All Chapters of Cursed Kings MC Books 1-4: Chapter 221 - Chapter 230

CalebMovie nights have become a thing—something Queenie and I never talked about but just fell into. Every Friday, after baby Caleb is tucked in, we settle on the worn couch in the cabin’s small living room with whatever snacks we’ve managed to scrounge up. Doc has left now and tonight, it’s popcorn, some leftover cookies Queenie baked earlier in the week, and a couple of beers for me.Queenie’s curled up on the other end of the couch, her legs tucked under her as she scrolls through the movie options. “What about this one?” she asks, holding up the remote. “It’s supposed to be a tearjerker.”I groan. “No way. I’m not sitting through two hours of people crying.”“You cried during that war movie last week,” she shoots back with a smirk.“That was different,” I mutter, crossing my arms. “That was emotional.”She laughs, the sound light and unguarded, and for a moment, it feels like we’re just two friends hanging out. Not two people trying to rebuild their lives from the rubble of every

CalebSitting next to Queenie in the bar, her laughter filling the air, I can’t help but smile. The memory of this morning’s baby formula battle flashes in my mind, and I chuckle to myself. She catches my grin and raises an eyebrow.“What?” she asks, her tone teasing.“Nothing,” I say, smirking. “Just thinking about you covered in baby powder, screaming like the world was ending.”She rolls her eyes but laughs along with me. “You started it,” she points out, nudging my arm.“I was innocent,” I reply, feigning a serious expression. “You’re the one who turned it into a full-on war.”“You deserved it,” she fires back, her eyes sparkling with amusement.We sit close, our shoulders nearly brushing as we exchange jokes and stories. For a moment, it feels like everything’s normal—like we’re just two people enjoying a quiet moment together. But the reality of King’s situation and the weight of everything else still lingers in the background, unspoken but ever-present.After a while, I excuse

CalebI wake up to find the bed empty. The storm has calmed, and the cabin is silent except for the occasional creak of the wood. The chill from the previous night is gone, replaced by the steady hum of warmth that tells me the electricity is back on. Sitting up, I rub my face, trying to shake off the lingering haze of sleep.I glance around, half expecting to see Queenie, but she’s nowhere in sight. With a sigh, I get up and head to my room. It’s still early, and the soft gray light of dawn filters through the window. The sketchpad on my desk catches my eye, and I sit down, flipping to a blank page.The image comes to me easily: baby Caleb, small and peaceful, his tiny hands curled into fists as he sleeps. I start sketching, the pencil gliding across the paper as I focus on every little detail. It feels good, almost therapeutic, and I know Queenie will love it. She’s been through so much, and if this can bring her even a moment of joy, it’s worth it.Once I’m finished, I take a momen

CalebThe drive back to the cabin is quiet, the kind of silence that crackles with unspoken tension. Queenie sits beside me, her eyes focused on baby Caleb in the backseat, but I can tell she knows. Knows that I saw her with that guy. Knows how much it stung.When we pull into the driveway, I don’t wait. I’m out of the car and grabbing the bags before she can say anything. She follows me inside, her steps hesitant, and I know she’s bracing herself for whatever is coming.I set the bags down a little too hard on the kitchen counter, the sound echoing in the small cabin. Queenie places baby Caleb in his crib, then turns to me, her expression cautious.“Are you going to say something, or are you just going to stew in silence?” she asks, her voice firmer than I expect.I let out a sharp breath, running a hand through my hair. “What do you want me to say, Queenie? That it didn’t bother me seeing you give your number to some random guy?”Her eyes widen, and she folds her arms across her che

KingThe room is suffocating. The walls seem closer every time I’m called in here, the overhead lights flickering just enough to irritate me. My dad sits across from me, his arms crossed, his face as stoic as ever. Beside him is my solicitor, shuffling papers and clearing his throat like a man about to drop bad news. I’m tired of bad news.“Why the hell are they delaying sentencing?” I growl, breaking the silence. “It’s been months. They keep dragging it out. What’s the holdup?”The solicitor avoids my gaze, staring at the papers in front of him like they hold the answers to the universe. “There have been… complications,” he finally says.“Complications?” I repeat, leaning forward. “What kind of complications? Speak plainly.”He glances at my dad, who gives him a slight nod. Taking a deep breath, the solicitor looks back at me. “It appears that some of the evidence in your case has been called into question.”I narrow my eyes, my temper rising. “What do you mean, called into question?