Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Astrid
Morning light filters through the window of Geirolf's room onto our bed, a reminder that we have to buck up and face the day.
He's already on guard duty—has been since four a.m.
It’s the fourth day of lockdown, and we're all starting to feel it.
Kids are getting restless, adults are on edge, and somewhere out there, the Patriot is still planning his next move.
I stretch, muscles aching from sleeping on this lumpy mattress.
I really need to convince Geirolf we need to get a new one. He’s probably had this thing since he prospected with the club.
Ew… I wish I didn’t think that.
But waking up in Geirolf's space, surrounded by his scent, makes it worth it. At least we’re safe, and we’re together.
The smell of his leather and cologne clings to the sheets, reminding me of last night when he held me close, his arms creating a protective shield around me.
The distant sound of children's laughter pulls me from my thoughts.
It’s Halloween and today's the day we've been planning for, the one bright spot in this nightmare we're living.
The kids deserve some normalcy, even if it's stuck between these four walls.
I pull on jeans and one of Geirolf's t-shirts—a black Harley one that hangs on me, hitting mid-thigh.
Everyone knows about us now anyway, might as well be comfortable.
I head into his ensuite bathroom, my reflection in his small mirror shows how exhausted I am.
I wish I could stay in bed all day, but I can’t. We have to make this day special for the kids.
The main room is already busy as hell when I emerge from our room.
Halloween decorations are covering every surface, even more so than they were a couple of weeks ago.
It’s like they threw up more Halloween stuff while I was sleeping, but they honestly could have for the kids.
Plastic skeletons now dangle from the ceiling, carved pumpkins line the bar.
Orange and black streamers twist from the overhead beams.
Someone's even managed to rig up a smoke machine in the corner, creating an eerie fog effect.
"Morning, honey." Mom appears at my elbow, handing me a mug of blessed caffeine. She's wearing an orange sweater with a bedazzled black cat on it—festive but practical. "Sleep okay?"
"As well as anyone can on those mattresses," I admit, taking a grateful sip.
The coffee's strong enough to wake the dead, just how I need it.
She smiles knowingly. "I'm sure the company helped."
Heat floods my cheeks, but I don't deny it. "Where do you need me?"
"Kitchen first. We're making Halloween treats with the kids later, but I need help planning the party schedule." She glances around the room, where children are already racing around in various states of dress.
Little Zayder has his Superman cape on backwards, while Tove toddles after him in a princess dress. "Lord knows we need to keep them occupied."
I follow her to the kitchen, where Starla's already organizing supplies.
The counter is covered in bags of candy, cookie cutters, frosting tubes, and every orange and black sprinkle known to man.
Aziza's at the stove, the smell of pumpkin spice wafting from whatever she's baking. As the club’s baking mastermind, she’s got any baked good covered.
Fern sits at the table with a clipboard, ever the organizer. "Astrid, perfect timing," Fern says without looking up. "We need someone to run the costume contest. Runes agreed to judge."
"Really?" I can't hide my surprise.
I would never think Runes would want to judge a kid’s contest like this.
"He's got a soft spot for the kids," she says with a knowing smile. "Plus, it gives the men something normal to focus on. Gods know they need the distraction."
Normal.
That word keeps coming up, like if we say it enough, it'll be true.
Like if we pretend hard enough, we're not trapped in a clubhouse while a madman hunts our families.
I spot Ingrid by the coffee pot, staring at her phone with red-rimmed eyes.
She's dressed in jeans and a black sweater, her hair pulled back in a messy bun.
She looks younger than her sixteen years, vulnerable in a way that makes my heart ache.
"Hey," I say softly, approaching my sister. "You okay?"
She shrugs, not looking up from her phone. "Njal says Bjorn had a rough night. The pain is really bad. He kept screaming."
My heart aches for her. Sixteen years old and dealing with her boyfriend's life-changing injury, though most people still don't know they're together.
"Dad's going to the hospital later," I tell her. "Maybe you can go with him."
"It's family only," she says bitterly. "I'm not family."
"You are to Bjorn," I remind her. "And that's what matters."
"Try telling that to the hospital staff," she mutters. "Or to our parents. If they knew about us..."
"They'd understand," I say, though I'm not entirely sure that's true. "Love doesn't follow rules."
She gives me a look that's far too knowing for her age. "Like you and Geirolf?"
Before I can respond, Everly appears in the doorway.
She looks better than she did at the hospital—the bandages on her arms are smaller now, and there's color back in her cheeks.
She's wearing a long-sleeved shirt to cover the worst of her healing burns.
