Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Geirolf
The chapel doors close behind me with a heavy thud, sealing all of the available full patch and officers inside.
My hands still throb from beating Laken's skull in, and despite scrubbing them raw, I swear I can still feel his blood under my fingernails.
The hammer's weight, the wet crunch of bone, the way his threats about Astrid cut off mid-sentence—it all plays on repeat in my mind.
Good fucking riddance.
I take my usual spot at the table—not at the head with the officers, but close enough to hear everything clearly.
The energy in the room is much different today.
Usually there's some bullshitting before Runes calls us to order, brothers catching up, trading insults.
Today, we're all silent, waiting.
The weight of what's happened—Flora's death, the overdoses, now Kraken's family—sits heavy on every shoulder.
Tor sits across from me, jaw clenched tight.
Magnus drums his fingers on the table, a nervous habit I've rarely seen from him.
Runes doesn't make us wait long.
He rises from his seat at the head of the table, and the temperature in the room seems to drop ten degrees.
His weathered face shows every year of his life, every fight, every moment of stress that’s plagued him.
But it's his eyes that make my blood run cold—crystal clear blue, but burning with rage I've never seen before.
"Brothers," he begins, then stops.
His fist comes down on the table hard enough to make beer bottles jump. "Enough is enough!"
The roar echoes off the walls.
I've seen Runes angry before, but this is different.
This is the rage of a man who's watched children get hurt, families terrorized.
This is the fury of a president who's had his kingdom attacked one too many times.
"They come for my family, tryin’ to steal my damn granddaughter," he continues, voice dropping to something more dangerous than shouting. "They target our children. They blow up our homes. Flora is dead. Rio's daughters grow up without a mother. Now Bjorn—sixteen fuckin’ years old—is fighting for his life because these cockroaches think they can break us."
The room is dead silent.
"We end this now," Runes declares. "Not next week. Not when it's convenient. Now. "
Rati leans forward, his scarred knuckles white as he grips the edge of the table. "What's the plan?"
"Complete lockdown," Runes declares. "Every family, every woman, every child stays here at the clubhouse until this threat is eliminated. No exceptions."
Murmurs ripple through the room.
Lockdown means exactly what it sounds like—turning our clubhouse into a fucking fortress.
It means families crammed together, kids missing school, businesses shut down.
It means we're admitting this war has come to our doorstep.
"What about the spa, the bar?" Dag asks. Always thinking about the money, our treasurer. "We shut everything down, we lose revenue. The Patriot wins without firing another shot."
"Everything closes except Bubba's," Fenrir speaks up from his VP spot. "We need to maintain some appearance of normalcy, keep revenue flowing. But the spa, it goes dark until this is over. Magnolia and Aziza need to shut things down too. Granted, I’m certain Magnolia will have things closed given what’s happened."
"I’ll make sure Aziza shuts down the bakery, not gonna have my ol’ lady or our kids get hurt. Now, Bubba’s, are our people working there?" Aesir asks.
"They get paid," Runes says firmly. "Nobody suffers because we're at war. We take care of our own."
"And the Patriot?" Magnus asks the question we're all thinking. "We just gonna sit here playin’ defense while he plans his next move?"
Runes' smile is death itself. "We hunt him down like the rabid dog he is. Every connection, every associate, every fuckin’ penny he's got—we destroy it all. This isn't retaliation anymore, brothers. This is extermination."
The room erupts in agreement.
Fists pound the table, voices raise in support.
I catch Fenrir watching me from across the table.
For the first time since he found out about Astrid and me, he doesn't look like he wants to tear my throat out.
He nods once—acknowledgment, maybe even approval.
Probably because I turned Laken's skull into hamburger meat for threatening his daughter.
"Assignments," Runes continues once the noise dies down. "Ivar, you're coordinating compound security. Twenty-four-seven coverage, rotating shifts. Nobody gets in or out without our say-so."
Ivar nods, already making mental calculations. "I'll need at least six men per shift. Two on the gates, two on the perimeter, and two floating."
"Take who you need," Runes approves. "Prospects included. This is all hands on deck."
"Kraken—" Runes stops, remembering. "Shit. Tor, you take point on gathering intel. I want to know everything about the Patriot's operations. Where he eats, where he shits, who he's fuckin’. Everything."
