Epilogue
Kendrick walked into his penthouse after a long day of meetings. He waved at Andre before shutting and locking the door behind him, dropping his keys in the dish by the door. He inhaled. The scent of something wonderful made his stomach growl.
“You’re home,” Sutton yelled.
He opened his arms, catching his woman as she launched herself at him. “Did you miss me?”
She wrapped her legs around his waist while her hands went to his shoulders. “Maybe a little. How was your day?”
Kendrick tapped her bare ass. His grin widened as he realized she had no panties on under her frilly dress. “Who gives a fuck about my day. It’s much better now that I’m here and have a handful of this.”
Her laughter eased the knot that had been in his chest all day. “I made you supper. It’s an old family recipe that I got from Andre. Come on, carry me into the dining room. We’ll eat, and then you can have dessert. Two guesses what’s on the menu for dessert.”
“Does it start with S and end with me eating you?” he growled.
He began walking them toward the primary suite, ignoring her demand they go to the dining room.
“The food will burn,” she cried.
“Then you should’ve worn panties when you greeted me at the door. I can’t think with my hands full of naked Sutton.”
TWO HOURS LATER, THEY sat at the table, eating the delicious dinner she’d cooked earlier. He owed a huge thank you to Andre, who’d come and shut the stove off and put the food into the refrigerator for them. His best friend and bodyguard had warned his wife before they’d returned that he’d had a bad day, which was why she’d decided to give him a distraction in the form of a panty-less welcome. Kendrick wasn’t sure who was in charge. Him. Sutton. Or Andre. Hell, who was he kidding? Sutton had him and everyone in his organization wrapped around her little finger. Of course, the little one growing inside her wouldn’t be too far behind, but Sutton would always be his number one.
“So, Jeter asked you to find out about a woman named Jinx for one of his brothers, huh?” Sutton asked, swallowing around a mouthful of pasta.
He nodded. “Yeah. She worked for a while in a strip club owned by the Dragna Family in California. Somehow, she ended up in BFE up north, where Viking met her, and then she did a runner on him. Not that Jeter said his brother is in the right headspace for a woman, but knowing the connection with the Dragna and her could spell trouble. He wanted me to see if I could trace her.”
Sutton set her fork down, a frown marring her beautiful features. “And could you?”
Kendrick rubbed a hand over his chest. “From what I found, she was in the family home of the Dragna since she was little. I don’t think she’s blood-related. Mind you, this could all be false information. The Dragna’s are not known for being truthful. There’s talk about a girl named Jinx who belonged to them. However, it sounded more like she was a commodity than a person. I sent the information to Jeter. I don’t think it’ll be good whatever they uncover. From what I gathered, this Jinx wasn’t there of her own free will. Whether she was given or sold to them is the question.”
Sutton’s eyes widened. “Oh, dear god. That poor girl. Is this Viking a good man? Is he going to take care of her?”
He shrugged, unsure of the man or his intentions.
“If he’s going to hurt her, we have to protect the girl.” Her hand went to her stomach. The memory of what she’d gone through and suffered at the hands of her family and the Dragnas was still fresh in both of their minds.
“I’ll see what I can do. Come on, let’s go back to bed.”
She rolled her eyes, but a grin split her cheeks. “I thought you’d never ask.”
THE END
READ ON FOR A LOOK AT ROYALLY HIDDEN, VIKING AND JINX’S BOOK, COMING DECEMBER 9 TH , 2025
“Yo, Viking. Where are you going, brother?” King asked. The Prez held his ole’ lady on his lap, sipping his favorite whiskey.
“I’m gonna head north and 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 huge 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 out 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 pulls of oxygen while pushing 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 why they called him Viking, but she was correct in her assumption. They called him Viking since Freshman year of high school when he’d shot up over six feet tall and kept growing. His mama had sworn he would eat her out of house and home or break her with clothing bills. Being Scandinavian mixed with Norwegian descent gave the moniker credence.
“Jovi, 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 Santa Cruz and the Redwoods. The ten-and-a-half-hour drive usually wouldn’t be a problem. However, he didn’t plan to ride the entire trip that night.
Five hours into the trip, he stopped to refuel and get his thicker leathers and warming gear out of his saddlebags. He took them inside the station, paid for the fuel, went into the bathroom, and changed. Once dressed for the colder weather and his tank filled, Bekkett continued the ride. For the next half of his ride, he listened to his playlist through Bluetooth on his custom Arai Corsair-X race-bred helmet. While a lot of his brothers wore skullcaps, he preferred to have his head covered on long rides. The Corsair-X RC felt like he had nothing on with its lightweight shell that blended the best of flexibility and impact protection into one. 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 made him want to head straight to the big house. However, he flicked the switch to turn on his blinker to turn left. It was Christmas morning, and he always spent the first rays of light breaking over the horizon with his family.
Like every year, the ride from the stop sign to the entrance took less than ten minutes. He doesn’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 he continued riding until he saw the bench. His bench.
He came to a stop 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, and 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 family's names engraved.
“Nancy and Nina 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 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 had on a pair of faded denim jeans with a few rips in the knee that were put there through wear not fashion. They were the most comfortable pair she owned, matched 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 so she could 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, needing to make sure she fully stocked it 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, Frank 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 dart boards.
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. “Right. I’m sure 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 finally they said last call. Taeloree and Jamie rushed to get their orders in and out, wanting to keep everyone happy.
“I can’t believe we made it through an entire evening without one fight,” Jamie exclaimed.
Blair and Fred froze. Taeloree dropped her tray. It was an unwritten, unspoken saying that you didn’t mention the word fight in a bar. You definitely didn’t say one didn’t happen, or you would invite said fight to occur.