"Morning, everyone," she says, grabbing a mug. "What can I help with?"
"You should be resting," Starla chides, but Everly waves her off.
"I've rested enough. I need to keep busy." Her eyes are haunted despite her cheerful tone. Survivor's guilt is a bitch. "Besides, it's Halloween. Can't let the kids down."
"Actually," I say, getting an idea, "want to help me inventory the candy? Make sure we have enough for tonight?"
She nods gratefully, and we head to the storage room where boxes of Halloween candy are stacked.
It's quieter here, away from the chaos of the main room.
The storage room smells like dust mixed with beer, cleaner and fried food, a unique scent if I say so.
"How are you really doing?" I ask once we're alone, settling on a crate across from her.
Everly sighs, fiddling with a bag of fun-size Snickers. "Honestly? I don't know. Every time I close my eyes, I see that man at Bjorn's window. Keep thinking if I'd been faster, if I'd realized what he was doing sooner..."
"Stop," I say firmly. "This isn't on you. The Patriot did this, not you."
She nods, but I can see she doesn't fully believe it.
We work in silence for a few minutes, counting candy bars and sorting different types into bowls.
The repetitive motion is soothing, almost meditative.
"Can I tell you something?" she asks suddenly, not meeting my eyes.
"Of course."
A blush creeps up her cheeks. "I've been seeing someone. A new guy. It's only been a few weeks, but... I really like him."
"That's great!" I say, genuinely happy for her. After everything she's been through, she deserves some happiness. "What's his name?"
"Dylan Mitchell," she says, and my stomach drops.
I know that name. Dylan Mitchell—hangs around the club sometimes, deals pot to college kids, is a local who’s been here for as long as I’ve been alive.
Hell, he might be a year or two older than me.
More importantly, he's got a reputation for treating women like shit.
I've heard the stories from other girls, seen the bruises they try to hide.
"Be careful with him," I say slowly, trying to keep my voice neutral. "He's got a bit of a reputation."
Everly's face hardens slightly. "People said the same thing about the guys in the club. Doesn't mean it's true."
"This is different," I insist. "Dylan's been known to?—"
"To what?" she interrupts. "Be rough? Dangerous? Like every other guy who hangs around here?" She shakes her head. "He treats me great, Astrid. He's gentle, sweet. Maybe people just don't know the real him."
I want to argue, but I recognize the defensiveness in her tone.
I used it plenty when people warned me about Laken.
Sometimes you have to learn the hard way.
"Just... be careful, okay?" I say finally. "And if you need anything..."
"I know." She softens. "Thanks. I just... I need something good right now, you know? After everything that's happened."
I understand that need more than she knows.
We finish counting candy in silence, but worry gnaws at me.
Dylan Mitchell is bad news, but Everly's right—she needs something positive to focus on.
I just hope she doesn't get hurt in the process.
When we return to the main room, I spot Geirolf near the entrance, finishing his guard shift.
He looks exhausted, dark circles under those ice-blue eyes, but they light up when he sees me.
His cut hangs open over a gray henley, and I can see the edge of his skull tattoo peeking out from the collar.
"Morning, princess," he murmurs as I approach.
"Morning yourself." I glance around, then steal a quick kiss.
He tastes like coffee and cigarettes. "Tired?"
"Nothing coffee won't fix." His hand finds my hip, thumb stroking through the fabric. "How's the party planning?"
"Eh, you know, crazy," I admit. "But the kids are excited."
He nods, then leans closer, voice dropping. "We hit one of the Patriot's drug houses last night. Got some good intel, but the bastard himself is still in the wind."
My blood runs cold.
I had no idea he was out on a run before his guard shift. Then again, he probably didn’t want to wake me.
I know the club is still actively hunting the Patriot even though we’re the lockdown, but hearing it confirmed makes it real. "Anyone hurt?"
"Nah. They scattered like roaches when we showed up." His expression darkens a bit. "But we're getting closer. He can't hide forever."
Before I can respond, Kraken appears in the doorway.
He looks like he’s been run over, like he hasn't slept in days.
His usually neat beard is unkempt, his clothes wrinkled.
The entire room seems to pause, everyone wondering about Bjorn.
Fern approaches quickly. "How is he?"
"Awake. Angry. In pain." Kraken rubs his face. "The pain is killin’ him. Docs say it's normal, but..." He trails off, shoulders slumping. "He keeps reaching for his leg. The one that's not there anymore."
The words hang heavy in the air.
Several of the women tear up, and I see Ingrid's face crumple from across the room.
Mom comes over, speaking to him gently. "Magnolia's still with him?"