"On it," Tor confirms. "I've already got feelers out. That warehouse explosion last month? Word is he lost a major shipment. He's hurting for product, might make him desperate."
"Good. Desperate means sloppy." Runes turns to Magnus. "You're handlin’ supplies. We don't know how long the families will be here. Food, medical supplies, whatever we need."
"Consider it done. I'll coordinate with the ol’ ladies, get a full inventory. Might need to make some bulk runs."
The assignments continue.
Every brother gets a role, a purpose in this war.
Vanir takes communications—burner phones, encrypted messages.
Logi handles weapons inventory.
When Runes looks at me, I straighten. "Geirolf, you're on protection detail for the families. Work with Ivar on security rotations. And—" he pauses, glancing at Fenrir, "—you're personally responsible for the VP's family."
The weight of that settles on my shoulders.
Not just Astrid, but Fenrir, Charm, Ingrid. The whole family is under my protection. It feels like a test and blessing at the same time.
"Understood," I say simply.
"Communication goes dark," Runes adds. "Burner phones only. No personal cells, no traceable calls. The Patriot's got eyes and ears everywhere—we don't give him shit to work with."
"What about medical emergencies?" Aesir asks. "If someone needs a hospital?—"
"We cross that bridge when we come to it," Runes says. "But nobody travels alone. Always in pairs, always armed."
"And Kraken?" Emil asks. He's been quiet until now, but his concern for his brother is evident. "His family's at the hospital."
"They'll have security," Runes assures him. "Geirolf, put together a detail. Nobody goes near that hospital room without our permission."
"I'll take care of it," I promise.
Runes looks around the table one more time. "This isn't just another beef, brothers. This is survival. The Patriot wants us destroyed—our families dead, our legacy erased. We don't give him that satisfaction. Questions?"
Silence. We all understand how serious this is.
"Good. Then let's get to work. Brothers, we're at war. Act like it."
The gavel slams down, officially ending kirkja .
We file out, each man focused on his assigned task.
The weight of what we're facing sits heavy on every shoulder.
This isn't just club business anymore.
This is about protecting everything we've built, everyone we love.
The main room is complete chaos when I emerge.
Word has already spread about the lockdown.
Women are organizing sleeping arrangements while kids run around, excited by the sudden "sleepover" that their parents are trying to spin this as.
Prospects are already hauling in cots and sleeping bags from storage into every brothers’ room.
Thank fuck we have the room here to even have all the families stay.
Astrid's by the kitchen, helping her mother move supplies.
She looks up when she sees me, worry clear in those sage green eyes.
I cross to her, not giving a shit who sees anymore.
She sets down a box of canned goods."What's happening?"
"Lockdown," I tell her, pulling her slightly aside. "Everyone stays here until we deal with the Patriot. Your mom and Fern are closing the spa for a few days."
She nods without argument.
Three months ago, she might have protested, might have insisted on maintaining her independence.
Now she understands when things are necessary.
Her voice is barely above a whisper. "How bad is it?"
"Bad enough," I admit. "But we'll handle it. We always do."
"I need to—" I start, but Emil appears at my shoulder.
"Geirolf. Got a minute?"
I glance at Astrid, who nods and returns to helping her mother.
Emil leads me to a quieter corner near the hallway that leads to the offices.
"What's up?"
He runs a hand through his hair—a gesture so like his father's it's almost funny. "I wanted to... fuck, I'm shit at this." He meets my eyes. "Thank you. For killing Laken. For protectin’ my sister when I couldn't."
His words surprise me.
Last time we talked about Astrid, he wanted to put me in the ground.
"I heard what that piece of shit said before you put him down," Emil continues. "About hurting Astrid. Making her suffer." His jaw clenches. "I should have been the one to handle it. She's my sister. But you... you didn't hesitate."
"Never would," I tell him honestly.
"I was wrong about you two," he continues. "Seein’ how you handled that piece of shit, how you've stepped up today... She's safe with you. That's all that matters."
He extends his hand. I clasp it, feeling the dam of tension breaking. We're good now. Really good.
"I'll always protect her," I promise.
"I know," he says simply. "That's why I'm not pissed anymore. Well, that and Dad would probably kill us both if we kept fighting."