“What? What did I say?” Jamie asked, spinning in a circle.
The music played at a low decibel as the DJ began shutting down for the night, ensuring those nearby heard her little announcement.
“You are not the brightest bulb in the pack, are you?” Cheryl, a regular, asked.
Jamie glared at her, then at Blair. “How rude. All I said was—”
Taeloree slapped her hand over the other girl’s lips before she could utter the same words again.
“Jamie, have you ever heard of jinxing? That is literally what you just did,” Fred muttered.
The girl’s eyes widened.
Taeloree nodded, then removed her hand. “Exactly. Now, spin in a circle three times and say I’m a dumb ass.”
Jamie started to turn around.
“Don’t,” Blair said. “Jamie, for future reference, don’t say anything about such things. After you’re home and tucked safely in bed, go right ahead. Okay?” Blair asked.
“Got it, Jinx. Oh, is that why they call you? Never mind. Shutting up.” Jamie spun on her booted feet and walked away.
“That girl has done lost her mind, or maybe she ran for a train when they said brain,” Fred muttered.
Jinx locked the back door after she and Fred walked out. “It is freezing out here. I swear I could cut glass with my nipples,” Fred said, shivering exaggeratedly.
“If you wore a bra, you’d have extra padding for them titties,” she joked.
“Sounds like someone needs warming up.”
She and Fred spun at the sound of the male voice. The sight of three men leaning against a pickup parked next to her jacked-up Ford F350 pissed her the fuck off. “What’s up, guys?”
“Not much. We just wanted to make sure you got home okay. How about we give you a lift?” the man Jamie had said reminded her of a mix between Glenn Powell and Kellen Lutz asked. She saw the resemblance, kind of. He looked a lot like Glenn but had the bulk of Kellen. Yet, the guy was a complete dick; the assholery oozed off him.
“Thanks for the offer, but I got a ride. I hope you had a Merry Christmas,” she said, trying to sound chipper.
“Why don’t you send your friend on his way, and you come with us? We promise you’ll have the best night of your life.” Fake Glenn moved forward.
Blair felt Fred move closer to her side. “Are you carrying?” he asked in a low whisper. Frank and the others left a half hour before them, which meant these fuckers had been waiting and watching.
“In my bag. I don’t think I’ll have time to pull it out before the fuckboy is on us,” Blair whispered.
“What’re you two saying?” he asked, taking a menacing step forward.
The sound of someone approaching from the side made them look to the right. Blair’s breath stalled in her throat. The man was enormous. Well over six and a half feet tall, broad-shouldered, sporting a mohawk with several braids interspersed throughout the blond and brown mass.
“Hey, babe. We got a problem?”
Fred nudged her in the side, making her acutely aware her jaw was hanging open.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“Mmm, I think it would be a good idea if the three of you hop up in your little truck there and run along before you get hurt.”
Blair watched as he spoke and flicked his hands as he talked. She wanted to tell him to quit taunting them as she nearly cackled at his words.
“Buddy, there’s three of us and only one of you. I think it’s you who should run along.” The fool tried to mock the big guy’s actions.
“Trust me. I am more than capable of protecting myself and these two. Come on. Let’s all just end the night with the three of you leaving and us three doing the same.” He turned slightly toward Blair.
Blair’s stomach fluttered. This man was every single one of her fantasies rolled into one. Tall, good-looking, muscular, tattooed, and protective. She didn’t know if he had money, but she’d throw that in the fuck it bucket. Her inner hussy snorted, agreeing they’d like to fuck him.
The move gave the asshole an opening as he rushed her savior. She watched, gasping, as the idiot from the bar slammed into the new guy’s stomach like a professional linebacker. Most people would’ve fallen on their backs from the impact. But he didn’t. He grunted and landed an elbow down the middle of the smaller man’s back, making him loosen his hold.
The big guy bent and grabbed the other guy by the front of his shirt, lifting him to his feet. Blair swore she saw him smile before he hit the guy in the face—blood splattered from the crushed nose, painting the snow crimson.
The other two men rushed toward the pair. Finally, breaking out of her stupor, she pulled her Glock from her bag.
“Stop right there, assholes,” she yelled, moving so they could see she held the gun steady.
They both pinwheeled, arms and legs spinning to get traction. One of the men fell on his ass. “Don’t shoot,” came from both men.
“I won’t unless you make me.” She glanced over her shoulder, watching the scene unfold. The man who showed up like an avenging angel glared at her, then at the bleeding idiot on the ground.
“If you had a gun, why the fuck didn’t you have it out?” he growled.
Her eyes narrowed. “It was in my bag. I wasn’t expecting to get jumped.”
His hands went to his hips. “Always expect to get jumped when you look like that and work at a fucking bar.”
She sucked in a breath, feeling the little spark of hope die. Whoever this gorgeous stranger was, he’d been the first to make her want a man, like really want one in forever. Yet there he stood, treating her as if she were trash. Like her mother. “Fuck you very much,” she snarled.
“Listen, we’re sorry. Can we get out of here?”
Blair wanted to hiss at the loser in front of her. Holding him and the others hostage wouldn’t do her any good. She didn’t know the three men. Apparently, they were from out of state since the plates on their truck weren’t local. “Don’t come back here. You won’t be welcome.”
“Take your trash with you,” the big guy said, shoving the guy up off the ground.
Blair moved out of the way of his stumbling form.
“Thanks for your assist,” Fred said, moving to shake the asshole's hand.
She growled when she saw the man stare at Fred like he was dirt beneath his feet. “Let’s go, Fred. I’ll give you a lift.”
Her friend opened his mouth to tell her he could take himself home, she was sure, but one look at her face and he closed his trap. Smart man.
The End