Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
Astrid
The clubhouse feels like a pressure cooker, all the women and children packed into the main room while we wait.
My hands shake as I help little Florencia color in her princess book, Rio's daughter oblivious to the danger the club is facing.
The crayon slips from my fingers for the third time.
"Easy, honey," Fern says, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. "They'll be back soon."
I nod, but the knot in my stomach only tightens.
It's been three hours since the men left for the warehouse.
Three hours of pretending everything's fine while my mind conjures up every possible worst-case scenario.
The smell of coffee and nervous energy fills the air as women pace, check their phones, and try to keep the children occupied.
"Astrid, can you help me with Cali?" Dasha calls from across the room.
She's bouncing Rio's baby on her hip, the little girl fussing even though she’s trying to make her comfortable.
Dasha has really stepped up to help Rio with his two little girls.
Out of all of the women in the club, or associated with it, Dasha puts in the most work.
I step away to help Dasha while Fern sits with Florencia, grateful for the distraction.
Taking Cali from Dasha's arms, I start swaying, humming softly.
The baby settles almost immediately, her tiny fingers wrapping around my thumb.
Her weight is comforting, grounding me in the moment instead of letting my mind spiral with worry about Geirolf.
"You're a natural," Mom says, watching from her seat on the couch. "Ever think about making me a grandma one day?"
The question catches me off guard.
With Laken, the thought of children had filled me with dread—his constant criticism, his need to control every aspect of my life, had made me fear bringing a child into that toxic environment.
But now, being with Geirolf… it’s changed everything.
"Maybe someday," I murmur, focusing on Cali's peaceful face.
The baby's soft breathing, the warmth of her small body, it all feels so right.
"She's beautiful," Rayna says, coming to stand beside me. "Both of them are. Rio's so lucky."
I smile at her, adjusting Cali in my arms. "How are you holding up?"
Rayna rubs her pregnant belly absently. "Just trying not to think about it. If something happens to Magnus.." She trails off, unable to finish the thought.
"Nothing's going to happen," I say firmly, even though I'm not sure I believe it myself. "They know what they're doing."
Starla approaches with a tray of sandwiches nobody's touched. "Anyone hungry?"
We all shake our heads.
Food is the last thing on anyone's mind right now.
"I hate this," Meghan mutters from her spot by the window. "The waiting. Not knowing."
Fern moves to stand beside her, wrapping an arm around her woman's shoulders while Florencia starts to fall asleep on the couch. "It never gets easier. But this is part of the life we chose."
"Did we choose it, though?" I find myself asking. "Or did it choose us?"
The room falls silent at my question.
These women understand what I mean—the way we’re pulled toward these dangerous men.
"Both." My mom’s the first one to speak up. "We chose them, and they come with this life. Can't have one without the other."
The sound of motorcycles in the distance makes everyone freeze.
The engines grow louder, closer, and then cut off all at once.
I pass Cali back to Dasha, my heart hammering as footsteps approach the door.
"They're back," someone whispers, and we all surge toward the entrance.
The door swings open, and I scan the faces of the men filing in.
Runes comes first, looking tired but unharmed.
Then my dad, his expression grim.
Kraken… Magnus... Where is he? Where's?—
My breath catches as more men enter. Rati, Logi... Still no Geirolf. Panic begins to suffocate me.
And then he appears in the doorway, and the world stops spinning.
There's blood on his arm, his cut is torn, but he's alive.
He's here.
I don't remember moving.
One second, I'm frozen by the couch, the next, I'm throwing myself at him, my lips crashing against his in front of the entire club.
I pour everything into that kiss—my relief, my fear, my love.
His good arm wraps around my waist, pulling me closer as he kisses me back just as desperately.
I can taste the adrenaline on his lips, feel the tension in his body, and I don't care that everyone's watching.
When we finally break apart, I'm breathing hard, my hands still fisted in his torn cut.
His ice-blue eyes are dark with emotion as he looks down at me.
"Well, ain't that fuckin’ touching." Dad’s voice cuts through the moment like a knife. "Maybe save the reunion for somewhere more private?"
Heat floods my cheeks, but not from embarrassment.
I pull back from Geirolf just enough to shoot my father a glare. "I'm twenty-four years old, Dad. I'll kiss my man wherever I damn well please."
His eyebrows shoot up at my tone, and I can feel the tension ripple through the room.
The other club members suddenly find the walls very interesting, though I catch a few hidden smiles.
"Is that so?" Dad’s voice is dangerously low, the tone that used to make me cower as a teenager.
But I'm not a teenager anymore.
"Yeah, it is. And if you have a problem with it, I think we need to talk in your office."
The challenge hangs in the air between us.
I can feel Geirolf tense beside me, probably wondering if I've lost my damn mind.
