Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
Astrid
The bedroom door closes behind us with a soft click that feels louder than gunfire.
Geirolf's hand is warm in mine, rough with calluses from years of working on bikes and handling weapons.
The moonlight streaming through the window casts shadows across his face, making his ice-blue eyes look even more intense.
"Having second thoughts?" I ask, trying to keep my voice light even though my heart is hammering in my chest like it’s about to burst through it.
He turns to face me fully, those eyes searching mine. "Never. You?"
I shake my head, stepping closer until I can feel the heat radiating from his body. "Just nervous, I guess. This is still so new."
"We don't have to do anything," he says, echoing his words from last night at the spa. "We can just talk."
But I don't want to just talk.
I want to forget about the danger, the secrets, the lies we're telling everyone we care about.
I want to lose myself in him the way I did last night, want to feel that complete surrender again.
"Sit with me?" I ask, gesturing to the bed.
He nods, and we settle on the edge of the mattress, not quite touching but close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body.
Silence stretches between us, not uncomfortable but heavy.
I finally speak up, turning slightly to face him better. "Can I ask you something?"
"Anything."
"Why the club? I mean, I know why people join, but what made you choose this life? You don't seem like someone who needs to follow anyone."
Geirolf is quiet for a long moment, his jaw working like he's chewing on words that taste bitter.
When he finally speaks, his voice is rougher than usual, like these words don't come easy.
"Never had a family growing up," he says simply. "Bounced around foster homes from the time I was eight. Some were okay. Most weren't."
My heart clenches at the matter-of-fact way he says it, like it's just another piece of his history instead of something that shaped everything he became.
I think about my own childhood—chaotic sometimes with the club, but always surrounded by people who loved me.
"What happened to your parents?" I ask softly.
"Mom died when I was seven. Overdose. Dad was never in the picture." He's staring at his hands now, fingers interlaced. "She tried, I think. But the drugs always won."
"Geirolf..." I breathe, not knowing what to say.
"No one ever gave a shit about me after that," he continues, the words flowing now like a dam has broken. "I was just another mouth to feed, another check from the state. Learned real quick that the only person looking out for me was… me ."
I want to touch him, to offer comfort, but something in his posture tells me to wait, to let him get this out.
"Some homes were decent. Mostly just wanted the money, though. Had one family that locked me in the closet when I acted up. Another where the dad liked to use his belt for every little thing. One where the older kids..." He trails off, shaking his head. "Doesn't matter now."
"It does matter," I say firmly. "It matters because it happened to you."
He looks at me then, surprise flashing in his eyes like he's not used to anyone caring about his past.
"First time I saw the Raiders of Valhalla, I was nineteen. Working at some shit garage for minimum wage, sleeping in my car half the time. Eating ramen and whatever I could steal." A small smile tugs at his lips. "They rolled in like thunder—the way they were in unison, the confidence, the brotherhood. Never seen anything like it."
"What happened?" I prompt softly when he falls silent, lost in the memory.
"Tor was a prospect then. His bike was running rough, needed serious work. The owner was out, told me to handle it." Geirolf's smile becomes more real. "Tor watched me work, asked questions. When I finished, he asked if I wanted to grab a beer."
"And that was it?"
"That was the beginning." He finally looks at me fully, and the vulnerability in his eyes takes my breath away. "Took three months before they let me prospect, another few years before I got my patch. But from that first kirkja meeting, that first ride... I knew I'd found what I'd been looking for my whole life."
"A family," I whisper, understanding flooding through me.
He nods. "Brothers who'd die for me. Who'd have my back no matter what. Who gave a shit whether I lived or died." His hand finds mine, fingers interlacing. "Never had that before. Never thought I would. These men became everything—fathers, brothers, protectors. Runes especially. He saw something in me, gave me purpose. I’m sure eventually I would’ve followed my mother’s path if I was alone for much longer."
The weight of his confession settles over us.
It explains so much about him, and I’m glad to know it.
"And now?" I ask. "With us? Doesn't this risk everything you've built?"
His grip on my hand tightens. "You think I don't know that? You think I don't lie awake wondering what the fuck I'm doin’?" He turns his body toward mine, free hand coming up to cup my cheek. "But then I see you, and none of that matters. The club gave me a family, but you... you make me feel like I'm worth something just for being me. Not for what I can do, not for my loyalty, just... me."