"Won't leave his side. Logi and Magnus are on guard duty there now." He glances around the decorated room, and for a moment, his expression softens. "This is good. The kids need this."
"Njal's in the game room," Fern tells him. "He's been asking about his brother."
Kraken nods and heads off to find his other son.
I notice Ingrid watching him go, longing written all over her face.
She wants to ask about Bjorn but knows it's not her place. The secret they've been keeping is killing her.
"I'll be back," I tell Geirolf, squeezing his hand.
I search the clubhouse until I find what I'm looking for—my father in the office, going over some paperwork, probably security rotations or something else I’m not supposed to know about.
They look up when I knock.
"What is it, baby girl?" Dad asks, immediately alert.
Even after all these years, he still goes into protective mode at the slightest sign of trouble.
"Ingrid needs to see Bjorn," I say simply. "She's falling apart."
Dad's expression hardens. "It's family only at the hospital. You know the rules."
"She is family to him," I argue. "Dad, please. They're—" I catch myself before revealing their secret. "They're close. She needs to see him."
Runes and Dad exchange a look I can't read.
"I'll talk to Kraken," Dad says finally. "See what we can do."
"Thank you," I say, relief flooding through me.
But as I turn to leave, I hear them continue their conversation.
"What about Marcus?" Dad asks, his voice dropping. "We know where he drinks."
My blood runs cold. Marcus—the man Everly saw at Bjorn's window.
I freeze just outside the door, knowing I shouldn't listen but I can’t bring myself to move.
"Tonight," I hear Geirolf's voice and realize he's entered the room through the other door. "During the party. Kids'll be distracted."
"I want answers," Dad growls. "That explosion nearly killed two club kids. My daughter's friend is missing a leg because of that bastard."
"He'll talk," Geirolf promises. "They always do when we have ‘em downstairs."
The casual way he says it makes me shiver.
I know what happens in the basement.
Have known since I was old enough to understand what the club really does.
But hearing them plan it so coldly while children's laughter echoes from the main room…
I back away before they notice me, mind racing.
They're going to grab Marcus tonight, while we're throwing a Halloween party for the kids.
Gods, what kind of world do we really live in?
I need to find Geirolf alone. Need to... I don't know what. Confirm what I heard? Beg him to be careful? Accept that this is who we are?
I wait near his room, and when he emerges from the office, I grab his hand and pull him inside without a word.
"Astrid, what?—"
"Shut up," I hiss, pushing him inside and closing the door.
His eyebrows raise, but I see heat flare in those ice-blue eyes. "What's wrong?"
"I heard you," I say, pressing him against the door. "Planning to grab Marcus tonight."
His expression doesn't change. "You shouldn't have been listenin’."
"I'm part of this now," I remind him. "Your woman, remember?"
Something dangerous flashes in his eyes. " Minn ," he agrees, hands finding my hips, pulling me closer.
The fear and anger I've been holding shifts into something else.
Something desperate and needy.
The thought of him going out there, hunting dangerous men while kids watch Halloween movies and have skeleton finger treats…
"Be careful tonight," I breathe, then crush my lips to his.
He responds immediately, hands sliding under my shirt as he spins us, pressing me against the door.
The kiss is desperate, almost violent in its intensity.
I taste his dedication to the club, his darkness, his promise to come back to me.
"Always am," he growls against my neck, then bites down gently.
I gasp, arching into him. "Liar."
His hands are everywhere—pushing up my shirt, unfastening my jeans.
There's no gentleness now, just need.
Just the desperate desire to connect before he goes into something dangerous tonight.
"Gotta be quick," he mutters, lifting me.
I wrap my legs around his waist, feeling him hard against me through our clothes.
"Then stop talking," I demand.
He chuckles darkly, then captures my mouth again as he fumbles with his own zipper.
When he enters me in one smooth thrust, we both groan.
The door rattles slightly, and I know anyone passing by could hear, but I don't care.
"Quiet," he warns, though his own control is shredding right in front of me.
I bite my lip, muffling the sounds that want to escape as he moves.
It's fast, desperate, perfect.
My back hits the door with each thrust, the sound masked by the chaos from the main room.
"Promise me," I gasp. "Promise you'll come back."
"Always," he growls, pace increasing. "Fuck, Astrid. I’ll always come back to you."
I'm close embarrassingly fast, the emotion and danger heightening everything.
When his thumb finds my clit, I shatter, biting his shoulder to muffle my cry.
He follows immediately, whispering my name against my ear.
We stay pressed against the door for a moment, both panting.
