Page 9 of Blackbeard
At the head of the table, Kingpin cleared his throat. All eyes turned to him.
“Would someone mind telling me what the fuck all of you are doing in my clubhouse?”
Blackbeard pointed at me.
“And why is she listening in?”
“Leigh stays because I say so,” Dad replied.
A muscle twitched in Blackbeard’s jaw. He settled back in his seat, those dark eyes trained on me, as he crossed his arms.
My gaze fell on his tattooed knuckles, fingers studded with silver rings. My body flushed with heat at the memory of his hand wrapped around my throat, the pressure of his grip.
“I called this meeting to offer a truce,” Dad continued. “Under one condition.”
Kingpin gestured for him to go on.
“Name your price. We won’t agree to a damn thing until you spill the fine print.”
Dad held out his hand to me. I stepped forward and took it. He pulled me closer, pride shining in his eyes as he looked up at me.
“There’s an easy way to settle this war, once and for all,” Dad said. “An arranged marriage. Uniting our clubs together under the bond of matrimony. One of you will take my daughter to be your wife, joining our territories in peace."
Chapter three
Blackbeard
The tension that permeated the room morphed into utter shock. Any exhaustion that had been lingering at the ludicrously early morning hour had evaporated now, replaced by wariness and anger.
I didn’t blame anyone for that. It had been an emotionally fraught few hours and everyone was on edge.
Big G huffed a laugh of disbelief and shook his head.
“Oh, this isn’t gonna be good,” he muttered.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Hot Shot said in a heated voice. He still looked weak from blood loss. Baby Doll had barely finished stitching him up when I returned to the clubhouse with Leigh. He really should be resting. “Your boys put a bullet in my leg less than twelve hours ago.”
“Take it easy,” Kingpin said, putting out a placating hand.
“Respectfully, Prez,” Hot Shot said. “I will not take it easy. This is bullshit, and you know it.”
Kingpin sighed and turned to Popeye.
“It’s an unusual request, you have to admit. We could use some time to think it over.”
Popeye shrugged.
“Leigh and I talked about it. She’s very dear to me. Given the history between our clubs, I figured a ceasefire wouldn’t come easily. What better way to earn your trust than to place my daughter’s life in your hands?”
I glanced up at Leigh, standing at her father’s shoulder.
“That’s the problem though,” I said. “If she’s so dear to you, why would you put her in such a precarious position? Why would you marry your only daughter to one of your enemies?”
“Leigh knows the risks.” Popeye paused and locked eyes with me. “And if any of you bastards harm a single hair on her head, the truce is off. So, it would be in your best interests to keep my princess safe. If I hear a peep that you’ve been mistreating her, or—God forbid—raising a hand to her, my boys will make your life a living hell.”
Leigh met my gaze, arching an eyebrow in a silent challenge.
“Why would you agree to do this?” I asked. “Marry a man you don’t love—a man who would likely want you, your father, and his club dead.”
