Jilted Bride: Marrying The Biker King

Kendal POV:

Braxton didn't haul me back to the Serpents' fortified compound that night.

Instead, the motorcycle rumbled to a halt outside an unassuming, neon-lit motel on the outskirts of town. He paid the night manager in cash, shoved a plastic room key into my cold fingers, and leaned down until his breath stirred the hair near my temple.

"Lock the deadbolt," he ordered, his low baritone vibrating in the quiet lot. "Don't leave the room. I'll come for you in the morning."

Before I could demand an explanation, he kicked the stand up, twisted the throttle, and vanished into the fog, leaving only the scent of burnt fuel behind.

At seven o'clock sharp the next morning, three measured raps sounded against the wooden door.

I opened it a crack. Standing on the exterior walkway was a sharp-eyed man in a charcoal wool suit, adjusting silver-rimmed spectacles. He carried a large designer shopping bag.

"Logan Price," he introduced himself crisply. "Mr. Wood dispatched me."

He stepped inside just far enough to place the bag on the unmade bed. Inside lay tailored denim, an ivory cashmere sweater, leather boots that matched my size to the millimeter, and a brand-new, unboxed smartphone.

"Mr. Wood requests that you dial him the moment you are dressed," Logan added, before turning and waiting outside on the balcony.

My hands shook slightly as I pulled on the clothes. The fabric was luxurious, entirely foreign against my skin. I picked up the phone, powered it on, and tapped the only contact in the directory.

"Go to Jayson's house," Braxton answered the second the line connected, skipping all pleasantries. "Speak directly to his mother. Cut the cord before they attempt to spin this as a lovers' spat."

I understood immediately. Marlene Trujillo was the matriarchal spine of the Iron Lizards. As long as she considered our breakup a temporary squabble, Jayson would hunt me, harass me, and drag me back into his orbit to salvage his wounded ego.

"Logan is waiting downstairs with a bike," Braxton finished, and clicked off.

Twenty minutes later, Logan dropped me in front of the Trujillo estate-a sprawling suburban mansion paid for with club kickbacks. Maria, the longtime maid, opened the door with wide, anxious eyes and directed me into the formal sitting room.

Marlene Trujillo was pacing the hardwood, her designer heels clicking like rapid gunshots.

"You ungrateful little gutter rat!" Marlene shrieked the second she saw me, her manicured finger thrusting toward my face. "You disgraced our family in front of every charter in the state! You turned the Iron Lizards into a laughingstock!"

"Your son unzipped his pants in a public hallway, Mrs. Trujillo. Not me."

I reached into my pocket, pulled out my old phone, and tapped the display awake.

"Here's Jayson with his hands down Brandi's trousers," I said, flipping to the next image. "And here's her mouth on his throat. Should I email these to the local press, or would you like to approve the headline first?"

Marlene's face lost every ounce of color. She stumbled back, clutching the velvet armrest of her settee to keep from collapsing.

"You... you spiteful bitch," she gasped, her knuckles white. "What do you want?"

"A public press release," I replied, my voice hard as marble. "Issued through the official Iron Lizards MC media account. An announcement stating that Jayson Trujillo and Kendal Jennings have mutually and permanently dissolved their engagement due to irreconcilable differences. No claims. No retaliation. Total severance."

"If we post that, the club looks compromised-"

"If you don't," I leaned down, lowering my pitch, "the entire state gets to see your precious son's anatomy plastered across every billboard from here to Chicago."

Her jaw trembled with impotent fury. "Fine. But you delete the files the second it goes live."

"The moment it's posted, they're gone."

Fifteen minutes later, the chime on my new phone signaled a notification. The Iron Lizards MC verified page had published the formal notice.

I took a screenshot, posted it to my personal feed, and added a short caption: Goodbye, Jayson. Give Brandi my best-she seemed very fond of your scraps.

I walked out the front door, inhaling the crisp morning breeze.

Down at the curb, Logan was straddling his motorcycle, holding out an iPad. An incoming video stream was already ringing. I accepted the call.

Braxton's face filled the screen, framed by the industrial steel and chrome of the club's private garage.

"Clean execution," he murmured, his dark eyes locking onto mine through the lens. "Now. Let's discuss my compensation. And my terms."