Royally Hidden (Royal Sons CA #16)

Chapter One

“Yo, Viking. Where you going, brother?” King asked. The Prez held his ole’ lady on his lap, sipping his favorite whiskey.

Bekkett itched to get on the road, but the people in front of him were his chosen family. He’d learned long ago you could run from your past, but one couldn’t always stay hidden.

“I’m gonna head North up to Shasta Valley to see my family for Christmas,” Bekkett said.

King swallowed the last of his drink and stood, setting Ayesha back in his seat. Bekkett grinned at the little scowl crossing King’s ole’ lady’s face. She might be tiny, but she had their Prez wrapped around her little pinky.

“I see that smirk on your face, brother. I ain’t pussy whipped so much as Ayesha whipped.” King held his hand out.

Bekkett slapped his palm against his Prez’s, giving a silent nod of agreement to his words when his heart and soul wanted to scream.

He pulled King in for a shoulder bump, slapped his back, and stepped back with a tight-lipped grin.

“You keep that shit up, and you’re gonna need to build a fucking daycare around here,” Bekkett growled.

“Get the fuck outta here, Viking. See you in a few days. Ride safe.” King slapped his shoulder before returning to his seat.

Bekkett weaved his way through the crowd. The cheery red, white, and green lights gave him a slightly anxious feeling in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t know why he always put off visiting until the very last minute. Hell. Each year, he swore he’d go there days, weeks in advance.

“On your way out, brother?” T-Rex sat at the door like usual, his big frame dwarfing his ole’ lady’s much smaller one.

“Yep. I’ll be back for the New Year’s party. Did Lux give you that new tattoo?” he asked T-Rex. He lifted his chin toward the new ink on the side of his neck. From what he could see, it was part of a very intricate dragon, which made sense since the man had a giant Komodo dragon for a fucking pet.

T-Rex nodded. “Of course. I had to beg her to allow me to pay her. In cash, not orgasms. Not that she didn’t get those in tips.” The fucker made an obscene tongue gesture.

“You keep that shit up, and Lux will beat your ass,” Bekkett warned.

The sound of drunk women singing Deck the Halls had his stomach clenching. He needed to get the fuck out of the clubhouse and on the road. His family was waiting.

“Go on before they drag you out to do Karaoke with them.” T-Rex held his fist out.

Bekkett bumped knuckles with his friend, taking the exit offered like a man starving for oxygen.

He let the door shut on its own, yelling goodbyes to those who spoke as he passed.

His words came out automatically, almost robotic.

At his bike, he didn’t need to think to ride—the steps he’d memorized burned into his brain like breathing and blinking.

Slide your right leg over the seat. Put the helmet on.

Push the button to start. Throttle and release the clutch.

All the things he’d learned when he was knee-high to a fucking grasshopper.

The familiar rumble of his Harley eased some of the tension building in his chest. He sucked in a few deep breaths as he pushed the bike backward. At last, his chest didn’t feel like bursting from lack of oxygen.

“Viking, you good?” Jovi Cantrell asked.

Bekkett eyed the road leading out, then the blonde woman who belonged to the newest brother, Steelshot. The woman reminded him of his wife. He gritted his teeth to keep from barking an angry retort.

“Just heading North to see my family. Happy looks good on you. If Steelshot doesn’t treat you right, let me know. I’ll knock some sense into him.” He made a show of punching his right fist into his left hand. The pain centered him, giving him a little of the ground he’d lost back.

Jovi laughed. “You’re the only one bigger than Jentzen around here. Well, besides T-Rex, but you’re still bigger than him. Is that why they call you Viking?” she asked, slapping her hand over her mouth.

He laughed and shook his head. Nobody had the balls to ask where he’d gotten the nickname Viking, but she was correct in her assumption.

They called him Viking since his Freshman year of high school, when he’d shot up over six feet tall and kept growing.

His Ma had sworn he would eat her out of house and home or break her with clothing bills.

Being Scandinavian, with Norwegian descent, gave the moniker credence.

“Jovi, are you flirting with the blond god who is not Thor?” Steelshot asked, sliding a possessive arm around his ole’ lady’s waist without heat.

“Nope, I escaped out here, so I didn’t have to participate in that...that atrocity they called singing.” Jovi shuddered.

Bekkett gave a little nudge to the throttle on his bike—a not-so-subtle reminder he was rolling out. “I’ll see you two on New Year's Eve. Go have some fun,” he said.

Bekkett let off the brake with a wave. Jentzen would take care of Jovi.

He needed to hit the road and let the wind blow away the shit rattling inside his head, or he’d end up doing something stupid.

The burning ache inside his chest was always on a low simmer, but it became hotter this time of the year.

If he didn’t pay attention and do the proper things he needed to do, the simmer would boil over and burn shit to the ground.

He aimed his bike North toward Shasta Valley, hoping to check out the Redwoods on his way. The ten-and-a-half-hour drive usually wouldn’t be a problem. Bekkett didn’t plan to ride the entire trip that night.

Five hours into the trip, he stopped to refuel and put on his thicker leathers and warming gear he kept in his saddlebags.

He got them out and took them inside the station.

After paying for the fuel, Viking went into the bathroom and changed.

Once dressed for the colder weather and he’d filled his gas tank, Bekkett continued the ride.

For the second half of his journey, he listened to his playlist via Bluetooth on his custom Arai Corsair-X race-bred helmet.

While many of his brothers wore skullcaps, he preferred to have his head covered on long rides.

