Page 11 of Blackbeard
“I certainly hope you do. But I’m not marrying my little girl off to some boy who hasn’t even been properly initiated into your ranks yet. Leigh deserves protection. She needs a man who will ensure she’s kept safe and treated with respect.”
No one said a word, glancing around the table at each other. Who would be the unlucky son of a bitch to tie the knot with Leigh? And did any of us have a choice? Or would the Prez simply assign the role of husband when no one volunteered for the job?
Kingpin was out of the running. He already had a wife.
Tex was married, too, though I suspected his wedding was on the rocks. His marriage had been tense for a while.
Spike was available, but as far as I knew, he didn’t do serious relationships…ever. He was usually too busy getting under the skirts of every woman who glanced his way. Monogamy wasn’t his flavor. If he cheated on Leigh, we could kiss our truce goodbye.
And Baby Doll…
“Why don’t you and I give it a go, sweetheart?” she offered, leaning forward on her elbows. “Girls gotta stick together in a man’s world, right?”
I recognized that wicked gleam in her eye. If this table wasn’t separating them, Baby Doll and Leigh would be at each other’s throats.
Leigh hummed in thought and examined her blood-red nails.
“There’s just one teensy little problem with that. I’m accustomed to being treated like royalty over here among the Forsaken. From what I understand, you had to claw your way into the ranks of the Blackjacks. If you and I become wives, I’ve effectively signed my death warrant to a life of bitter, bloody survival. With me as your ball and chain, it certainly wouldn’t make things easier for you, either. I’m not a club member, and I never will be. I’m a princess. There’s a difference.”
Baby Doll clucked her tongue and shook her head.
“Hey, I earned my place at this table. You’re only in Church because your old man is parading you around like a worm on a hook, hoping someone drools over your tits and ass enough to take the bait.”
Leigh bared her teeth.
“Bitch.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard that one before,” Baby Doll replied, unfazed. “But at least I’m a bitch with a patch. Get it right, sweetheart.”
I coughed into my fist to hide a laugh. As the only female member in an all-male club, Baby Doll didn’t shy away from calling out anyone who disparaged the Blackjack patch she wore.
Since she was the only one who volunteered to marry Leigh—while the rest of us did our best to dodge the issue—Baby Doll clearly had more balls than the rest of us.
Aside from Kingpin and Tex, everyone else was unattached and ripe for the picking. We weren’t exactly jumping at the chance to shack up with the same club that had killed one of our brothers though.
Leigh might be easy on the eyes, with her pretty face and tempting body, but she wasn’t some wilting wallflower, tossed around by the wind. She had skin in the game, just like her father did, and she could be merciless in her own right.
“We need to put it to a vote,” Kingpin said. “I’m not forcing any of my men into taking a wife against his will.”
“Fine,” Popeye relented. “Then vote. But we should be part of that decision. If you make a piss-poor choice, the offer will be rescinded.”
“Now, wait just a goddamn minute,” Gatling drawled, our Sergeant-at-Arms.
Despite the even measure of his tone, his Appalachian twang emerged, betraying how he really felt about the situation. He kept his backcountry roots buried on most days, but it seeped out and colored his words when he was angry or irritated.
Even though he leaned back in his chair, blue eyes hooded, lean body relaxed and looking bored, his words indicated he wasn’t thrilled about our predicament.
Gatling didn’t like big groups, and he rarely said two words together when there was an audience. Instead, he preferred to speak his mind in a more private setting. He was probably crawling out of his skin to be sharing a table with the Forsaken, trapped in the same room together like sardines.
“This is our Church, our clubhouse,” he continued. “We’re the ones to sacrifice a brother to this marriage. Your filthy mitts don’t belong in our business.”
Popeye jabbed a finger in his own chest.
“And this ismy daughter’s lifewe’re talking about here. Do you really think I’ll stand by while you bargain amongst yourselves who will take her from me?”
Gatling sucked his teeth and leveled Popeye with a scathing stare.
“No one asked you to trade your own kid like a side of beef on market day.”