Maybe I have.
But I'm tired of hiding, tired of pretending, tired of being treated like a child.
Fenrir's jaw clenches, but he jerks his head toward the hallway. "Fine. Let's talk."
I squeeze Geirolf's hand once before following my father, feeling the eyes of the entire club on my back.
The walk to his office feels longer than usual, each step growing heavier.
He closes the door with more force than necessary, the sound echoing through the small space.
"You've got some brass balls talking to me like that in front of my club," Fenrir starts, his voice dangerously low as he moves behind his desk.
"And you've got some nerve making snide comments about my relationship in front of everyone," I shoot back, crossing my arms. "I'm not a little girl anymore, Dad. I haven't been for a long time."
We stare at each other, a lifetime of stubbornness meeting head-on.
His jaw ticks in that way it does when he's trying to control his temper.
"You think I don't know that?" he finally says, sinking into his chair. "You think I don't see my little girl all grown up? It fucking kills me, Astrid."
The admission surprises me, and some of my anger deflates. "Then why?—"
"Because I never wanted you with someone in the club," he admits, looking older than I've ever seen him. "I know this life, baby girl. I know what it costs. Thought if I kept you away from it, you'd be safer. Happier."
"Instead, I ended up with Laken," I remind him, the name tasting bitter on my tongue. "How'd that work out for your grand plan?"
He winces, running a hand through his hair. "That wasn't what I wanted either. That piece of shit..." He trails off, shaking his head. "I wanted you to find someone normal. Someone who'd give you a white picket fence and Sunday dinners and all that shit I couldn't."
"But that's not me, Dad. That's never been me." I move closer to his desk, needing him to understand. "I grew up in this life. It's in my blood. And Geirolf... he gets that. He gets me."
"Geirolf's dangerous," he says quietly. "One of my best fighters, loyal to a fault, but dangerous. I've seen what he's capable of."
"So am I," I counter. "You made sure of that. All those self-defense lessons, teaching me to shoot, making sure I could take care of myself—you created this, Dad. You can't be surprised when I choose a man who matches that energy."
He's quiet for a long moment, studying me with those sharp eyes that miss nothing.
Finally, he sighs, the sound heavy. "I'll try," he says. "For you. But don't expect me to like it."
"That's all I ask." I turn to leave, then pause at the door. "He makes me happy, Dad. Really happy. Isn't that what you want?"
His expression softens just a bit. "Of course it is, baby girl. I just... Gods, Astrid. Watching you grow up, seeing you with these men... it's not easy for a father."
"I know." And I do. For all his faults, Dad loves us fiercely. "But I'm with Geirolf now, so swallow that pill, no matter how hard it is."
His laugh is short, humorless. "You always were too much like your mother. Stubborn as hell."
"I learned from the best," I say, offering him a small smile.
"Get out of here," he grumbles, but there's no heat in it. "And tell Geirolf if he hurts you, I'll bury him in the desert."
"I'll pass along the message," I say dryly, opening the door.
I leave his office feeling lighter than I have in days.
I kind of feel bad for my father, because if me being with Geirolf bothers him, he’d freak out if he knew what Ingrid was doing with Bjorn.
Geirolf's waiting in the hallway, concern evident on his face. "How bad was it?" he asks, falling into step beside me.
"Could've been worse," I admit. "He's not happy, but he'll deal."
"And if he doesn't?"
I stop walking, turning to face him fully. "Then that's his problem, not ours."
Something flashes in his eyes. "You're the strongest woman I know, princess."
"Come on," I say, grabbing his good hand. "We're going to Bubba's. I need a drink after that, and some space from all the lingering eyes."
We head through the passageway to the attached bar, Geirolf’s cut unlocking the electronic door.
The bar is quieter than the clubhouse, just a few patrons nursing beers in the corners.
The scent of beer and fried food fills the air, and classic rock plays softly from the speakers.
I lead Geirolf to a booth in the back, sliding in beside him instead of across. "Whiskey?" he asks, and I nod.
He signals the bartender, ordering two doubles.
When our drinks arrive, I take a healthy sip, letting the burn steady my nerves.
"So," he says, his voice filled with amusement, "want to tell me the details?"
I give him the condensed version of my conversation with my father, watching his eyes widen with each detail.
His hand finds my thigh under the table, fingers tracing absent patterns through my jeans.
"I told him I was done hiding," I finish. "That he needed to accept that I'm with you now."
"Shit," he breathes, shaking his head in wonder. "Standing up to your father like that... You know he could have?—"
"What? Grounded me? I'm not sixteen anymore, Geirolf. And I'm tired of being treated like I am."
His grip on my thigh tightens. "You're fuckin’ incredible, you know that?"
"Just tired of hiding what we have."
