Page 24 of Blackbeard
As a woman in a man’s world, I learned long ago that the way a woman presented herself spoke volumes, often communicating more to the men around her than any turn of phrase she could ever say. Clothes, hair, makeup—served both as a weapon to wield, and armor to protect, in equal measure.
And the message Baby Doll conveyed to the world through her presentation was layered with a sensuality concealed with prickly barbs beneath.
“So, I take it you’re the one who cleans up after these boys,” I said.
Baby Doll huffed.
“No, I fucking don’t, and they know that. I’m not their mother. I earned my patch and my cut, same as they did.”
“Ah, that’s right. How could I forget? You’re thebitch with a patch.”
Baby Doll closed the refrigerator door hard enough to make the beer bottles inside rattle. She turned around to face me, popping the lid off a container of leftover mac and cheese. Leaning back against the opposite counter, she opened a drawer, retrieved a fork, stabbing into the pasta with a little more aggression than was warranted.
“What’s with the chit-chat?”
I shrugged, stirring a packet of sugar into my coffee to avoid her piercing gaze.
“I just think we got off on the wrong foot last night at the meeting. I mean, look at us—we’re heavily outnumbered. And in case you haven’t noticed, my new husband isn’t exactly thrilled at getting tied down to a wife he didn’t ask for.”
Baby Doll chuckled and shook her head.
“Don’t pull that bullshit with me. You don’t get to play the pity card after digging your own grave. I didn’t see you weeping any tears of remorse, begging your dad to get you out of this arranged marriage.”
I bit the inside of my cheek, hot words sizzling on the tip of my tongue. But starting a cat fight wouldn’t do me any favors.
“I couldn’t disappoint him.” I paused and added, “He’s the only family I have.”
I searched Baby Doll’s face as I mustered up an innocent expression. According to my background research on the Blackjacks, Baby Doll had a rocky past with her family. Growing up in poverty, overworked parents who didn’t give a shit about their kids, and four brothers who were practically feral, farmed out to local ranches for handiwork.
Family was a touchy topic for her—falling out of contact with her parents years ago, but she still remained close with her brothers, as long as they weren’t being overprotective and smothering their little sister.
It seemed Blackbeard was the one who paved the way to get Baby Doll into the club as her sponsor. There had to be some kind of history there, some tender feelings I hadn’t been able to unearth no matter how hard I looked.
I replaced the lid of my coffee, wrapping my hands around the cup’s warmth.
“Were you two ever…a thing?” I probed. “You and Diego.”
Purposefully using Blackbeard’s real name was an intentional dig, rubbing it in that I was his wife and I had the privilege to do that.
Baby Doll arched an eyebrow. I could have sworn the temperature in the room dropped by a chilly ten degrees.
“I owe that man my life,” she replied, measured and controlled, but her voice was tight.
I’d struck a nerve.
“So, you fucked,” I replied. “I mean, I’m not holding that against you. If I owed a man my life, I would be sucking him off to show my gratitude. There's no shame in it."
Baby Doll dropped the container of mac and cheese on the counter and stepped closer. We were about the same height, around five-foot-seven, so we stood eye to eye.
“No, we didn’t fuck. He’s my friend, and a damn good one. He pulled me out of trouble when I almost got myself killed.”
I held her gaze as the air crackled with tension between us. The fierce protectiveness she exhibited over Blackbeard intrigued me and it could be interpreted any number of ways.
Did she harbor unrequited feelings for him? Or was he the one who had feelings for her and she turned him down?
“Is this the part where you threaten me?” I replied, amused, sarcastic, just to irritate her further. “If I break his heart, you’ll break my legs? That’s usually how it goes, isn’t it?”
“There’s no point wasting my breath. You already know you’re treading on thin ice with the Blackjacks. One wrong move, one misstep, and you get caught in the crossfire of this war. No one cares about the eye candy when bullets start flying.”