Before I can respond, Tor appears. "Geirolf! Why aren’t you at the fuckin’ hospital? Kraken's family needs security. You put together the detail yet?"
I nod, already moving. "Leavin’ now. Emil, come with me."
"Right behind you."
I gather a small crew quickly—Magnus, Rio, Hakon, and Bodul.
Six brothers should be enough to lock down a hospital wing.
As we gear up, I pull each man aside, making sure they understand the stakes.
"This isn't just guard duty," I tell them. "The Patriot already hit Kraken's family once. He might try to finish the job."
Rio's face hardens at that.
He knows better than anyone what it's like to lose family to this war.
The ride there is tense, everyone looking for potential threats.
Every car that passes too close gets scrutinized.
Every pedestrian who looks too long becomes suspicious.
We ride in together, bikes rumbling through the city streets like a warning.
The hospital is a maze of white corridors and smells too much like antiseptic for my liking.
We find Kraken's family on the surgical floor.
Magnolia's in the waiting room, clinging to Njal like he might disappear.
Her usually perfectly styled hair is disheveled, makeup streaked with tears.
Kraken paces the hallway, phone pressed to his ear, barking orders to someone.
"How is he?" I ask, approaching carefully.
Kraken's jaw tightens. "Still in surgery. Six hours now." He looks exhausted, aged ten years in a single morning. "They won't tell us shit except he's critical."
Fuck. That's not good.
Magnus takes the elevators with Rio, making sure no one comes up without our knowledge. Hakon and Bodul cover the stairwell and parking garage.
I stay with the family, coordinating via text.
Everly's in a nearby room getting stitched up.
Through the open door, I can see her—Kraken's adopted niece, barely twenty-one, with bandages on her arms and a shell-shocked expression.
She's always been tough, working at the fire department with Gwen and Vail as an EMT, but this has shaken her to her core.
"I'll talk to her," I tell Kraken.
He nods absently, still focused on his phone calls.
I knock on the doorframe, and Everly looks up. "Hey, you okay?"
She laughs, but it's brittle, almost hysterical. "Define okay. My house exploded, my little brother might die, and I can't stop shaking."
I enter the room, taking the chair beside her bed.
A nurse finishes applying the last bandage and quietly exits.
"You wanna tell me what happened?"
Her hands shake as she recounts the morning. "I heard something outside. Like scratching at Bjorn's window. When I went to check..." She pauses, swallowing hard. "There was a man there. Placing something under the windowsill."
"Can you describe him?"
"Tall, thin. Dark hair, maybe forty. He had this scar on his neck, like someone tried to cut his throat once." Her eyes are distant, reliving the moment. "When he saw me watching, he smiled. Like he wanted me to see."
I know that description.
Marcus, who we know is one of the Patriot's generals, right-hands, or whatever the fuck you wanna call him.
He’s former military, specializes in explosives.
The kind of man who takes pride in his work.
"I tried to warn Bjorn," she continues, tears starting. "Screamed for him to get out. But the explosion... it happened so fast. I was by the door, got thrown into the hallway. But Bjorn was deeper in the room. He took the full blast."
"Not your fault," I tell her firmly. "You hear me? This is on the Patriot, not you."
She nods, but I can see she doesn't believe it.
Survivor's guilt is a bitch, and she'll be carrying this for a long time.
The door opens, and Astrid enters with Ingrid.
I told them to stay at the clubhouse, but I'm not surprised they didn't listen.
"Where’s Njal?" Ingrid searches my face, then looks around the room.
I point across the hall, "Waiting room is over there, little one."
Ingrid whips her head around and spots the rest of Bjorn’s family, leaving the three of us here.
Njal spots her and greets her at the entrance of the waiting room.
I assume she’s asking about Bjorn, wanting to know what’s going on.
"Still in surgery," Njal tells her, and he puts an arm around Ingrid's shoulders—a brotherly gesture, or so it seems. "He's strong, Ingrid. He'll pull through. I know how much you mean to my brother."
The words are innocent enough, but something in Ingrid's reaction makes me look twice.
The way she leans into Njal's arms, the tears that spring to her eyes.
There's more there than just a friendship concern if you ask me, but I file it away for later.