"Me too," he murmurs, leaning closer.
His breath fans across my cheek, and I have to resist the urge to kiss him right here. "I wanted to claim you in front of everyone weeks ago."
"So, why didn't you?"
"Because I respected your wishes. Wanting to keep things under wraps." His thumb strokes along my inner thigh, and I have to bite back a gasp. "But fuck, Astrid, watching you stand up to your father like that... it does things to me."
The hunger in his eyes makes my breath catch.
We've been dancing around this for weeks, stolen moments and interrupted encounters.
But now, with everything out in the open...
"Take me home," I whisper, and his pupils dilate.
He throws back the rest of his whiskey, tossing bills on the table before pulling me from the booth.
The ride to his cabin is torture, every vibration of the bike sending sparks through my body.
His muscles tense under my hands, and I know he feels it too—this need, this desire.
By the time we pull up to his cabin, I'm practically trembling with how bad I want him.
The second he kills the engine, I'm off the bike, helmet hitting the ground as I reach for him.
"Inside," he growls, catching my wrists. "Now."
We stumble through the door, hands everywhere, mouths crashing together desperately.
I push him against the wall, and he’s too focused on getting his hands under my shirt.
"Bedroom," he manages between kisses, and I don't argue.
We leave a trail of clothes down the hallway—his cut carefully placed on a chair, my shirt tossed aside, kicking our shoes off in the process.
By the time we reach his bed, we're both down to our underwear, hands roaming desperately over skin.
"I was so scared," I admit as he lays me back on the mattress. "When you were gone, I kept thinking, what if you didn't come back? What if?—"
"Shh," he soothes, trailing kisses down my neck. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."
His mouth finds my breast through the lace of my bra, and I arch into him, fingers tangling in his hair.
He takes his time, worshipping every inch of me until I'm writhing beneath him, desperate for more.
His hands are merciless as they trace my curves, like he's memorizing every dip and valley of my body.
"Geirolf, please ," I gasp as his hand slides between my thighs, finding me wet and ready through the thin fabric of my thong.
"So impatient," he teases, but his own control is fraying.
I can see it in the tension of his jaw, feel it in the tremor of his hands as he removes the last barriers between us.
When he finally sinks into me, we both groan at the sensation.
"I love you," I breathe as he moves within me, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through my body. "Gods, I love you so much."
His eyes lock with mine, intense and possessive. " Minn , princess" he murmurs. "Mine. Always."
The orgasm builds slowly, inevitably, each stroke of his hips against mine pushing me higher.
When I finally fall apart, it's with his name on my lips, nails digging into his shoulders as waves of pleasure crash over me.
He follows me over the edge, my name a growl in his throat as he buries himself deep.
After, we’re tangled up together, sweat cooling on our skin.
His fingers trace lazy patterns on my back as my head rests on his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow.
The cabin is quiet except for our breathing and the distant sounds of animals in the forest outside.
"We really did it," I say softly. "Told my dad, made it official."
His chest rumbles with laughter. "You did it, princess. I just tried not to get shot."
I prop myself up on an elbow to look at him.
The last rays of sunlight stream through the window, highlighting the skull tattoo on his chest. "We're really doing this? You and me? No more hiding?"
His hand comes up to cup my cheek, thumb brushing over my cheekbone with surprising gentleness. "We're really doing this. You're mine, and I'm yours. Your father can either accept it or not, but it doesn't change anything between us."
The simple declaration fills me with warmth.
"Good." I settle back against his chest. "Because I'm not letting you go. Ever."
His arm tightens around me. "Wouldn't dream of it, princess."
As sleep starts to claim me, I can't help but smile.
We've cleared a major hurdle over these last few days.
My father knows, the club knows, and somehow we're still breathing. Whatever comes next, we'll face it together.
"Hey," Geirolf's voice rumbles beneath my ear. "I can’t believe you did that today."
I laugh, the sound muffled against his chest. "Probably could have been more diplomatic about it."
"Fuck diplomatic," he says, and I can hear the grin in his voice. "That was the hottest thing I've ever seen."
"My dad didn't seem to think so."
"Your dad's just pissed he can't control you anymore." His fingers card through my hair. "But he'll come around. He loves you too much not to."
"I hope you're right," I murmur, already feeling drowsy in the warmth of his arms.
"I'm always right," he says, and I pinch his side, because we both know he’s not always right.
He’s a man, and men do dumb shit all the time.
He laughs, the sound vibrating through his chest. "Get some sleep, princess. Tomorrow we deal with whatever comes next."
As I drift off, I think about how much has changed in such a short time.
From hiding our relationship to declaring it in front of everyone, from sneaking around to lying here in his arms without shame or secrecy.
It's terrifying and exciting all at once.
But I wouldn’t trade it for the world.