The Corsair-X RC felt as if he didn’t have anything on.

Its lightweight shell combines the best of flexibility and impact protection.

Fuck, at almost four grand, Bekkett would’ve killed the guy who sold it to him if it hadn’t been.

It also allowed him to ride in the cold weather without fogging the visor.

The following day...

He stretched his neck from side to side, seeing the sign to his hometown. His first instinct was to head straight to the big house. Instead, he flicked the switch to turn on his blinker to turn left. It was Christmas morning, and he always spent the first ray of the day with his family.

As usual, the ride from the stop sign to the entrance took less than ten minutes.

He couldn’t remember if he passed anyone as he rode.

The disassociation from reality had taken hold the moment he flicked the turn signal.

The loud rumble of his Harley echoed around him.

It was the only sound in the snow-white landscape.

Towers of concrete interspersed with flat markers greeted him.

He didn’t look at any while continuing to ride until he saw the bench. His bench.

He stopped and brought his boots down on the packed snow. As he did back at the clubhouse, he went through the steps of shutting down his bike. His vision blurred. He slammed his eyes shut. “Fuck,” he yelled and yanked at his helmet.

He laced his hands behind his head and dug his fingers into his neck hard enough to remind himself he was alive, wishing otherwise.

“Let’s do this,” he said.

Bekkett snapped his eyes toward the bench facing a large quartzite headstone. He moved from his bike, muscles stiff from the ride. His chest hurt. Hell, his stomach ached, and his head pounded.

“Fuck. Will this ever get easier?” he asked.

One foot in front of the other, he stepped across the snowy ground until he stood before the headstone with his wife’s and daughter’s names engraved.

“Nancy and Sarah Larsen. Beloved Wife and Daughter,” he rasped as he ran his gloved finger over the words. The fucking irony. He’d have loved to have been a father. To have been able to hold his baby girl. If only...

“JINX, GET YOUR ASS in gear, girl. We got a shitton of customers waiting on drinks.”

Blair rolled her eyes at her boss and his snarl. “I’m coming, Frank. Hold your nads.”

“I’ll give you something to hold if you keep sassing me, girl.” Frank pointed his finger at Blair.

She looked at him. Taking in his pot belly, she let her eyes wander down to his feet.

She smiled at the pair of loafers he wore, swearing her grandpa had a similar set in the twenties, and then she glanced back at the top of his head.

The man had perfected the combover. “Frank, while I love you dearly, I could whoop your ass on my worst day. Besides, you wouldn’t know what to do with all this. ”

Blair waved her hand down her side. Tonight she wore a pair of faded denim jeans with a few rips in the knees, not fashionably put there but broken in.

They were the most comfortable pair she owned and ones she tended to wear a lot.

She topped the outfit with a red-and-white flannel shirt over a red bodysuit.

It was freaking Christmas, after all. Black combat boots completed her festive as fuck outfit.

“Not many men can, girl. If you don’t watch it, you’ll become an old spinster like Harriett. Mark my words.” Frank snorted.

Blair slid past Frank to make her way out to the bar. As he said, the place she called her second home could get rowdy, especially on Christmas, and people wanted to get away from their families.

“Jinx, I’m so freaking happy to see you.” Fred held his arms open, knowing she didn’t allow others to touch her without permission.

She walked into his arms and gave a brief hug before stepping back. “I hear it’s already been crazy today.”

Fred sighed. “You know my dad. He thinks the place is hopping if there are more than a dozen patrons.”

Jinx turned to the cooler. She double-checked the liquor stock before the evening rush. “I’m going to grab a couple more cases to stack off to the side. We good on everything else?”

Fred scrunched up his face, rattled off a couple of things, and then she left him to get other necessities.

By the time the evening crowd started filing in, Jordan, the newest hire and Fred’s roommate, moved to help Blair and Fred serve drinks. Their two waitresses were working their asses off, but Blair saw they didn’t have a problem keeping up.

She looked at the time, groaning. “We really should’ve closed at midnight instead of one thirty.”

Fred laughed as he noticed it was almost midnight. They still had over an hour and a half to work, and the idiots in the bar all appeared to think drinking was an Olympic sport.

“Jinx, do you see that table in the corner over there?” Taeloree asked, pointing toward the section near the dartboards.

Blair filled a glass of draft beer from Taeloree’s order as she eyed the twelve-seater table. “Yeah, I see them. What’s up?”

“They want to know if you’re single. Specifically, the guy in the sweater vest who looks like a cross between Glenn Powell and Kellen Lutz.” Jamie stood on her tiptoes and leaned over the bar, whispering near Blair’s ear. “If you decide to give it a go, you gotta give me all the deets.”

She shook her head. “Sorry, Jamie, I will not be giving any of them a go. Tell them I’m in my lesbian era.”

Fred gasped. “Girl, that is like waving a red flag at a raging bull. They’ll be waging bets on who can turn you strictly dickly again.”

Blair finished with Jamie’s orders. “Here you go, hun. Tell them I’m with him.” She hiked her thumb toward Fred.

Fred, being the fool she loved, tossed his head back and laughed. “Sure, I bet they’ll all believe that.”

She rolled her eyes but moved down the counter to wait on the next customer. There wasn’t time in her life for a man. Her mother had taught her well what needing one could and would do for a woman.

Over the next hour, she and Fred worked their asses off until they finally called last call. Taeloree and Jamie rushed to get their orders in and out, wanting to keep everyone happy.