Not my business, and we've got bigger problems right now.
Astrid catches my eye, and I can see the question there.
I give a small shake of my head—no news yet.
The next couple of hours crawl by.
I coordinate security rotations via my burner phone, check in with the clubhouse, and keep an eye on Kraken’s family.
Astrid stays close to Magnolia, offering her some quiet comfort.
It's a side of her I haven't seen much—the caretaker, the one who holds others together while they fall apart.
Ingrid hasn't left Njal's side, both teenagers trying to be strong for each other.
I catch snippets of their conversation—memories of Bjorn, stupid shit he's done, trouble he's gotten into.
Normal kid stuff that might be lost forever.
Finally, a surgeon emerges.
He looks exhausted, scrubs rumpled, and my gut clenches at his expression.
That's not the face of someone bringing good news. "Stromberg family?"
Magnolia shoots to her feet. "I'm his mother. How is he? How's my baby boy?"
The surgeon's voice is gentle but he speaks from a clinical perspective. "Bjorn made it through surgery. However, the damage to his left leg was too extensive. We had to amputate below the knee."
The sound Magnolia makes could shatter glass.
She collapses, and Kraken catches her, his own face carved from stone, but I see his hands shake, see the way his throat works as he swallows his own grief.
"Additionally, he has second and third-degree burns across thirty percent of his body, primarily on his back and arms. He'll need multiple skin grafts, months of physical therapy. But he's young, strong. He'll adapt."
Adapt, like losing a leg at sixteen is something you just adapt to, like waking up missing a piece of yourself is just another teenage hurdle.
Ingrid makes a choked sound, and now I'm certain there's more between her and Bjorn than anyone knows.
The grief in her eyes isn't just for a friend—it's deeper, more personal.
Njal holds her while she cries, whispering words I can't hear.
"When can we see him?" Kraken asks, barely able to keep his voice steady.
"He'll be in recovery for several hours. Limited visitors at first." The surgeon pauses. "He's lucky to be alive. A few feet closer to the window..."
He doesn't finish, but he doesn't need to. We all know what would have happened.
After the surgeon leaves, we sit in stunned silence.
This is what war with the Patriot means.
"I want him dead," Magnolia says suddenly, her voice raw. "The Patriot. I want him to suffer like my baby's suffering right now."
"He will," Kraken promises. "That's a fuckin’ guarantee."
My phone buzzes.
It’s Runes:
Any updates for me?
I text back:
Surgeon just came out. Bjorn is alive, but lost his leg.
His response is immediate:
Bring them back when they’re able. Clubhouse is secure, and notify them of what the plan is.
But we wait.
There's no rushing this, no pushing a mother away from her injured child.
I give Kraken the rundown of how Runes wants to handle this, and he nods, understanding it’s safer for everyone at the clubhouse.
Two hours later, they finally let Magnolia and Kraken see Bjorn.
The rest of us wait in the waiting room, but I keep my eyes on the hallway, watching, waiting to see if anyone has the balls to show up here today.
When Magnolia and Kraken finally come back, Magnolia looks broken.
Kraken's aged another decade in those twenty minutes.
"He's sleeping now," Magnolia whispers. "All those machines... he looks so small."
"He's tough," I tell her, meaning it.
She nods absently, not really hearing me.
Shock does that—makes everything distant, unreal.
"You should head back," Kraken says finally to Magnolia and Njal, even Everly. "Nothing more you can do here tonight. I’ll stay back here, watch things."
Magnolia shakes her head. "There isn’t any way in hell I’m not going to be here with my son, so you can go fuck yourself if you think I’m leaving him."
Njal speaks up next. "I don’t want to leave either."
Kraken sighs, frustration bubbling at the surface. "This isn’t up for discussion. You’re going back to the club and?—"
"Like hell I am." Magnolia’s pissed now, and we can all see it. "Geirolf, take Astrid, Ingrid, and Everly back to the clubhouse. Let Runes know Kraken and I have it for now, leave a couple of the others around if you want, but take the girls home for me, please."
I nod, knowing better than to argue with Mags. She’s a damn force to be reckoned with.
"You heard her, ladies." I speak up, looking at the three of them.
Ingrid doesn’t want to leave Njal’s side, but she has to.
