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Not His Old Lady Anymore

Chapter 3 

Word Count: 799    |    Released on: Today at 11:55

na

n stacking the ledgers, contract

club's legitimate businesses-a failing auto shop, a tattoo parlor-and

in. He slammed his hand down on the s

id, looking up to meet his furious g

p this childish game!" He clearly th

aps your Ginger can give it a try. After all, she faced death with you. She mu

ared. "Why do you have to drag her into thi

Craig, do you really think I can't see it? The way

nded her. "That's because she's scared! She's in a strange place

washing over me. Three years of dedication to h

ert, I was ambushed by the Vipers. My bike was wrecked, and I was shot. Cletus sa

looking for me. Cletus was killed trying to help me escape. Before he di

anyone who tried to hurt them." He looked at me, his eyes ple

honor and promises. But I was the one

g her into another war? Letting h

st want to give her a standing,

of status?"

, "A... a respected status. I want the brothe

tely understood. He wanted Ging

Old Lady. He wanted two. It was a blatant violati

ld laugh, or a mocking one,

g uneasy. "Fiona, wha

m laughing because you think you can have it all-loyal brothers, a du

" he starte

I cut him off. "What matters is t

e them. From this day on, the finances of the Serpent

uttering to the floor like dead lea

round, then back at me in disbelief

" His voice held

st walked around him,

ocating room and this man who had just

I paused witho

th ways. You chose your 'honor.' Now y

door open a

him in and shutting me out, severi

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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.”