His Unwanted Wife, The Secret Biker Boss

Cinnamon Collier POV:

I didn't look back. I kept walking until the alley mouth opened onto the main street, the gravel crunching under my boots, the low chuckle of the stranger still crawling along the back of my neck like a warning.

A black Harley with no badges. A man with steel-gray eyes and the kind of stillness that belonged to someone who had nothing left to lose. He wasn't Salinas. He wasn't anyone I recognized from the trade routes. But whoever he was, he had been waiting outside the Iron Vault shop.

I filed it away. Tonight belonged to Chas and his Church. Everything else could wait.

The heavy bass of classic rock rattled the floorboards the moment I slipped through the back door into the Salinas Clubhouse.

The Biker Bar was packed. Prospect patches were running pitchers of cheap draft to the tables, while Sweetbutts in torn denim and leather bustiers hung around the pool tables, laughing loudly over the clatter of billiard balls. Nobody paid any attention to me as I cut through the smoke toward the heavy oak door leading to the basement.

Two patched members standing guard by the stairs shifted slightly, smirking as I passed.

"Church is already in session, Cinnamon," one muttered. "Chas said you'd probably hide in bed."

I ignored him, pulled the door open, and walked down the concrete steps.

The basement room was thick with cigar smoke and the bitter tang of stale whiskey. A long slate pool table sat in the center, functioning as the official Church table. Half a dozen senior members sat on folding chairs around it, with Chas sitting at the head.

Kristina was perched on a stool just behind Chas's right shoulder. She wore a soft cream knit sweater that looked absurdly clean against the stained leather and dirty denim around her, her hands resting demurely on her lap.

Chas looked up as the door clicked shut behind me. He scowled, tapping his heavy class ring against the wood.

"You're late," he barked. "Find a seat in the back and keep your mouth shut until the table calls on you."

I didn't move to the back. I walked straight down the length of the pool table, pulled out a metal chair at the opposite end, and sat down. I leaned back, crossing my arms over my chest.

A heavy hand landed hard on my shoulder from behind.

Bettie Lowe, my mother-in-law, leaned in close. Her breath was hot, sour with cheap bourbon and peppermint gum.

"You listen to me, girl," Bettie hissed in my ear, her bony fingers digging through my jacket. "You clap when they hand Kristina her rocker, and you make sure the catering bill for her celebration run gets charged to your personal card tomorrow. Don't you dare embarrass my boy in front of the elders."

I reached up, grabbed her wrist with my left hand, and peeled her fingers off my shoulder with enough force to make her joints pop.

"My money only pays for things that have value, Bettie," I said, my voice quiet, carrying clearly under the hum of the ventilation fan.

Bettie's face flushed an ugly red. "You little—"

"Order at the table," the senior elder at the side called out, bringing a heavy wooden gavel down onto the green felt with a dull thud.

Chas stood up, puffing his chest out, smoothing the lapels of his cut.

"Brothers," Chas announced, his voice booming across the basement. "West Plains was a meat grinder. If it wasn't for Kristina's field trauma skills and the emergency medicine she brought across the lines, half the northern squad would be in pine boxes right now. As Road Captain, I'm making a formal motion to award her the Co-Old Lady rocker under the Salinas banner."

Several of the younger members banged their fists on the table in approval.

"Hell yeah! She earned it!"

Kristina brought a trembling hand to her mouth, her eyes welling with well-practiced tears. "Thank you, everyone. I just... I couldn't bear the thought of any of our boys suffering."

Chas looked across the room directly at me, his chest swelling with arrogant triumph.

"Cinnamon," Chas said, his tone dripping with fake courtesy. "As the current Old Lady on paper, the bylaws give you the floor to offer your blessing."

Every pair of eyes in the room turned toward me. Bettie glared from the side, waiting for the inevitable surrender.

I didn't cry. I didn't look hurt.

I reached inside my leather jacket, pulled out the thick, black-bound ledger Rachel had finalized an hour ago, and slammed it down onto the center of the slate pool table.

BANG.

The heavy ledger hit the wood like a gunshot, scattering the chalk and sending a billiard ball rolling into the corner pocket. The entire room went dead silent.

"I don't have a blessing," I said, standing up and resting my palms flat against the table. "I have an audit."

Bettie stepped forward, snatching the book and flipping the first page. Her smug expression melted into sheer terror as her eyes scanned the numbers.

"What... what is this garbage?" Bettie shrieked.

"That is the verified financial record of the Salinas Garage for the last six months," I announced, my voice cutting through the smoke like a fresh blade. "Total operating deficit: three hundred and twelve thousand dollars."

Chas jumped up, knocking his chair back against the wall. "Shut your mouth! The shop accounts are solid!"

"They were solid when I was using my mother's estate to pay your parts vendors," I replied, pointing a finger directly at Kristina, whose delicate smile had completely vanished. "Right up until you started blowing twenty grand a month on boutique clothes, designer luggage, and fraudulent invoices for black-market medicine."

"Chas!" Kristina gasped, shrinking behind his shoulder, real panic flashing in her wide eyes. "She's lying! She's trying to ruin my reputation because she hates me!"

"I don't care about your reputation," I said coldly. I looked back at the elders sitting along the sides of the table. "As of eight o'clock this morning, I have executed a formal Charter Cut-Off. My capital is frozen. My name is off the shop lease. You want Kristina to play Old Lady? She can start by paying the shop's electric bill."

The room erupted into furious shouting. The elders looked at the ledger, then at Chas, their faces tightening with fury.

"Cinnamon, you crazy bitch!" Chas yelled, his face purple as he lunged forward, slamming his fists onto the table. "You walk out on this club, you won't last three days on the highway! You have nothing without the Salinas patch!"

I grabbed my helmet from the chair beside me.

"We'll see who freezes first, Chas."

I turned my back on the shouting table and walked toward the stairs.

"You're a dead woman!" Bettie screamed behind me. "You don't get a single dime out of this house!"

I paused on the first step, glancing back over my shoulder.

"Check the last page of the ledger, Bettie. The shop owes my personal holding company two hundred and twenty thousand dollars in defaulted loans. You'd better start selling your jewelry."

I pushed open the door and walked out into the cool air of the bar, leaving the chaos behind me.

As I reached the front entrance, a man in an expensive navy suit was violently shaking a bright pink document in the face of the terrified bartender.