Not His Old Lady Anymore

Chapter 5

Word Count: 710 | Released on: Today at 11:54

n into a still lake. The ripples were spreading, ev

ic celebration for Craig's "successful" return fr

hed him on the ride home - the brothers toasted th

rs were laughing, chugging beers. Craig was

ss of juice, smiling shyly as some of the members, try

a glass of untouched whiskey in my h

Lady. I didn't toast his "achieveme

of the more senior Old Ladies notice

a mix of annoyance, impatience, and a flicke

e thought he would "deal" with m

raig's mother, Eleanor Griffin. Her tasteful d

appy," she stated. I

, Eleanor?"

s, and sighed. "Craig has gone too far this time. Me

a way of making excuses for Craig while try

t to the club. And you, Fiona, are more important to this family. Don'

an she let on. S

ade my decision

to persuade me. She just patted the back of my hand. "Don't

whiskey and drank it in one g

alked to my offi

rned to the party, carrying

h the crowd, heading for

d the music. All

ned expression and wal

ervously, her eye

t, polite smile be

said. "Welcome to the

ers on the table in front of her

one f

most in this world." My voice carried clearly across the silent room.

nger's face and the look of pure

o manage the club's busine

accepted, she would fail. If she refused, she would be admitti

the room and raised my glass. "To Craig's retur

alked away. I knew, from this momen

Chapter End

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Not His Old Lady Anymore

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“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.”