Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Geirolf
"You're fuckin’ quiet today."
Emil's voice cuts through my thoughts as we ride side by side down the dusty back road that leads to one of the club's storage facilities.
The early October morning is crisp, the kind that stings your lungs if you breathe too deep.
I barely slept last night, my mind replaying every moment with Astrid at the spa.
Her skin under my hands. The sounds she made. The way she looked at me like I was something worth wanting.
"Just focused," I reply, keeping my eyes on the road ahead.
Emil snorts. "Bullshit. You've been in your head all morning. What's going on?"
Guilt twists in my gut.
I've known Emil for fifteen years.
He's not just a brother in the club, he's one of the few people I truly trust, and here I am, keeping secrets from him—secrets about his sister, no less.
"Got a lot on my mind with this Patriot shit," I say, which isn't entirely a lie.
The threat is real enough.
Emil nods, accepting this. "Fucking psychopath. First Tindra, then Flora. Who's next, you know?"
I grip the handlebars tighter at the thought.
Astrid's face flashes in my mind.
The idea of her caught in the crossfire makes my blood run cold.
We pull into the property, an old warehouse surrounded by a chain-link fence topped with razor wire.
From the outside, it looks abandoned.
Inside, it houses a portion of the club's weapons and some of our less-than-legal inventory.
Emil punches in the security code while I scan the tree line, an old habit from my time in foster care—it teaches you to always watch your back.
Nothing moves except the autumn leaves dancing in the wind.
"Runes wants us to check the inventory, make sure nothing's been touched," Emil says as we walk inside. "He's getting paranoid that the Patriot might have someone tailin’ us, or feedin’ information to him."
My shoulders tense. "He thinks it’s one of the brothers...?"
"Not the patches. Maybe a prospect. Maybe one of the hang arounds." Emil flips on the lights, illuminating rows of metal shelving stacked with crates. "Trust is in short supply these days."
We work through the warehouse, checking seals, counting boxes, making sure everything matches the club's records.
It's tedious shit, but necessary.
I try to sound casual as we reach the weapons cache. "How's your sister doing?"
Emil's hands freeze on the crate he's opening. "Which one?"
"Astrid." Her name feels different in my mouth now that I know how she tastes.
He shrugs, resuming counting the ammunition. "Seems okay. Different, though, the past few days."
"Different how?" I keep my eyes on the AK-47 I'm checking, refusing to let anything show on my face.
"I don't know. Mom says she's happier. Not as tightly wound." He glances over at me. "You saw her at the spa, right? She seem okay to you?"
Every muscle in my body goes rigid. "What?"
"Mom mentioned you had an appointment with her a couple days ago. For your back?" Emil's watching me now, but his expression is just curious, not suspicious.
I force myself to relax. "Yeah. Now I know why everyone says she’s got magic hands. Back’s never felt better."
Emil nods, agreeing with me. "Yeah, she does. For what it’s worth, she's been through enough shit with that asshole Laken. I just want her to be happy, you know?"
The guilt intensifies, spreading through my chest like battery acid. "Yeah, I know."
"I'd kill anyone who hurt her again," he adds casually, like he's discussing the weather instead of threatening murder. "And Dad would be right behind me with a shovel for the body."
I focus on reassembling the rifle in my hands. “The entire club would be right there with you, brother.”
Emil changes the subject, thankfully. "You hear what Runes wants to discuss at church?"
"The Patriot."
Emil closes the ammunition crate, marking off something on his clipboard. "Yeah, he wants to put our heads together and see if we can figure out who's behind this shit."
"Any ideas who?"
"Could be anyone. Hangarounds, someone at one of our businesses, hell, even a cop trying to get inside info." Emil shrugs. "You know how it is. The more we grow, the more eyes on us."
"Paranoia keeps you alive, if anything else."
"Exactly." Emil stands, dusting off his hands. "Runes is extra careful after what happened to Flora."
Fuck, we’re all being extra careful after what happened to Flora.
She never should’ve died in the first fucking place.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out, my heart rate picking up when I see Astrid's name on the screen.
Can we talk? Tonight?
Emil nods toward my phone. "Someone important?"
I clear my throat, tucking it away. "Just Dasha. Been talkin’ to her about a new piece I'm thinking of getting."
The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, but Emil doesn’t even think I’m lying to him.
Why would he?
Brothers don't lie to brothers. Except I am, and I hate myself for it.
"Let's finish up here," I say. "I need to check on Rio after this."
Emil nods, and we get things wrapped up. When we're done, we lock up and head back to our bikes.
As we're pulling our helmets on, Emil suddenly says, "You know you can tell me anythin’, right?"
I freeze, searching his face for any sign he knows, but his expression is open, genuine.
"Yeah," I say finally. "I know."
"Good." He kickstarts his bike. "Because you're actin’ fuckin’ weird, and sooner or later, I'm gonna find out why."
With that, he peels out, leaving me standing there feeling like a piece of shit.
By the time I make it to the clubhouse for kirkja , the main room is already packed.
Brothers, prospects, and a few of the old ladies mill around, tension thick in the air.
I don’t know how I know, but something's up.
