I never expected us to have a satellite clubhouse, but when Amanda, the mother of Fenrir’s kids, died, everything changed. She left three kids behind, so we needed to settle down. There was no way I’d let my VP take on being a single parent without his brothers supporting him.
The club voted on what we were going to do, and we decided to do this. Now, it doesn’t mean what we’ve done is flawless. There are times when several of the brothers will be out on the road. They’ll be gone for months at a time, but they’ll have a place to come back to. No one’s gone out yet since we’ve all been busy getting this place finished.
The main room is massive, with a wall on the far side painted with our logo on it. The bar is long and curves at one end. Throughout the room, there’s a lounging area, tables scattered around, a stereo system, three pool tables, and two dartboards.
Our clubhouse turned out better than expected. If you ask me, the best part is the room we meet in for kirkja. It’s large enough for us to all fit and not crowd each other. We’ve been to some clubhouses that have us packed in like sardines, I sure as hell didn’t want that. The table was built and designed by Magnus, one of our patched members, who’s great at working with wood. He carves sculptures in his free time, which is where we’ve gotten many of our pieces from. The clubhouse is riddled with wooden sculptures of Odin, Thor, Freyja, and many other Norse gods and goddesses.
Those aren’t the only things Magnus has created for us. He built the bar as well, carving knarrs into the outer side of it.
You would think that the place will be opened to the public with the way it’s set up, but nope, it’s all for our personal enjoyment.
Although we made this decision after what happened to Amanda, it doesn’t bother me to be closer to my son, Torsten. He’s seventeen and lives with his mom in Georgia.
When I told him about us setting up the satellite clubhouse, he all but drove down to Tallahassee every chance he got. He asked about moving in with me, but the clubhouse wasn’t ready, and I didn’t have a house yet.
Something about the way he asked rubbed me the wrong way. I just haven’t had a chance to really talk to him about it. He and I have always had a bond. In fact, all of us who have kids we left behind have a special type of bond. We surely didn’t abandon our kids, given they’ve been in the care of their very capable mothers. Still, it’s not easy leavin’ your kin. We make the best of it. One way we do is by keepin’ up with them by talking to them daily or playing on the Switch with them. Fortnite is one of the popular games we’ve all been playing. Here recently, though, I’ve been on the Xbox playing Call of Duty with my kid. I go over to Fenrir’s and get on his boy’s Xbox when I can.
Sipping on my beer, I turn as the outside door creaks open. Most of my brothers are getting ready to go out to one of the local bars we’ve been talking about buying. The owner of the bar wants to sell, and the club could use the revenue. I’ve seen the books myself. The bar is in the green and stays that way, which is why the owner is askin’ such a steep price. I want to buy it, but I have to weigh the pros and cons. It would help us by having a legit business or two to produce clean money.
Looking at the door, I find Torsten walkin’ in. The way he’s lookin’ right now tells me something definitely isn’t right.
“What’s going on, Tor?” I ask, using the nickname he’s had since he was a small boy.
“I need to stay here, Dad. Please. I can’t go back there. I can’t do it anymore. Don’t make me go back to living with Mom,” Tor rasps, tears pricking his eyes. This kid never cries and for him to be doing it right now breaks my fuckin’ heart. Whatever is going on is bad, and I need to get to the bottom of it.
“Sit,” I tell him, pointing at the stool next to me. Tor sits, and I motion to Geirolf, the prospect handling the bar, to get my kid a drink. Normally I wouldn’t let him drink, but today shit’s tense. Tor knows my rule, but I’m breakin’ it for him. Typically, he’d need to be over the age of eighteen before I’d allow him to drink here at the clubhouse. I only have the rule because growing up, I had a friend who ended up in a bad situation. He had his own truck run him over after backing it out of the ditch he drove into. I didn’t want him to do anything stupid and end up dead.
Geirolf sets a beer in front of Tor. “Thanks,” my son mutters. The prospect nods and heads to the other end of the bar.
“Tell me,” I state firmly, ordering Torsten to tell me what’s going on.
Tor starts talking, and with each word, my vision blurs. Evidently, his mother has been neglecting our child in the worst of ways. She’s been selling Torsten’s body, no better than a trafficker if you ask me. They’re the worst type of people.
He continues to tell me she allows women to use him as they please. This last time was the worst. His mother tied him to the bed after slipping something in his drink. She fuckin’ drugged our kid. The bitch waited until the drugs wore off and allowed two women to rape him. Fuck, thinkin’ about all this makes me want to wrap my hands around her throat and squeeze until she can no longer breathe. It takes everything in me not to get on my bike and find the bitches who dared to touch my son. My child. He’s seventeen fuckin’ years old, for God’s sake.
If I were to do that, though, I would end up in prison for multiple murders. No, I need to do this the smart way. If I don’t, my kid will be the one who ends up suffering even more.
I won’t allow any more misery to happen to him.
Staring at my son, I pull out my phone from my pocket. I only look away from Torsten long enough to dial the club’s lawyer. We hired her last week on retainer.
Torsten is never going to go back there, and that bitch will be lucky enough to live to see another day. I won’t allow his mother to hurt him again.
Never again, and if she tries, she’ll have to go through me.
Chapter Two
Fern
Glancing in the mirror is the worst part of my day. As I stare at my broken reflection, the day of the fire comes to the forefront of my mind. I’d love nothing more than to put it behind me, but when you’re scarred for the rest of your life, it isn’t so easy.
I press the nozzle on the moisturizer and white lotion comes onto my hand. I rub my hands together and then proceed to cover my face, neck, and collarbone area. I’m in so many Facebook groups where they tell you to constantly keep your skin hydrated, how it’ll help the healing process, but I haven’t seen a difference. It’s only been two months, but I should be seeing something by now, shouldn’t I?
Ugh, I shake my thoughts and proceed to put on color-correcting concealer like it’ll actually help the pigmentation in my skin. Next is foundation and then concealer. Every day is like the next, where I spend an hour with concealer trying to cover up what I know I can’t. I slam my fist against the mirror, surprised it hasn’t broken by this point, and clench my jaw in frustration.
Picking up my brush, I give myself a side part and pull it off to the side, covering the left side of my face. It’s the worst part, the part everyone can tell was damaged. Sure, my left shoulder and arm are also marred, but it’s not as bad as my face. From just below my eye to my mid-neck, it’s . . . disgusting. I hate the way I look, and there’s nothing I can do about it. If I was an asshole, I could sue, but who would I be suing? Charm and me? No. It would be so stupid, and I can’t afford the reconstruction surgeries that’ve been recommended for me. Maybe one day I’ll be able to, but I’m not holding my breath.