Page 52 of Scornful

"My dad could argue he isn’t loyal, because he was sneaking around with me," I point out.

"Love makes fools of us all," Aziza says.

"The question is," Gwen says, setting down her mug, "what do you want? Not what your father wants, not what the club expects. What does Astrid want?"

It's a simple question with a complicated answer. "I want him," I admit.

"I want Geirolf. But I don't want to come between him and the club. I don't want to be the reason he loses everything."

"Maybe you're not taking something away," Meghan suggests. "Maybe you're adding something. A reason to fight harder, to be better."

"That's very poetic," I say with a small smile.

"And true," Mom adds. "Your father became a better man after he met me. More focused, more careful. Love doesn't weaken these men—it gives them something to protect."

"Ladies, I’m gonna be honest with you. I’m not trying to be here all day. The girls have a sleepover, and Arik’s going to a friend’s place too. It’s date night for us, so I want to be back early, get showered, get cute," Fern says, standing up. "How about we get this furniture set up before the next delivery truck arrives. Work first, then we can shoot the shit a little more."

We spend the next two hours unpacking chairs, assembling table bases, and arranging the new equipment.

It feels good to keep busy, gives my mind something to focus on besides the mess my life has become.

As we work, the women share stories.

How Fern fell hard for Runes, how Ivar saved Starla from a horrible situation, and was ahoraturned ol' lady.

It’s nice to hear how each of them found love with men in the club and made it work even though there were countless challenges.

"The key," Gwen says as we position a massage table, "is not trying to change them. Accept them for who they are, but expect them to be that man fully."

"Geirolf's already that man," I say without thinking. "He's loyal, protective, fierce when he needs to be, gentle and sweet when it matters."

"Sounds like you've got it bad," Meghan teases.

"Yeah," I admit. "I do."

We're just finishing up when I notice movement outside.

A car parked across the street, with someone sitting inside.

My blood runs cold for a moment, thinking of Laken, but then I remember—he's locked up at the clubhouse.

Still, something feels off.

Mom follows my gaze. "What is it?"

"That car. It's been there for a while."

Fern moves to the window, peering out carefully. "Blue sedan. Can't see the driver clearly."

"Maybe it's nothing," I say, but unease prickles at my spine.

"Eh, we don’t have the luxury of it ever being nothing," Starla says grimly.

Before anyone can respond, the front door chimes.

My heart jumps, then settles when I see who it is.

Geirolf fills the doorway, looking tired but otherwise unharmed.

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