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Not His Old Lady Anymore

Not His Old Lady Anymore

Author: Lian Lian
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Chapter 1 

Word Count: 812    |    Released on: Today at 11:54

na

he ledger. Outside, the familiar roar of a Harley eng

eep, gravelly rumble I knew

g's bike. H

nwelcome thumps against my ribs. He'd been on this

alked out of my office. It was my duty as his Old Lady to g

ith Prospects and hang-arounds, their eyes fixed on

broad back of the man wearing the iconic Serpents of Redemption c

steps

on the back of h

otion, offering a hand to help her down. The gesture was ste

ia sun. She wore plain clothes that didn't belong here

ight, slid off the side of th

whispers from the brothers nearby were li

froze for a second before he started walking

ice a little rough. "Roa

My eyes went past h

mirk so faint I almost thought I'd imagined it. Then, just a

. This wasn't an accid

He lowered his voice. "Her name is Ginger. She ran into some trouble o

ice so cold it didn't sound like my own. "Hel

arp edge of impatience in his tone. "In fr

, and he was asking me to give him face f

throat. When I looked at him again, my face was

are you staring at? Don't you see we have

to relax him. He t

with her son. Cody glared

urke. Craig saved us on the road. He's such a

mile with no warmth in it at all. "I

Lady' made he

he tension. "Alright, it was a long ride, e

uld finish. "Ricky!" I cal

ver immediately. "Fio

get them settled." I made sure to stress "guest quarters"-the area for tempo

ened instantly. "

I spoke first, my voice low

g him straight in the e

and walked back into the Clubhouse,

gaze burning into my back

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Not His Old Lady Anymore
Not His Old Lady Anymore
“I was the President's Old Lady - and the only reason his MC was still breathing. For three years, I ran every legal business the Serpents of Redemption owned. While Craig chased road glory across state lines, I turned a failing auto shop and a tattoo parlor into the money that kept the brothers fed, the bikes fueled, and the clubhouse lights on. Then he rode home from a two-month run with a sweetbutt on the back of his Harley - and her son. Ginger, he said, had saved his life on the road. So he put her in the main residence, in the room directly across from our bed. He handed her my ledgers and called it repayment. When her son dumped a cup of scalding coffee over my hand, Craig never checked my burns. He scooped up the boy and blamed me. His grandmother - the club's Matriarch - stood before every patched brother and accused me of hurting "family." That night, Craig told me Ginger held a place in his heart I could never reach. A debt of blood he'd honor above me. Three years. My family's fortune. My scarred hand. All of it - worthless next to his roadside savior. So I did the one thing a President never expects his Old Lady to do. I gave back his patch. Now they can keep their empty ledgers. They can play happy family in a clubhouse I built. And when this motorcycle club burns - I'll be the one holding the match.”