The words break something open inside me.
I surge forward, capturing his lips with mine, pouring everything I can't say into the kiss.
He responds immediately, his hand sliding into my hair as he deepens the contact.
I taste the pain of his past, and something else—hope for a future that terrifies us both.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard.
"I'm scared," I admit, my forehead resting against his. "Not of you. Of what happens when people find out. Of what my dad will do. He's protective of me and Ingrid—you have no idea how much."
"I have some idea," he says dryly. "Emil made it pretty clear what would happen to anyone who hurt you."
I wince. "When?"
"Yesterday at the warehouse. Said he'd kill anyone who hurt you again, and your dad would help hide the body."
"Sounds about right," I mutter. "They've been like that since I was a little girl. Even more so after that shit with Laken."
"Tell me about him," Geirolf says suddenly. "I know he hurt you, but I want to understand."
I pull back slightly, surprised. "Why?"
"Because he's part of your story. Because whatever he did still affects you. Because I want to undo every bit of damage that bastard caused."
I take a deep breath, not sure I want to talk about this.. "We met at a bar. He wasn't in the club, which I think Dad actually liked at first. Thought it would keep me away from this life." I laugh bitterly. "Turns out being an outsider just meant he had different ways to hurt me."
Geirolf's voice is dangerous now, that protective edge in full effect. "How?"
"Started small. Comments about my weight. Suggestions about what I should wear, what I should eat. Then it was who I could see, where I could go. He'd say things like 'You're lucky I love you, most guys wouldn't want someone with your body.'" My voice cracks slightly. "After a while, I started believing him."
"Fuckin’ bastard," Geirolf growls.
"The worst part was how he'd flip it. Make me feel like I was being too sensitive, like he was just trying to help me be better." I shake my head. "By the time I got the courage to leave, I barely recognized myself. And then he wouldn't let go, kept showing up, kept calling."
"Until that night at Bubba's."
"Yeah." I meet his eyes. "Until you stepped in."
"I'd do it again," he says fiercely. "In a fuckin’ heartbeat."
We sit in silence for a moment, the weight of our pasts hanging between us.
Two damaged people finding something neither of us expected.
"Come here," Geirolf says, pulling me into his lap.
I straddle him, our faces inches apart. "Listen to me, Astrid. That piece of shit was wrong about everything . You're fucking perfect exactly as you are. Every curve, every inch. And I'm going to spend as much time as you'll give me proving that to you."
This time when we come together, it's slower, more deliberate.
Each touch feels like a vow, each kiss a promise.
Clothes disappear piece by piece until there's nothing between us but skin and truth.
Geirolf worships my body with his hands and mouth, whispering sweet sayings against my skin. "So beautiful," he murmurs, lips trailing down my neck. "Perfect. Mine."
That last word sends heat spiraling through me. "Yours," I agree, arching into his touch.
When he finally enters me, treating me like I might break, tears threaten to spill over.
This isn't just sex—it's something deeper, something that terrifies and excites me at the same time.
"I've got you," he whispers against my ear as he begins to move. "Always got you, minn ."
I cling to him, nails digging into his shoulders, lost in the feeling of being completely consumed by another person.
When I come apart in his arms, I feel at peace… like nothing could hurt me ever again.
After, we lie tangled together, my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow back to normal.
His fingers trace lazy patterns on my back, and I've never felt more content.
"We should go," I say eventually, though every part of me rebels against the idea. "It's getting late."
"A few more minutes," he says, arms tightening around me. "Let me hold you a little longer."
I don't dare argue with him.
These stolen moments are all we have, and I'm greedy for every second.
When we finally do leave, it's separately—him first, then me, twenty minutes later.
The drive back to my apartment feels endless, my body still humming from his touch, my mind spinning with everything we shared.
Tomorrow, I'll have to pretend nothing's changed.
I'll have to smile at my family, work at the spa, play my role as the VP's daughter who's definitely not sneaking around with a patched member.
But tonight, I fall asleep remembering his touch on my skin and the way he makes me feel the most alive than I ever have.
The next day at the clubhouse is complete chaos.
The main room's chaos—women dragging boxes, hanging shit, getting ready for the Halloween bash.
It’s the second biggest party of the year after Christmas.
