Not His Old Lady Anymore

Chapter 2

Word Count: 696 | Released on: Today at 11:55

y, the sound of my heels clicking on

raig's hand clamped around my wrist.

e was a mask of fury, his light brown eyes

I tried to pull my arm free,

iders!" he snarled, keeping his voice low,

weetbutt with no patch, and you want her in the m

rything in our world. It

y saved my life on the road! They're homeless becau

der who had, in fact, saved a wounded Craig

s daughter-or whatever she is to you-home to

tting go of my wrist to rake a hand through his short blond h

hey have private bathrooms and daily cleaning. I

d stubbornly. "I want her in th

e third floor. The one directly

nge anymore. It was

inesses, the clean and the dirty, for him. And this was my rewar

the word cle

urned dangerous. "Fi

g Griffin, don't forget that I am your Old Lady, recognized by the Serpents of Redem

knowing it was the one t

n. "This is my decision. I'm the President of this clu

sweetbutt in the main residence. That

emate, the air th

e end of the hall. It was Ricky. He

ered. "Ms. Burke is... she's

a spark in a room

y to Ricky. "Go clean out the corner room

is eyes flickin

front of an underling, Craig had just co

cky. I didn't argue

calmly and nodded. "F

him. He hadn't expected

alked back tow

oing?" he asked, his vo

around. I just

houlder, "then I'm sure you don't need m

Chapter End

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Not His Old Lady Anymore

Lian Lian Mafia

“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.”