Everly looks a little sore, bandages over her arms from the burns she got, but they’re not nearly as bad as her brother’s injuries.
I grab Astrid’s hand as the group of us heads into the hallway, "Princess, do you mind if Everly rides with you and Ingrid? I’ll be right behind you the whole way back."
She shakes her head. "No, of course not."
I get the girls back to the clubhouse and park my bike. As I’m getting off, I hear Ingrid talking to the girls.
"He's going to hate it," Ingrid’s voice is full of emotion. "The prosthetic. He's gonna hate people looking at him differently."
"Then we make sure they don't," Astrid says firmly. "He's still Bjorn. Still the same annoying kid who puts hot sauce in everything and cheats at poker."
"Still your boyfriend," Everly adds quietly.
Ingrid goes rigid.
I even spot Astrid's eyes widen.
Ingrid swallows hard, almost rendered speechless. "How did you?—"
"Please." Everly scoffs weakly. "You two aren't exactly subtle. The way you look at each other..."
"Does anyone else know?" Ingrid asks, panic in her voice.
"I don't think so. You've been careful around the adults."
Fenrir's youngest daughter is dating Kraken's son.
That's going to be interesting when it comes out, but right now, we've got bigger problems.
The clubhouse has transformed in our absence.
All of the cots and sleeping bags are gone, likely in everyone’s assigned rooms, there’s a kids area with games and books, and the television is on some kids’ show for the little ones.
I spot Starla and Aziza in the kitchen with Rayna, all working together to get snacks and meals prepared for everyone.
A few of the other ol’ ladies are watching the kids, and Dasha’s even here.
"Holy shit," Ingrid breathes, taking it all in.
"Language," Astrid says automatically, but there's no heat in it.
I find Ivar coordinating guard rotations by the main entrance. "How's it looking?"
"Secure as we can make it," he reports. "Two-man teams, four-hour shifts. Nobody gets within fifty yards without us knowin’ about it."
"Where do you need me?" I ask.
"Take the midnight shift with Vanir and Oskar. But first, Runes wants a chat."
I head down the hall until I’m at Runes and Fenrir’s office.
The second I walk through the door, Runes looks up. "How's the kid?"
"Alive. Lost his left leg below the knee. Extensive burns. He'll make it, but..." I shrug. What else is there to say?
I tell them everything Everly told me when she was in the hospital, about Marcus at her window, about the way he fucking smiled at her. I don’t leave any details out.
"Fuckin’ animals," Fenrir mutters. "Targeting children..."
"He’s hiding," Tor continues. "After today's explosion, he's vanished. Not at any of his usual spots, phones are dead. Even his lieutenants can't reach him."
"Cockroach," Fenrir spits. "Always slips through the cracks."
"We'll find him," Runes says with certainty. "Start with what we can hit—his drug operations, money laundering, protection rackets. We dismantle his empire piece by piece until he's got nowhere left to hide."
It's a solid plan, but something tells me the Patriot won't make it that easy.
He's not some street-level thug.
He's organized, connected, and playing a long game none of us fully understand yet.
The small meeting we’re having breaks up and I find Astrid on the back deck, staring out at the dark property beyond our fence line.
She's changed into jeans and one of my hoodies—it hangs huge on her, making her look smaller, more vulnerable.
"How you holdin’ up?" I ask, wrapping my arms around her from behind.
She leans into me. "Bjorn lost his leg. Ingrid's devastated. Families are in the clubhouse for Gods knows how long. How do you think I'm holding up?"
Fair point, and I don’t say a word.
"How long do you think this will last?" she asks quietly.
"Until we end him," I promise, meaning it. "However long that takes."
She turns in my arms, looking up at me. "And if he keeps slipping away? If he's always one step ahead?"
I don't have an answer for that.
The Patriot's already proven he's no ordinary threat.
He's smart, connected, and completely fucking ruthless, but I can't tell her that.
I can't admit that we’re having issues.
"We'll get him," I say finally. "We have to."
She nods, but I can see the doubt in her eyes. We stand there in the dark, holding each other while our family prepares for war behind us.
"I think this goes without sayin’, but I want you in my room tonight," I murmur against her ear, "Want you close."
"There’s nowhere else I’d rather be."