Orange and black streamers are being hung from the ceiling, and Magnolia is putting boxes on the bar, which seems to annoy the crap out of Ulf.
Dad and Runes have a lot of the prospects doing other stuff today, so I offered to help re-stock the bar area in the club.
Ulf’s my partner in crime as it seems, but as I’ve been restocking, he’s been wiping things down and making sure we’d pass a fucking health department check.
Only issue is, the health department only checks Bubba’s, not the actual club bar.
"Astrid, can you help me with these decorations?" Mom calls from across the room, arms full of fake cobwebs and plastic skeletons that look disturbingly realistic.
Maybe I’ll throw one on Oskar later and see how real they really seem.
I abandon the box of liquor I'm unpacking behind the bar and head over to help.
Meghan and Starla are already stringing orange and black lights along the walls while Dasha sets up tables for food.
The smell of pumpkin spice and cinnamon fills the air from whatever Aziza's baking in the kitchen.
"Where do you want the spider nest?" I ask, holding up the decoration.
It looks so real my skin starts crawling.
"Corner by the pool table," Mom directs. "Make it look extra creepy. You know how the guys love that stuff."
As I work, I catch sight of Everly—Kraken's adopted niece—struggling with a ladder near the stage.
She's trying to hang a banner but can't quite reach, even standing on her tiptoes.
"Need help?" I call out, already heading her way.
She turns, her golden-blonde hair falling across her face. "If you don't mind. I swear everything in this place is built for giants."
I laugh, grabbing the other end of the banner.
Everly's maybe five-foot-five on a good day, which makes her one of the shorter women around the club. "Tell me about it. I've been climbing on bar stools to reach anything above the second shelf my whole life."
"At least you've got a few inches on me." She grins. "Dad keeps threatening to buy me a step stool to carry around. Says it's a safety hazard having me climb on everything."
Kraken adopted her when she was a toddler, so even though he’s technically her uncle, the man raised her. It’s sweet to see her call him Dad.
And yet, one of her little brothers is defiling my sister.
Ew.
We work together to get the banner straight—it reads "RAIDERS OF VALHALLA MC HALLOWEEN BASH" in dripping red letters.
Everly's been around more lately, which is odd considering she’s in her junior year at Florida State University.
You think she’d be in the city, living up her college life.
"So," she says casually as we adjust the banner, "you seem happier lately."
I nearly drop my end. "What?"
She shrugs, but her green eyes are knowing. "Just an observation. You've got that glow, you know? Like something good's happening."
"I don't know what you're talking about," I say, focusing intently on the banner.
"Sure you don't." Her tone is teasing but not pushing. "Just saying, whoever he is, he's good for you."
Before I can respond—or panic—Mom appears at my side. "Everly, honey, can you help Dasha with the kitchen setup? I need to steal my daughter for a minute."
Everly winks at me before heading off, leaving me alone with Mom.
She guides me to a quieter corner near the hallway, her expression shifting from party planner to concerned mother.
"Everything okay?" I ask, worried something's happened with the club.
"That's what I want to know," she says, studying my face with those sharp eyes that miss nothing. "You've been different lately. Happier, but also... distracted. Like your mind's off on another planet."
I force myself to maintain eye contact. "I'm fine, Mom. Just busy with work and everything."
She doesn't look convinced. "You know you can talk to me about anything, right? Even things you think I wouldn't understand."
The offer is tempting.
Mom's always been my safe place, but this secret... it's too dangerous to reveal right now.
"I know," I say softly. "I'm okay, really."
She sighs, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. "I fell in love with your father when everyone said it was a bad idea, you know. He was older, had baggage, and came with three kids."
My heart skips. Does she know? "Mom?—"
"I'm just saying," she continues, "sometimes the heart wants what it wants. And sometimes the best things come from the most unexpected places."
Before I can figure out how to respond, Oskar's voice booms across the room. "Mom! Where'd you put the extra extension cords?"
The moment breaks, and Mom pats my cheek before going to help Oskar.
I stand there, shaken by how close I was to actually telling her about Geirolf.
I need some fucking air.
I head toward the office Dad shares with Runes to grab my phone, thinking I'll step outside for a few minutes.
The hallway is empty, and I walk right into their office.
Files are scattered across my father's desk—membership records, business documents, shipping manifests.
