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I thought I was going to marry Jayson, a patched member of the Iron Lizards MC, until my phone buzzed on the damp bar counter.
It was a text from an unknown number: "You should see what your man is really up to."
Below the words was a stark picture of Jayson in the alley outside, his hands all over a blonde club sweetbutt, crushing his mouth to hers.
I confronted him in front of the entire clubhouse, threw my engagement bracelet on his table, and walked out into the freezing night.
Jayson chased after me, reeking of alcohol and cheap perfume, screaming that I had absolutely nothing without him.
His cruel mother, Marlene, even tried to threaten me into silence to protect their precious family reputation, leaving me entirely isolated and homeless.
I had nowhere to go, no one to call, and my entire world had just collapsed into a dead end.
But then, the most terrifying man in the state pulled up beside me on a massive Harley.
Braxton "Brute" Wood, the ruthless President of the rival Serpents of Redemption MC—a man even Jayson feared.
Why would a man who treated everyone else like dirt suddenly offer me a ride and a way out?
He didn't just rescue me; he brought me to his fortress, handed me an unlimited black card, and demanded a one-year contract marriage.
"Because Jayson Trujillo made you a laughingstock, and you're going to be my Old Lady."
As he slid a massive diamond onto my finger at the courthouse, I realized the chilling truth.
Braxton was the one who sent me that picture, and I had just signed my life away to a predator who had been hunting me all along.
Jilted Bride: Marrying The Biker King Chapter 1
Kendal POV:
"Jayson's little thing," one of my fiancé Jason's friends slurred, raising a beer in my direction.
I forced a smile, the muscles in my cheeks tight. The annual Serpents of Redemption MC rally was a roaring beast of heavy metal, sweat, and cheap beer.
As the fiancée of a member of a different club, the Iron Lizards, I was an outsider. A piece of property on foreign land.
My phone vibrated in the pocket of my jeans, a persistent buzz against my thigh. I ignored it. Probably just another text from the diner, reminding me of a shift change.
Every hour I worked was a coin in the jar, a step closer to leaving my adoptive parents' house for good.
I needed a breath of air, away from the suffocating press of leather-clad bodies. I pushed my way to the makeshift bar.
The phone buzzed again.
With a sigh of irritation, I pulled it out. An unknown number. A picture message.
My finger swiped across the screen.
The world went quiet. The deafening music, the laughter, the clinking of bottles — all of it melted into a low, muffled hum.
My chest tightened with a sudden ache, like something had shattered inside, leaving me breathless.
Jason was right there. My Jason. The man who swore I was the only one.
He had a blonde pinned against the back stockroom wall, one hand shoved deep down the front of her leather pants, her hips grinding back against him in a slow, filthy rhythm, like she was riding something invisible.
In the corner of the photo, a digital clock glowed: 9:13 PM.
My cheap watch read 9:15.
The second photo loaded. A close-up of her face. Brandi Hicks. That club-hopping "Sweetbutt" who always wore the least and laughed the loudest — a woman I'd even said hello to once.
There she was, lips parted, head thrown back, his fingers curling inside her while her own hand gripped his belt buckle, knuckles white, like she was afraid he'd pull out.
I stared. Then I laughed. A short, hollow sound.
No tears. No rage. Just — this? This is what he traded me for? A storage room and a woman who probably couldn't even spell his last name?
It wasn't pain I felt. It was cheapness. Cheapness at myself — for ever thinking he was worth keeping.
Nausea churned in my stomach, hot and acidic.
"Honey, I was looking all over for you."
Jayson's voice sliced through the fog. He was walking toward me, two beers in hand, a perfect smile on his face. The same smile he'd given me this morning.
The heat of pure, unadulterated rage shot up from the soles of my feet.
"What's wrong, Kendal?" he asked when I stepped back, avoiding his touch. His smile faltered.
I didn't answer. I turned and walked toward the small stage in the center of the field.
"Kendal!" he called out, confused.
I ignored him, feeling hundreds of eyes on my back.
I walked up the rickety steps and took the microphone from a drunk guitarist. The feedback shrieked, silencing the entire rally.
Every single biker, including the men at the front wearing cuts that read 'Serpents of Redemption,' was staring at me.
"Sorry to interrupt," I said. My voice was steady, clear. It surprised even me. "I have a little announcement to make."
Jayson's face went pale as he started pushing through the crowd.
"Jayson Trujillo," I said, my eyes locked on his face as it went pale in an instant. "You might be looking for me, but I suggest you go find Brandi Hicks instead."
A wave of gasps rippled through the crowd, punctuated by barely suppressed snickers.
"After all," I paused, letting the words hang in the air, "you were getting so hot and heavy with her in that stockroom — you probably need a beer to cool down right about now."
Whistles and hoots erupted, sweeping through the entire place. Jayson's face flushed from white to red to purple, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping on dry land, not a single coherent word squeezing out.
