Jilted Bride: Marrying The Biker King

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."