I spot Tor at the bar and make my way over. "What's goin’ on?" I ask, accepting the whiskey he slides toward me.
"Someone hit one of the Patriot's gun shipments last night," he says, voice low. "Three of his men dead, cargo gone."
"Wasn't us," I say immediately.
We would’ve planned for something like that, but this just means the Patriot has pissed someone else off too.
"No shit. But he thinks it was." Tor downs his drink in one swallow. "And apparently he's out for blood."
My eyes scan the room automatically, looking for Astrid before I remember she wouldn't be here for kirkja .
Something else catches my attention instead—Fenrir watching me from across the room, his expression unreadable.
I nod in acknowledgment, and he returns the gesture before turning to speak with Runes.
No suspicion there, just the normal respect between brothers.
Still, I feel like my luck is going to run out and Fenrir will find out what I’m doing with his daughter.
I didn’t reply to Astrid's text.
It was too risky with Emil breathing down my neck all day, But now, with kirkja is about to start, I pull out my phone and type quickly:
After church. I own a cabin off Route 319. I’ll text you the address, be there by 10.
I hit send just as Runes calls us in.
Everything feels tense as all the full patches and officers file in and take our seats.
The table feels smaller than usual, like we're all pressed too close together in the wood-paneled room.
Runes sits at the head, weathered face grim as he lays out what we know. "Patriot lost a shipment last night," he confirms what Tor told me. "Three of his men dead, guns in the wind. Word is he thinks we're behind it."
Rati, our Enforcer, growls. "We should've been behind it."
"Wasn't our territory," Runes reminds him. "Would've caused more problems than it solved."
"And now?" Logi, our Sergeant-at-Arms, asks.
"Now we prepare," Fenrir says, meeting each of our eyes one by one. "The Patriot's been gunning for us since Tindra's birthday. This is just another excuse for him to escalate."
Almost everyone nods their head or mumbles in agreement.
"There's more," Runes continues. "We think someone's been feeding him information."
The room goes deadly quiet. Nothing worse than a rat.
"You think it's one of us?" Kraken asks, voice dangerously low.
"Not at this table," Runes says firmly. "But someone with access. Someone who knows our movements, our families."
My thoughts immediately go to Astrid, how vulnerable she is.
The need to protect her surges through me like adrenaline.
"Someone with access but not a patch?" Tor suggests.
"Someone's casing us," Fenrir confirms. "The club's tight, but we've got a shadow who knows when we move, where we go."
"I caught some guy I didn't recognize hanging around Fern's spa last week," Magnus adds. "Said he was waiting for his ol' lady, but seemed jumpy as hell. Could've been nothing, but with everything going on..."
My blood runs cold. The spa. Where Astrid works. Where I was with her just last night.
"We need to tighten security on everything," Runes decides. "Families, businesses, shipments. No one goes anywhere alone for now."
"And the leak?" Dag asks.
"We find it, we plug it," Fenrir says, the threat clear in his voice. "Permanently."
The meeting continues for another hour, assignments given out, we even talk about different security changes we can make.
I'm tasked with overseeing protection for the spa and Beans & Babes, along with Tor and Magnus.
It’s ironic as all hell—guarding the very place where I'm crossing the line with the VP's daughter.
As church wraps up, Tor catches my eye across the table.
Something in his expression makes me uneasy, like he's seeing more than I want him to.
"A word?" he says as we all stand, jerking his head toward the door.
I follow him out to the smoking area, a fenced patio behind the clubhouse.
He lights up, offering me one which I decline.
"What's up?" I ask, leaning against the wall.
Tor takes a long drag. "You're into Fenrir's daughter."
It's not a question, and my heart nearly stops.
I keep my face neutral. "The fuck you talkin’ about?"
"Don't bullshit me, brother. I've known you too long." He taps ash off his cigarette. "The way you looked when Magnus mentioned the spa, like you were ready to murder someone. And you were checking your phone every five minutes in there."
I say nothing, which is apparently enough of an answer for him.
"Gods, Geirolf." Tor runs a hand through his hair. "Of all the women in this town, you had to pick the one guaranteed to get you killed?"
"It's not like that," I start, then stop. What's the point in denying it? Tor's known me since I first got with the club.
We were prospects together and he can read me like a goddamn book.
"Then what is it like?" he challenges.
"I don't know," I admit. "But it's... somethin’."
Tor stares at me for a long moment, then sighs. "You're my brother, and I'd die for you any day of the week. But this? This is suicide."
"You think I don't know that?" I push off the wall, pacing a few steps. "You think I planned this?"
"Doesn't matter if you planned it. Matters that it's happening." He drops his cigarette, grinding it out under his boot. "When Fenrir finds out, there's nothing I can do to protect you. Nothing anyone can do."
I know he's right.
I've known it from the moment I kissed Astrid in that massage room. "What are you gonna do?" I ask, bracing for his answer.
Tor studies me, his expression unreadable. "Nothing," he says finally. "For now. But brother, you need to think with your head, not your dick. Especially with all this Patriot shit going down."
Relief washes through me, followed quickly by shame at putting him in this position. "I appreciate that."