I lifted my left hand, slow and deliberate, and slid off the engagement ring he'd spent three months' salary on.
"So, I hereby announce—" My voice wasn't loud, but every syllable landed like a hammer. "Our engagement is over."
I looked down at his face, twisted with humiliation and fury, and smiled.
"As for this ring," I tossed it casually toward the corner of the stage.
It hit the floor with a tiny, insignificant clink. "Keep it. Give it to the next woman who doesn't mind sharing your dirty little thing."
I handed the microphone back to the guitarist, who was still standing there with his mouth hanging open.
I turned and walked off the stage. The crowd parted like the Red Sea, clearing a path in front of me. One step. Two. Three. I didn't look back.
All I wanted was to leave. Late loyalty is cheaper than dirt — I wasn't about to waste another second on it.
I pushed through the exit, and the cold night air hit me square in the face.
It wasn't until then that I realized I was shaking all over. I pulled out my phone to call a ride — no cars available.
I pulled my jacket tighter and started walking down the pitch-black road. No idea where I was going. No ride. But standing there would've made me look like even more of an idiot.
The gravel on the shoulder of the road bit into my bare feet. I'd kicked off my heels miles ago, and now every step felt like walking on broken glass.
The music from the gathering had long faded, replaced by the sound of my own ragged breathing cutting through the night.
Headlights swept over me from behind. A car screeched to a halt at my side.
Jilted Bride: Marrying The Biker King Chapter 2
Kendal POV:
It was Jayson. He stumbled out of the driver's seat, his face a mess of shock and fury, eyebrows bunched together in that pathetic way of his. "Kendal! Are you out of your mind? Do you have any idea what you just did?"
"I know exactly what I did." He reached for my arm, but I jerked it back, then swung my palm across his face — crack, sharp and clean, echoing like a firecracker in the silent night.
His head snapped to the side, and a red handprint bloomed across his cheek in seconds.
"That one's for your dick that can't keep its pants on."
He stood there holding his face for a second, then lurched forward again. "It was a mistake, I was drunk…" The words tumbled out, tangled and desperate, each one squeezed through a throat that kept catching. "Kendal, please, just let me explain — I love you!"
I laughed, short and cold. "You don't know what love is. Your love is no different from a stray dog pissing on every corner it passes. You see a hole and you go for it — and you call that love?"
He reached for me again. I kicked him square in the knee. He grunted and dropped to one knee, palms slapping the gravel, hunched over like a dog begging for scraps.
"Don't touch me. That thing of yours makes me sick just thinking about it."
"Don't be like this…" His voice came out raw, scraped thin. He looked up at me from the ground. "Let's go back. We can pretend none of this ever happened—"
"Pretend none of this happened?" I looked down at him, every word dropping like a hammer. "You can't keep it in your pants, and your brain went along for the ride? Was Brandi's mouth that good? Did her legs wrap around you so tight you forgot my name?"
"Kendal—"
"Shut up. You look more pathetic begging me right now than you did on your knees in that stockroom pulling her pants down." I let out another laugh, one that even I could feel was hollow. "Don't ever touch me again with those hands. Give them to Brandi — she seemed real fond of whatever scraps you were handing out."
I turned and kept walking. Behind me, the headlights stretched my shadow long across the road, and I stepped on it with every stride, crushing it underfoot.
I heard him scramble up, heard him call my name. I didn't look back.
I walked until my ankles ached, until my breath came out hot and thin. Plans, futures, everything I'd been so sure of — gone in one night. No money, feet torn up, not a single place to go.
Then I heard it. A low, oppressive rumble that vibrated through the asphalt. It wasn't a car. It was the sound of pure, untamed power.
I looked up.
A massive, all-black Harley-Davidson motorcycle slowed to a stop in front of me.
The man riding it was huge, his frame encased in a leather cut adorned with a coiled serpent and a crown. 'Serpents of Redemption MC' was stitched across the back, above the word 'President.'
He took off his helmet, revealing a face so sharply handsome it was almost cruel. The faint light caught in his deep blue eyes, making them look cold and dangerous.
I recognized him. Braxton "Brute" Wood. The King of the Serpents. He'd been sitting at the front during my little performance, watching me with an unnerving, analytical gaze.
"Need a ride?" His voice was a low growl, like sandpaper over fine wood.
I stared at him, my guard instantly up. Getting involved with a 1%er of his stature was a death wish.
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "That kid from the Iron Lizards didn't deserve a performance like that."
His words weren't mocking. They sounded like... approval?
"Get on," he said, nodding toward the seat behind him. It wasn't a request.
I hesitated. Getting on that bike was like making a deal with the devil. But my other option was to walk until morning.
He seemed to lose patience. He swung a long leg over the bike and stood, towering over me. The sheer size of him was suffocating.
Before I could protest, he bent down and swept me into his arms. A small gasp escaped my lips as I instinctively grabbed onto his leather cut.
