.

I sucked in a sharp breath of air at the sting of his words.

“Usually, your mother was the one harping about the damage to your reputation,” he added. “You never cared what other people thought before.”

“This is different,” I muttered, prickling at the comparison to my mother.

Neil made a noise of disagreement but he didn’t argue any further.

“Pass along my congratulations to your sister for me, would you?”

Then he ended the call before I could reply.

By the time Connie and Emma were settled at home, the trial was a week and a half away.

It seemed silly to head back to Seattle now.

I hated imposing on Connie and Nathan any longer than I had to, but they insisted I was welcome to stay.

Especially since I was more than willing to lend a hand around the house.

And secretly, I was grateful for every spare second I could soak up with little Emma.

Until I spotted the biker on the corner.

At first, I didn’t think anything about it. People went for joy rides in the warmth of summer all the time.

Two days later, playing with Wylie in the yard, I noticed the same biker, parked beneath the shade of a tree two blocks away. With only a handful of houses on Connie’s street, I’d met most of her neighbors, but I’d never seen this guy before.

Thanks to a decade of marriage to Neil, I picked up details about the bike automatically—a sleek, low-riding chopper. Harley-Davidson, probably. The paint job was a gorgeous lush red, dark like claret wine, that faded to an inky black.

My intuition prickled. I didn’t recognize this biker from the Blackjacks, but thirteen years was a long time. Any number of members could have changed in Neil’s club by now.

The biker was huge, with wiry dark curls, thick tattooed forearms folded across his barrel chest, and biceps as big as my head. Squinting in the sunlight, I noticed the unmistakable shape of a cut. Plenty of bikers wore cuts, I reasoned.

But I had the nagging feeling that this cut specifically would be familiar if I could get a good look at it. Belonging to a certain club that was the bane of my existence.

“Hey, Wylie,” I said. “Do you feel like taking a popsicle break?”

He whooped with delight and shot to his feet, racing for the house. I didn’t follow him inside. Instead, I marched straight for the biker.

Even though his wraparound shades hid his eyes, I could tell he noticed my approach when he sat there stock still. Like a rabbit, hoping to avoid the fox’s attention.

When I was close enough to read the patches on his chest, my suspicions were confirmed.

The first patch read, ENFORCER.

Second patch read, BLACKJACKS MC.

“I’m gonna kill him,” I hissed.

I knew Neil would hunt me down as soon as he realized I was still in town. Coming to a stop directly in front of the biker, I crossed my arms.

“Give me your phone,” I demanded.

His eyebrows flicked upward slightly, but his expression remained stone cold.

“Is there a problem?” he replied in a clipped, crisp Russian accent.

“Don’t play dumb. Call Neil—Kingpin, to you.”

The biker fixed me with a long stare, then he retrieved his phone from a pocket of his cut.

“Hey, boss,” he said. “Yes, your woman wishes to speak with you—"

I stripped the phone out of the biker’s grip without giving him a chance to finish.

“Tell your watchdog to stand down, Neil.”

“Hello to you, too, sweetheart,” he said, voice dripping with sarcastic honey.

It made me want to strangle him even more. I huffed with frustration.

“I’m serious.”

“Oh, I believe you. Trust me, I recognize that tone. Every time I heard it, I ended up sleeping on the couch for a week.”

“You don’t get to do this,” I shot back tartly. “Keeping tabs on me. Assigning one of your men to be my bodyguard.”

“It’s just a precaution.”

“I can handle myself,” I countered.

“Then think of Vlad as nothing more than part of the scenery. He won’t get in your way.”

I glanced at Vlad and his broad frame. Up close, I noticed the tattoo designs on his forearms—ravens in flight, wings spread wide across a bristling forest. Over the years, I learned there was a very good reason why bikers came to earn their road names.

I pressed the phone to my shoulder, muffling it.

“Let me guess,” I said. “Vlad the Impaler?”

“It was self defense,” Vlad rumbled.

“I’m sure the other guy would disagree.”

Vlad shrugged his huge shoulders.

“The dead can’t talk, so we’ll never know.”

I shook my head, bringing the phone up to my ear again.

“He has such a… pleasant personality,” I said dryly to Neil.

“Well, he’s not there for chitchat at an ice cream social. Don’t worry about him. You’ll hardly notice he’s there.”

I scoffed.

“It’s impossible to miss a biker the size of a mountain lurking around, looking like he’s scoping out which house he wants to break into. Are you trying to get my sister’s neighborhood swarming with police?”

“Hmm,” Neil mused. “I’ll send Big G instead. He’s not as physically intimidating, and you kind of have a thing for him.”

I rolled my eyes. Did he really have to be so petulantly jealous for no reason?

“I don’t have a thing for him. Back off, Neil. No bikers. At all.”

He huffed.

“Fine. Put Vlad on.”

I passed the phone back. Vlad listened for a second or two, then hung up. He started his bike with a deafening roar. I retreated a few steps, covering my ears.

“I apologize for troubling you today,” he said over the growl of his motorcycle.

Then Vlad sped off down the road, disappearing from view. I knew that wouldn’t be the last of him though.

Neil didn’t give up that easily. Ever. Not when I was involved.