"Don't," he says sharply. "Just be careful. And for fuck's sake, be more discreet. You're practically broadcasting it."
I nod, taking the advice.. Tor's right—I've been sloppy. Dangerous, given what we just learned in kirkja .
"I've gotta head out," I say, checking my watch. Almost nine-thirty. "Early shift tomorrow."
Tor doesn't look convinced, but he nods. "Watch your back, brother. And hers."
I head to my bike, the weight of Tor's warning heavy on my shoulders.
The ride to the cabin should clear my head, but all I can think about is Astrid waiting for me.
Every mile takes me further from the clubhouse and deeper into whatever I’m doing with her.
I shouldn't be doing this, should text her right now, call it off.
But my hands grip the handlebars tighter, engine growling beneath me as I push toward Route 319.
The smart move would be turning around, but when it comes to her, I stopped making smart moves the moment I kissed her in that massage room.
The cabin is dark when I pull up, the only light coming from the moon hanging heavy in the October sky.
It's the only thing I own outright, and being a man who never got handed anything in his life, it took a lot of work for me to get here.
I check my surroundings carefully before getting off my bike, hand resting on the gun at my hip.
In times like these, I have to watch my back.
No one else is here so I unlock the door and step inside, flipping on a single lamp in the main room.
The cabin is small but comfortable—a main room with a fireplace, a tiny kitchen, a bathroom, and a bedroom in the back.
I've crashed here more than once over the years when I needed space to think.
I check my phone.
No response from Astrid to my text about meeting here.
Maybe she didn't see it.
Hell, maybe she changed her mind.
I'm about to call her when headlights flash through the window.
I move to the side, peeking out carefully.
Relief floods through me when I recognize her car.
She looks nervous as she approaches the cabin, glancing over her shoulder like she expects someone to jump out of the shadows.
I open the door before she can knock.
"Hey," I say, standing aside to let her in.
"Hey." She steps past me, and I catch the scent of her—vanilla and something citrusy.
I close the door, locking it behind her.
When I turn, she's standing in the middle of the room, arms wrapped around herself like she's cold, though the cabin is warm enough.
"I hope you don’t mind meetin’ me here," I say. "After kirkja tonight, didn't think the spa was a good idea."
She licks her lips nervously. "What happened?"
I hesitate, not wanting to scare her, but she deserves the truth. "Your dad thinks someone might be feeding information to the Patriot. Could be watching the businesses."
Her eyes widen. "Do they know who?"
"Not yet." I step closer, unable to help myself. "But they've got suspicions."
Fear flashes across her face, and I instantly regret mentioning it.
"Hey," I say, reaching for her hand. "It's being handled. Your dad has me, Tor, and Magnus overseeing security for the spa and Beans & Babes now."
She looks down at our joined hands. "Is that why you wanted to meet? To tell me to be careful?"
"Partly." I tilt her chin up with my free hand, making her look at me. "Also because I haven't been able to stop thinkin’ about you since last night."
The fear in her eyes shifts to something warmer, something that makes my blood go warm. "Me neither," she admits. "You’re all I can think about."
I want to pull her into my arms, to lose myself in her again, but there's more that needs to be said.
"Tor knows," I tell her. "About us."
She tenses. "Did he say something?"
"He figured it out. Says I need to be more careful, more discreet." I run a hand through my hair. "He's right. I've been sloppy. It's dangerous."
"For you," she says, understanding immediately. "If my dad found out?—"
"For both of us," I correct her. "Especially with all this Patriot shit going down. If someone is watching, if they see us together..."
I don't finish the thought. I don't need to. We both know what kind of target that would put on her back.
She steps closer, resting her hands on my chest. "Maybe we should stop then."
The words are reasonable, logical even.
But the thought of not touching her again, not seeing her smile, not hearing her laugh—it feels like someone's ripping something vital out of my chest.
"Is that what you want?" I ask, my voice rough.
She looks up at me. "No," she whispers. "But I don't want you to get hurt because of me."
"Astrid." I frame her face with my hands, brushing my thumbs across her cheekbones. "I've been in this life a long time. I know the risks. And you... you're worth it."
Her breath catches, and I can see the moment she gives in.
Her body relaxes, leaning into mine the way I want her to.
When our lips meet, it's different than before.
It’s not the desperate, burning need of last night, but something deeper, something that scares me more than any threat the Patriot could ever make.
I pull back slightly, resting my forehead against hers. "We'll be careful," I promise. "More careful than before. No more spa meetings. No more obvious shit."
She nods, eyes closed. "Okay."
"And you watch out for anyone hangin’ around asking questions. Anyone who seems off, you call me immediately."
"I will." She opens her eyes, searching mine. "What is this, Geirolf? Between us?"
It's a fair question, one I've been asking myself since that first kiss in the massage room. "I don't know," I admit. "But it's not nothing."
"No," she agrees softly. "It's definitely not nothing."
I take her hand, leading her toward the bedroom in the back of the cabin.
Whatever this is between us, whatever name we put on it, one thing is clear—I'm in too deep to walk away now, consequences be damned.