His arms were like steel, his chest a wall of solid warmth that smelled of leather and faint tobacco. My heart hammered against my ribs.
He placed me on the back of the bike, then put his own helmet on my head, securing the strap under my chin.
"Hold on," he commanded, swinging back onto the seat in front of me.
The engine roared to life. My hands shot out, wrapping tightly around his hard waist.
The bike launched forward like a black arrow, the wind screaming past my ears. In the side mirror, I watched Jayson's car shrink to a tiny dot and then disappear completely.
My cheek was pressed against the solid expanse of his back. Through the thick leather, I could feel the heat of his body, the vibration of the powerful machine beneath us.
I had no idea where he was taking me, or what he wanted. But in that moment, abandoned by the world, I felt a strange, terrifying flicker of safety in the arms of the devil himself.
Jilted Bride: Marrying The Biker King Chapter 3
Kendal POV:
Braxton didn't take me to the Serpents' clubhouse. He pulled up to a 24-hour motel on the edge of town.
He paid for a room in cash, pressed the cold key card into my hand, and said, "Stay here tonight. Don't go anywhere. I'll find you tomorrow."
I stared at him, a thousand questions swirling in my mind, but he just gave me one long, unreadable look before turning on his heel. The roar of his Harley faded into the night, leaving me alone in the buzzing silence of the motel parking lot.
The next morning, a sharp knock on the door woke me. A well-dressed man who introduced himself as Logan Price stood outside. Braxton had sent him.
He handed me a shopping bag. Inside was a new set of clothes, shoes, toiletries, and a brand-new phone. "Mr. Wood asked me to tell you to call him when you're ready."
I showered and changed, staring at the stranger in the mirror. My hands trembled as I dialed the only number saved in the new phone.
"Go to Jayson's house," Braxton's voice commanded without preamble. "Talk to his mother. You need to make this official, kill any hope he has."
I understood. As long as his mother, Marlene Trujillo, didn't publicly acknowledge the breakup, Jayson could still harass me, claiming it was just a lovers' quarrel. I needed her to end it.
"The motorcycle is waiting downstairs," Braxton added, then hung up.
A black motorcycle was waiting at the curb. Logan was straddling it, holding out a helmet to me.
I took it, strapped it on, and swung onto the back, gripping the phone in my pocket — the one with the photos. The engine roared, and the wind ripped my hair into a straight line behind me.
When we pulled up to the Trujillo family's upscale home, the housekeeper Maria opened the door and gave me a look that mixed shock with pity. "Mrs. Trujillo is in the living room. She's… not in a good mood."
Marlene Trujillo was pacing the living room, her heels pounding the floor like hammers.
"You dare show your face here?" she shrieked the second she saw me, her finger nearly jabbing my nose. "You've made the Trujillo name and the Iron Lizards a laughingstock across the entire state!"
"Mrs. Trujillo," I said, my voice steady as stone, "the one who made you a laughingstock is your son — not me. I wasn't the one who unzipped his pants."
I raised my phone and lit up the screen. "This one." I swiped to the next. "And this one. Want me to send them all to the local reporters in one click, or would you like to pick a cover photo first?"
Marlene's face went white, drained of every drop of blood. She stumbled back, collapsing onto the sofa, gripping the armrest to keep from sliding off. "You… you little bitch! What do you want?"
"I don't want much." I tucked the phone back into my pocket, leaned down close to her, and dropped my voice half an octave. "You issue a public statement — on behalf of the Trujillo family and the Iron Lizards. Jayson Trujillo and Kendal Jennings have called off their engagement due to 'irreconcilable differences.' We're done. No ties. No contact. Ever."
She stared at me, pure venom burning in her eyes, her lips quivering.
But she knew — those photos get out, and the club's reputation, the family's name, all of it goes up in flames.
"Fine…" she hissed through clenched teeth, her knuckles white. "I'll do it. But you delete those photos the second it's done."
"The statement goes live, the photos disappear." I straightened up and gave her a short nod.
She grabbed her phone and barked orders at the club secretary. Twenty minutes later, a notification pinged on my new phone — the Iron Lizards MC official page had posted the statement.
I screenshot it on the spot, switched to my own account, and typed a caption: "Goodbye, Jayson. Give Brandi my best — those teeth of hers seem like a good fit for you."
I stood up and gave Marlene a curt nod. "Thank you for your cooperation, Mrs. Trujillo."
Behind me, her ragged breathing filled the room, heavy and furious, like a caged beast. I didn't look back.
I pushed open the heavy carved door and walked out, the wind rushing in and washing away the suffocating air.
Back on the bike, Logan handed me a tablet. A video call from Braxton popped up. I accepted.
His face filled the screen, blurred chrome and engine grease behind him.
"Nice work," he said.
Then he paused, his eyes locking onto mine through the screen.
"Now let's talk about my payment. And — my terms."