Page 6 of Blackbeard
After a high-octane club scuffle like what we just instigated, I would have grabbed Torch by his collar and dragged him into one of the back rooms to blow off steam.
Not this time though. I was too preoccupied with memories of Blackbeard—the way he looked me up and down, the heat of his skin beneath my fingertips, and the unmistakable sizzle of flirtation between us.
Sounds like foreplay to me, princess.
I wasn’t immune to the dangerous charms of a biker, despite growing up surrounded by the Forsaken. Especially the intoxicating attraction of an older biker—experienced, dominant, who didn’t shy away from my bratty attitude. The fact that we were in an escalating turf war with his club didn’t put any kind of damper on my appetite.
Over the past year or two, I had extensively studied every member of the Blackjacks MC, looking for the chink in their armor. Diego “Blackbeard” Mendez was far from what I would call a weak link, but I liked the challenge of bringing a strong man to his knees.
I pushed the door open and entered the clubhouse. The place had served as a biker bar since the early 1900s, and thousandsof names were carved into the wall or scribbled in thick marker from previous bikers.
A handful of Forsaken were at the bar, and two more members were locked in a game of pool. Dad was seated in his favorite old leather armchair, watching a hockey game on the ancient TV set. He glanced up when I entered.
“Hey, sweetie, how did it go out there?”
“Fucked up the Blackjacks and their garage pretty good,” I replied, perching on the arm of his chair. “They’ll be pissed and looking for a fight soon enough.”
Dad hummed in thought and turned off the television, tipping his head back to look at me.
“When did you get all grown up?” he demanded lightly. “It seems like just yesterday, you were a little girl in pigtails when your mama walked out on us. Now you’re a gorgeous young woman, standing alongside my boys in the middle of this fight."
I smiled softly and patted his shoulder.
“You taught me well.”
He grunted and pushed out of his armchair, rising to his feet.
“Now you’re just flattering an old man. These Blackjack bastards won’t be easy beasts to tame, Leigh. I hope you realize that.”
“I like a challenge,” I countered.
He kissed the top of my head as he passed on his way to the bar.
“Yeah, I noticed. If I was a better man, I would be worried about that. But I’m building this kingdom for you when I’m gone, so you have to be strong enough to keep it. Beer?”
“Yes, please.”
I watched Dad gesture to the bartender for two beers.
When he told me about my role in taking down the Blackjacks, I agreed without hesitation. Would it be dangerous?Without a doubt. And if I didn’t pull it off, I could lose my life, while putting my father and his club at risk.
By the time I returned to my apartment, it was late—nearly three o’clock in the morning. My brain felt like it was sloshing around in my skull with alcohol. I stumbled into my building and into the elevator, giddy over today’s victory with the Blackjacks.
Glancing back over my shoulder as the door closed behind me, I spotted a motorcycle headlight lingering for a moment. Then it flashed by and disappeared.
Most likely Torch. Checking to make sure I got home in one piece.
I debated sending him a text to turn around and spend the night with me. But then I fumbled with my keys and tipped to one side so violently that I felt like the floor had heaved beneath me.
Swearing under my breath, I directed all my concentration on focusing my bleary eyes, finding the right key on my keychain, and stabbing it into the lock. Then I pressed my shoulder against the door and pushed in.
The back of my neck prickled. Despite the gloom of my apartment, and my tipsy state, I couldfeelsomething wasn’t right.
For a split second, I lingered on the threshold. Keys in my hand. The dark apartment yawning before me. Sluggish thoughts chugging through the haze of alcohol in my brain. And the bone-deep, gut-wrenching certainty thatsomeone was here.
Slowly, I reached into my riding jacket, curled my fingers around the handle of my pistol—
A strong, heavy body slammed into mine, knocking the air out of my lungs. My back hit the wall, and a hand clamped around my throat, putting just enough pressure on my windpipe to make me wheeze.
