Page 23 of Blackbeard
Instead, Baby Doll entered the room, glancing back over her shoulder as the guttural rumble of a motorcycle echoed in the parking lot.
“Were you guys bullying Crash again? He’s taking off like a bat out of hell—oh.”
She broke off when her gaze fell on me. I lifted my hand and wiggled my fingers in a little wave.
“I thought you were going to let him down gently,” Baby Doll said to Blackbeard.
“That was the idea, yeah,” he replied, pinching the inside of my knee, hard. I flinched and swatted his hand, digging my nailsinto his wrist in retaliation. “But myblushing bridecouldn’t resist fucking it up for shits and giggles.”
“It’s not my fault you kept me out of the loop,” I shot back. “Next time, bring me breakfast in bed, kiss me good morning, and tell me what your plans are for the day. Maybe I’ll behave myself a little better next time.”
He snorted.
“Doubt it. I’m not treating you like royalty either, princess. That was Popeye's job. Not mine. To me, you’re just a signature on a dotted line, tied to my name.”
“Ouch,” I said, jutting out my lower lip in a pout. “Not very romantic, are you? Speaking of names, how did you come to be called Blackbeard anyway? What's the story behind that?"
He shrugged. "When I was a Prospect down in Mexico, I had a few jobs stealing from cargo ships when they came into port to unload. Expensive stuff from big name corporate companies. The club sold it for cash."
I tilted my head, considering, as I looked him up and down.
"It suits you," I said. "You'd look sexy, swashbuckling on the high seas."
"Too bad we're in landlocked Montana, so you can kiss that fantasy good-bye."
"You're such a spoil sport," I retorted. "By the way, I was thinking that I should call you Diego from now on. Using your road name seems too…buddy-buddy. I’m not one of your brothers. I’m your wife. I deserve to be on a first name basis, don’t you agree?”
A spark of something flashed in his eyes. Annoyance? Arousal? Both? Before I could pin a label on it, his gaze slid away.
“You keep using that word—wife—like it means something," he said.
I hummed and shifted closer, nuzzling into the curve of his neck. Breathing in his masculine scent.
“Of course it means something. You seemed to like the way it rolled off your tongue earlier this morning. You're lucky I'm on birth control."
Movement caught my attention and I shifted my gaze beyond Blackbeard’s shoulder.
Baby Doll was stepping behind the bar, and there was no mistaking the disapproval etched in her features. Was that jealousy gleaming in her eyes? Or maybe a slight curl of disgust to her lip? She probably hated seeing me shack up with one of her brothers.
I smiled to myself, anticipating the exploitation of a new angle. If I intended to undermine Blackbeard and sour his loyalty, I needed to work on his club just as much as I worked on weakening him.
Baby Doll disappeared into the kitchen, the door swinging shut behind her. I skimmed my hand down Blackbeard’s muscled thigh, holding up my coffee cup.
“Time for a refill. I’ll be right back.”
Rising to my feet, I headed for the kitchen. Baby Doll rummaged around in the refrigerator, opening containers of food and giving them a sniff before she tossed them on the counter. She directed a cursory glance at me before resuming her task.
“Looking for something?” she said.
“Coffee maker.”
She jerked her thumb toward the corner. I already knew where it was after taking a look around the clubhouse last night when the meeting was over and I was officially married off to Blackbeard.
But if I sauntered into a kitchen that didn’t belong to me, acting like I owned the place, it would likely make Baby Dollbristle even more, and she already had her hackles up. Asking for directions was a way to show that she was still the dominant one here, easing into her good graces.
A few beats of silence passed as I poured coffee into my cup—only half empty, so a refill wasn’t really necessary, but no one needed to know that. I turned around and leaned back against the counter, watching Baby Doll work.
Her long black hair was braided back, snug and tight against her scalp. Her eyes were lined with dark, smoky kohl, and her nails were painted a glossy black.
