I think this is a good thing, because in the time I’ve spent with Fern, she’s definitely started to come back to her normal self. She’s still extremely self-conscious about her scars when we’re out in public, but at home, she doesn’t seem phased by them. It might not seem like much, but it’s still a big adjustment.
Fern came to the clubhouse for the first time the other day. I was proud of her because she didn’t wear a long sleeve shirt or a long skirt. It doesn’t mean she didn’t wear something that covered her well, though. She had on cargo capris that conformed to her ass but was loose around the thighs and a fitted purple tee shirt. Gods, I love her in purple. She looks damn good in it.
I knew right away she was making a statement without using any words, but she didn’t have to.
My brothers don’t know about the marriage between Fern and myself yet. They only know the two of us are dating, and I’m living at her house for Tor’s sake. I don’t know if I will end up telling them. It was only supposed to be temporary; however, the longer I’m with her, I want it to be permanent. Fern’s amazing in every way. I just need to figure out shit with Tor and find a way to convince her we’re good together.
After living the kind of life I have, I want to finally have one filled with happiness. The type of happiness she’s been giving me every day since we’ve been married. I think I deserve it, and I sure as hell hope she knows she deserves to have a man like me. A man who would burn entire cities for her.
A few of the hóras took notice of the fact Fern came straight to me and wrapped her arms around my waist. Before Fern and I were together, if I fucked one of them, I never allowed them to touch me. It’s a known rule that I won’t let any of them touch me. On the other hand, things with Fern are much different. She’s my woman, so she came right into the clubhouse and walked straight into my arms.
I don’t give a damn about those hóras, but I’ll be keeping an eye on them so they don’t fuck with her. Unless I officially claim her, those women will think they can fuck with Fern and push her out.
Little do they know I’m not going to let it happen.
Checking the time on my watch, I get off the stool and head across the main area of the clubhouse. We’re having church and today’s when we have our weekly meeting. I have some shit we need to talk about, so none of them better be late. None of it will make them happy, that’s for sure. I definitely don’t have thrills of excitement shooting through me as I walk into the room.
Taking my seat at the head of the table, I lean forward and rest my elbows on the solid wood oak table. After taking a deep breath, I pinch the bridge of my nose, hopefully warding off the headache forming there. I got a call earlier today from Bruise, the president of the Satan’s Storm MC Florida charter. They got word about a large shipment of women coming in. Women who are supposedly going to be placed in an auction hosted by the Cintron Cartel.
He called me because he’s asking for a favor. He wants to know if there’s any way some of my brothers could come down to assist them. Bruise explained, their brothers from the Louisiana charter were coming down along with two other clubs they’re allies with. All of us tolerate each other, the Raiders of Valhalla MC, the Satan’s Storm MC, and the Lucifer’s Disciples MC. Bruise and One Shot are not only the presidents of their clubs but real-life blood brothers as well.
I know all three clubs, and though we’re not allies or friends, we at least all have a truce. The only reason we’re not friends is because we’re a nomad club and hold no loyalty to anyone but our own. It doesn’t mean I don’t respect the men or their clubs.
The sound of my brothers’ voices pulls me from my thoughts. I lean back in my chair and shift my elbows from the table to the arms of the chair. Leaning to the side somewhat, I bend one of my arms, and my fingers cup my chin while I watch my brothers, contemplating how to bring this shit up.
“You good?” Fenrir asks, taking his seat next to me with assessing eyes.
“Yeah, I’ll tell you and everyone else soon as the doors close,” I share.
Fenrir nods and sits forward in his seat, alert and waiting to hear what I’m about to tell them all.
When the door closes, I sit straighter in my chair, and I bang the gavel down. The same one Magnus designed with Viking runes on the handle. The gavel itself is shaped to look like an axe. It’s pretty wicked.
I go straight to telling them everything that Bruise told me. I don’t leave out any detail about the situation at hand. Bruise and the Satan’s Storm MC are going up against something that needs a hell of a lot more manpower than only one club can handle. My brothers know who the Cintron Cartel are and know that those motherfuckers hold no mercy for who try to get in their way. If we’re to help out, they need to know the full depths of this situation. It’s not supposed to go down for another few weeks, but the plan needs to be put into place.
Putting it to vote, it’s unanimous to help the Satan’s Storm MC and those women from being sold into the human trafficking ring.
Ending church, I leave the room intending to have another beer before heading home with Fern and Tor. But at the sight of Tor, I instantly know something is wrong. He’s sitting at one of the tables with his shoulders slouched, so I round the table to face him. As I do, my step falters when I see the look on his face. It’s like he’s filled with worry and fear. Two things I never want my son to experience if he doesn’t have to.
Heading in his direction, I stop in front of him. “What’s going on, Tor?” I ask him.
Tor seems to almost jump out of his skin at the sound of my gruff voice. “Dad, ugh, hey, sorry about that.”
“What’s going on, bud? You look like shit,” I tell him. Crossing my arms, I assess my son’s movements.
“Ugh, yeah, I need to talk to you about something,” he states nervously, glancing around the club at all my brothers. I don’t know what’s on his mind, but it’s like he doesn’t want to talk if he’s within earshot of anyone else.
“Come on,” I instruct, already not liking the uncomfortable feeling crawling up my back.
I show Tor to my office and round my desk to take my seat. He closes the door and comes up to the seat in front of my desk.
“All right, kid, tell me what’s going on.”
“One of the women, well, more or less a girl my age, she’s . . . I can’t believe I’m about to say this. She’s pregnant.” Tor’s eyes widen like he just found out, and I have to swallow before I can speak up. He can’t be right. He has to be confused, right? I mean, he told me what his mother did to make extra money. I know many vile details about what she put him through. He told me it happened with girls his age too, but fuck.
“Come again? How the hell do you know that?” I ask, making sure to keep my anger in check. The last thing I want to do is make him feel like any of this is his fault or like he’s in trouble. Hillary did this. Hillary is the one I’m angry with.
He informs me of the details he failed to tell me first. I knew he was keeping some things from me, but now he’s unleashing it all. It wasn’t just women or men his fucked-up mother forced on him. She’d book nights like he was a fucking hotel and allowed men and women to force other underage girls on him as well. He gives me details about how special doctors would come to see him, take blood, the whole nine. At a point, I start asking him questions, and slowly the truth is coming out. He wouldn’t know what was done to him, but I’ve lived in Florida most of my life and heard this shit. I heard rumors about what they did to keep their numbers up, and now I know.