I'm about to leave when something catches my eye. A familiar name on a shipping document.
Laken.
My blood goes cold as I lean closer, scanning the document.
It's a record of shipments, and there's Laken's name listed as a contact for deliveries. But these aren't club shipments.
The dates, the locations... they match up with intel the Patriot would want.
"Oh fuck," I breathe, pieces clicking into place. Laken isn't just stalking me. He's feeding information to the enemy.
My hands shake as I pull out my phone to take pictures of the documents. I need to tell someone, need to?—
"What the fuck are you doing?"
I nearly jump out of my skin, spinning to find Emil in the doorway.
My brother's eyes narrow as he takes in the scene—me with my phone out, the scattered files, my guilty expression.
"I was just?—"
"Those are Dad and Rune’s files," he says, stepping into the room. "What's going on, Astrid?"
My mind races. I can't tell him about Geirolf, but I can tell him about Laken. "Look at this," I say, showing him the document. "Laken's name. He's connected to these shipments."
Emil's expression darkens as he reads. "Fuck. That piece of shit has been playing us this whole time?"
"We need to talk to Dad," I say, relief flooding through me, knowing he's focused on Laken and not questioning why I was snooping.
"Yeah," Emil agrees, already pulling out his phone. "I’m sure he’s losing his fuckin’ mind.. Laken's been around the businesses, knew some of our schedules already..."
As Emil makes the call, I slip out of the office, my heart still racing.
This changes everything.
Laken's working with the Patriot, so that puts a target on my back whether I'm with Geirolf or not.
I push through the front door, gulping in the cool October air.
The parking lot is mostly empty except for a few bikes and cars, while Bubba’s lot next door is packed to the brim.
It’s good to see the bar doing so well, but I can’t focus on that right now.
I need to get out of here.
I need to warn Geirolf, need to?—
"Princess, you okay?"
I spin around to find Geirolf standing there with Magnus.
They must have just pulled up.
Without thinking, acting purely on instinct and fear, I grab Geirolf's hand.
"Laken," I gasp. "He's working with the Patriot. I found documents?—"
"Slow down," Geirolf says, squeezing my hand. "What documents?"
I'm so focused on telling him that I don't notice Magnus watching us until he clears his throat loudly.
"You're tryin' to die, dumbass," Magnus says to Geirolf, but his eyes are on our joined hands.
Horror washes through me as I realize what I've done.
I drop Geirolf's hand like it's on fire, but it's too late.
Magnus has seen enough.
"Magnus," I start, panic rising. "Please?—"
"You're both fuckin’ idiots," he continues, shaking his head. "Fenrir finds out about this, it's your funeral, brother."
"You can't tell him," I beg. "Please, Magnus. It's not... we're not..."
Magnus's voice is harsh, but I know he’s only concerned. "Not what? Not sneaking around behind the VP's back? Not riskin’ everything for some ass?"
"It's not like that," Geirolf says quietly, his jaw tight.
Magnus snorts. "Right. That's why she's grabbing your hand in broad daylight where anyone could see."
"Please," I say again, hating how desperate I sound. "Don't tell my father. I'm begging you."
Magnus stares at us for a long moment, the October wind whipping around us, carrying the scent of fallen leaves and rain that’s supposed to hit this evening.
I can see him weighing his options—does he tell my father, or does he let it play out naturally?
"I won't say shit," he finally says. "But this is gonna come out sooner rather than later, and when it does..." He shakes his head. "I hope she's worth it, brother."
With that, he walks away, leaving Geirolf and me standing there in the aftermath of our carelessness.
"Fuck," Geirolf mutters, running a hand through his hair. "We need to be more careful."
"I'm sorry," I say, misery washing through me. "I was scared, and I just... I wasn't thinking."
"Hey." He steps closer but doesn't touch me, aware now of who might be watching. "It's okay. Magnus won't say anything. He's solid."
"That's three people who know now," I point out. "Tor, Magnus, and Ingrid. How long before everyone figures it out?"
"We'll handle it," he says, but I can see the worry in his eyes. "Now tell me about these documents. What did you find?"
I fill him in quickly, glancing around to make sure we're still alone.
His expression grows darker with every word.
"I should’ve known that asshole was up to no good. Already knew about shit with you, but damn…"