Not His Old Lady Anymore

Chapter 6

Word Count: 685 | Released on: Today at 11:54

ence. After I handed the ledgers to Ginger,

common dining area as usual. The a

ont of her. Her brow was furrowed. She had clearly b

her, sipping milk and shoo

the coffee pot, pouring m

ir tables, their eyes darting between me

ed over, holding the ledger. "Fiona... I know you're still angry, but this..

problem back to me. I w

, holding my coffee cup. "Craig trusts you

ood there awkwardly, her eye

n cue. He saw the scene

is voice was gentle. "What's wrong? Worryin

tone was a thorn in the

g, I... I just wanted to help you, but Fiona, she

who had been quie

"walked" past me. Then, as if he'd

odge, but it

. But worse, he had knocked i

ng black coffee poured o

ied out, the cup slipping from my f

and started to blis

eam of fear. It was a yelp of triumph. A

e was s

rushed over and scooped up Cody, checking him fran

s more painful

hurt me, his face full of concern, while I,

Cody, you scared me to death! Fiona, why weren't you more c

f three, the pain making me dizzy. A

riends couldn't stand it. One brought cold

was perfectly fine did he fin

"Fiona, what is wrong with you? Can't you wa

. I laughed until tears

another word. I just let my friends

, but my hea

exactly where I stood. My dignity, my pain, meant nothi

Chapter End

Claim Your Bonus at the APP

Open

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.”