Reality creeps back in—the party to plan, the run he’s going on tonight, the constant danger surrounding us.
"I love you," I whisper.
He pulls back to look at me, expression serious. "Love you too, princess. More than you know."
We clean up quickly and slip back out separately.
The main room has transformed even more in our absence—streamers now joining the cobwebs, a "haunted house" corner set up with sheets and spooky sounds.
The rest of the day passes in a blur.
Kids try on costumes, running around like superheroes and princesses.
We set up carnival games—ring toss, bean bag throw, bobbing for apples.
The prospects help while still making sure the club is secure, looking slightly ridiculous in their costumes while armed.
Ulf makes a convincing Viking, though the gun on his hip ruins the historical accuracy.
By mid-afternoon, the transformation is complete.
The clubhouse looks like a proper Halloween party venue, complete with themed snacks and spooky music.
Aziza's made cookies shaped like bats and pumpkins, while Starla's created a "witches' brew" punch that bubbles the entire time thanks to dry ice.
As the evening approaches, the party kicks into high gear.
Music fills the clubhouse, kids shrieking with delight as they play games and show off costumes.
Even the brothers seem to relax, playing with the children, trying to have a good time even though things are so tense right now.
I watch Geirolf with the little ones, struck by how gentle he is.
He's got Florencia on his shoulders, Rio's daughter squealing as he pretends to be a monster.
Mom appears beside me with a tray of cupcakes."He's good with kids."
"Yeah," I agree softly, imagining a future where our own children ride on his shoulders.
"You two talked about having any?"
My cheeks heat. "Mom!"
She laughs. "Just wondering. You're not getting any younger."
"We're in the middle of a war, and I’m twenty-four, there’s plenty of time." I remind her.
"There's always a war." She laughs. "Can't put life on hold forever."
Before I can respond, Magnolia arrives from the hospital.
She looks exhausted but… determined to be here, still wearing the same clothes from a few days ago.
Her usually perfect makeup is gone, her eyes red from crying.
I walk up to her. "It’s good to see you. How’s Bjorn holding up?"
"Asking for Ingrid," she says, and my sister's head snaps up from across the room. "Doctor said she can visit tonight. Only for thirty minutes."
Ingrid practically flies across the room. "Really?"
Magnolia nods, managing a small smile. "He needs to see you."
The joy on my sister's face is beautiful and heartbreaking.
Young love in the middle of all this chaos.
As they prepare to leave, I notice the brothers starting to gather subtly.
Dad, Emil, Oskar, Tor, and Geirolf exchange looks, like they’re getting ready to head out for the night.
The party continues around them, but I see the shift—from family men to hunters.
The night goes on, kids crashing from sugar highs, movies playing on the big screen.
Perfect cover for what's about to happen.
I watch as the men prepare, each man checking weapons discreetly, focusing on the battle they’re about to bring to the Patriot and his men, and this Marcus fellow.
I find Geirolf in our room, strapping on weapons.
His movements come second nature to him, sliding a knife in his boot, checking the gun at his hip, and he puts another under his arm.
I don’t know what it is, but him strapping up with all of these weapons changes him.
He’s no longer the gentle man I saw with the kids. Now he’s a predator, a monster the club summons whenever we’re being attacked.
"So, you’ll bring that guy to the basement?" I ask quietly.
He nods, checking his gun's chamber. "Yep, straight there after we’re done."
"And then?"
"Then we get answers." His eyes meet mine. "About the explosion. About their plans. About everything."
I cross to him, straightening his cut.
The leather is worn soft from years of wear, the patches telling the story of his time in the club.
"Give me something to come back to," he murmurs, echoing my earlier words.
I kiss him deeply, pouring everything into it—love, fear, even praying to the Gods he’ll come back to me safe and sound.
I follow him to the main room, watching as the hunting party gathers.
Dad, my brothers, Tor, Geirolf—they all head out, saying goodbye to their women if they have any, and disappear into the night.
As soon as they’re gone I notice the children sleeping peacefully while Hocus Pocus plays on the TV, sleeping in piles like puppies.
This is our life, has always been our life, but seeing it like this is making anxiety coil in my gut.
The kids had their Halloween magic, complete with candy and costumes and games, but I know what real darkness waits outside our walls, and it unsettles me.
Tonight, my family will drag one of those monsters into our basement.
And by morning, we'll have answers—or we'll have another body to dispose of.
And I'm okay with that.
Because this is who we are. Who I am now. And when Geirolf comes back with blood on his knuckles and the answers the club needs, I'll be waiting for him with open arms.
Just like the woman I've become, just like a true ol’ lady should.