Not His Old Lady Anymore

Fiona POV:

My fingertips traced the neat columns of figures in the ledger. Outside, the familiar roar of a Harley engine grew louder, cutting through the afternoon quiet.

It was a specific sound, a deep, gravelly rumble I knew better than my own heartbeat.

Beast. Craig's bike. He was back.

I closed the ledger, my heart giving a few hard, unwelcome thumps against my ribs. He'd been on this run for nearly two months, far longer than usual.

I stood, smoothing the fabric of my dress out of habit. I walked out of my office. It was my duty as his Old Lady to greet him in front of the brothers, a display of my position.

The front yard of the Clubhouse was already dotted with Prospects and hang-arounds, their eyes fixed on the cloud of dust kicked up by the approaching bikes.

My gaze locked onto the lead bike, a massive black Harley, and the broad back of the man wearing the iconic Serpents of Redemption cut. Craig. The President of the Serpents of Redemption. My husband.

Then my steps faltered.

There was someone on the back of his bike. A woman.

Craig brought the bike to a halt, then turned with a fluid motion, offering a hand to help her down. The gesture was steady, patient in a way I hadn't seen from him in a long time.

The woman's fiery red hair was a torch in the California sun. She wore plain clothes that didn't belong here, and she clung to Craig's arm like it was a lifeline.

A small boy, maybe seven or eight, slid off the side of the bike and hid behind her legs.

The blood in my veins turned to ice. The whispers from the brothers nearby were like a thousand tiny needles against my skin.

Craig finally saw me. The smile on his face froze for a second before he started walking toward me, deliberately ignoring the woman.

"Fiona," he said, his voice a little rough. "Road was bad. Got back late."

I didn't answer him. My eyes went past him, settling on her.

The woman met my gaze. The corner of her mouth lifted in a smirk so faint I almost thought I'd imagined it. Then, just as quickly, it was replaced by a look of pure, helpless fear.

I understood instantly. This wasn't an accident. It was a challenge.

Craig followed my gaze and frowned, pulling me a few steps to the side. He lowered his voice. "Her name is Ginger. She ran into some trouble on the road. I helped her out. She and her son, Cody, have nowhere to go."

"Helped her out?" I repeated the words, my voice so cold it didn't sound like my own. "Helped her out all the way back to the Clubhouse?"

"Fiona, don't be like that," he said, a sharp edge of impatience in his tone. "In front of all the brothers, give me some face."

His words were a slap. I was his Old Lady, and he was asking me to give him face for a sweetbutt he'd picked up on the road.

I took a deep breath, swallowing the lump in my throat. When I looked at him again, my face was calm. "Your guests, of course, must be welcomed."

I turned to the gawking Prospects. "What are you staring at? Don't you see we have guests? Go get them something to drink."

My composure seemed to relax him. He thought it was over.

Ginger approached slowly with her son. Cody glared at me with open hostility.

She gave me a fragile smile. "Hi, I'm Ginger Burke. Craig saved us on the road. He's such a good man." She emphasized the words "saved us."

I looked at her and smiled back, a smile with no warmth in it at all. "I'm Fiona Brennan. Craig's Old Lady."

The words 'Old Lady' made her smile stiffen.

Craig cleared his throat, trying to break the tension. "Alright, it was a long ride, everyone's tired. Fiona, why don't you go..."

I cut him off before he could finish. "Ricky!" I called to a young hang-around.

Ricky Foster jogged over immediately. "Fiona, what do you need?"

"Take Ms. Burke and her child to the guest quarters. Find an empty room and get them settled." I made sure to stress "guest quarters"—the area for temporary visitors, separate from where patched members and their families lived.

Craig's face darkened instantly. "Fiona, I said..."

He was about to object, but I spoke first, my voice low but sharp enough to stop him.

"Craig," I said, looking him straight in the eye. "The club has rules."

Without another look at him, I turned and walked back into the Clubhouse, leaving him and his 'prize' behind me.

I could feel his furious gaze burning into my back, but I didn't turn around.