Chapter 8-She cannot be our ol' lady.

CHAPTER 8.

SHE CANNOT BE OUR OLD LADY.

                         ~RIPPER’S POINT OF VIEW~

The whole place goes dead silent and every eye narrows towards me.

I draw in a deep breath, trying to wrap my head around what is happening.

He didn’t tell me he’d be getting married. Our last conversation was a kiss on my forehead followed by a smack on my ass cheek.

Drew didn’t tell me he’d pick up some little girl as his old lady.

We had promised each other—no marriage until our reign as President and Vice President of the Sons of Chaos is over.

Then he betrays me. He married her yesterday,the same day we made love over the table in his office.

No vows, no promises—only the reassurance that he is still on with the plan.

Our plans aren’t much; to leave California, disappear to Mykonos where no one knows us, build a life together. No kids. Just what we both have always wanted.

He jokes sometimes about a lavender marriage—marrying some random woman so the brothers will stop asking questions about not getting an old lady yet.

It's only meant to be a joke. Only a joke… or so I thought—until now I'm seeing the young lad.

My gaze slides to the little girl he had dragged into this dark world. She looks too bright, too beautiful,too innocent for this place.

Too young, too. I’ll bet my balls she's not up to twenty-three.

My gaze linger and I notice her face shows no tears; Her husband is dead and her eyes are barely wet. Too young to be cruel, but beautiful enough to cover it all.

For a moment, I wonder why Drew chose her.Even if it was the lavender marriage, Why marry her without telling me? What’s so special about her?

The mystery of why he chose her draws me in. I want to know who she is and why he chose her.

“What do you have to say about this madness?” Matt snaps.

I dart my gaze away from her. I swallow, my thoughts a complete mess.

SOC rule is immediate burial after death. It has always been a standing rule—we don’t box our brothers up in mortuary.

But SOC MC does not override the old ladies. They have equal rights in decisions.

“Why the delay?” Bobby, one of our hot-headed prospects, snarls. “There’s nothing to think about—we’re taking his corpse away! Some random whore can’t make decisions for us!”

“She’s Mr. Warrick’s wife,” Adams says firmly.

“So you’re telling me,” Matt starts slowly, “...that the prez married some random girl none of us has ever met, and now she’s deciding his funeral?”

Adams holds his ground. “She’s his wife. It’s her right.”

“Her right?” Matt’s voice rises. “She doesn’t even know him! Fuck your rights. She has no right here! We don’t recognize her. The next in power is Ripper.”

“You and that little murderer can go fuck yourselves.”

“ENOUGH.”My voice slices through the room and it falls silent instantly.

“She’s the president’s old lady. She has just as much right as I do to make decisions about his body. If she says it’s tomorrow, then tomorrow it is.”

“W-what?” Matt’s mouth falls open and he steps forward. “What the fuck did you just say?”

“You heard me,” I say, keeping my voice low. “She’s his old lady. The law stands.”

“This is bullshit!” Bobby shoots to his feet, face red. “We don’t even know this bitch! She could be anyone—some random whore the prez picked up at a bar or a whorehouse.”

“Watch your mouth,” Adams warns, stepping closer to Bobby.

“Fuck that.” Matt steps forward. “Bobby’s right. We've got rules. You don’t marry into this club without an introduction. Without church approval. Without the VP knowing.” His eyes cut to me. “You saying you knew about this, Rip?”

The question hangs in the air.

Every man in that room is watching me. Waiting.

I swallow hard, my Adam’s apple bobbing.“Yes,” I lie. “He told me a few days ago.”

Murmurs rise immediately. Gasp follows………..

“That’s a fucking lie, Rip,” Matt snaps. “I just asked you a few minutes ago and you said you didn’t know about her.”

“Why lie?” He stares at me, sly. “Don’t tell me you fancy the little murderer standing there.”

My jaw tightens. “You’re getting out of line, Matt.”

“She’s the old lady,” I say quietly. “That’s final. Anyone who has a problem with it can take it up with me after the funeral.”

Matt’s hands clench into fists. “You’re making a mistake.”

I turn to her. “Mrs. Harrington,tomorrow before sunrise. Full honors.”

Surprisingly, she nods. With that, I bolt out of the hall.

*****************************

After hours on the balcony, there are no more tears to give, so I bolt back inside.

I stand in front of the room and my chest tightens when I see our photos hanging on the wall.

I blink a few times and step closer. My eyes linger on his face for a long moment.

I still can’t believe he is gone. They got him when he least expects it. My baby.

They took the only thing I cherish.

My fingers tremble as I pull open the drawer; the wood creaks softly.

I reach for the photos I’ve been holding onto so I can show him when his birthday comes. We have just two more weeks to go.

Tears spill freely as I look at them.

Dammit. I miss him already.

The first photo slips free. It is a little blurry—a kiss stolen without his consent.

It was taken in motion,he can never hold still long enough for a proper shot.

My thumb brushes the picture, and then I shove them back into the drawer.

I shut it and sink back onto the bed.

Minutes later, I stand and reach for a cigarette. I need a break from thinking about him.

On the balcony, my thoughts drift to the new old lady.

I know I should be furious that Drew married without telling me, but for another reason, I feel something else—protectiveness.

She is now in a den of lions.

Drew would have protected her if he were here. Since he isn’t, I will. If not for anything else, then for the beautiful memories we shared together.

After a few minutes, I decide I will go see Drew’s body for myself.

As I descend the stairs, I nearly walk past Drew’s widow. I glance at her and try to stride on, but the mug in her hand slips.

“Oh my God!” Her hand flies to her chest,panic flaring in her eyes as the mug descends from her hand.

I catch the mug before it hits the floor.

“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to scare you… Mrs. Harrington,” I say before I can stop myself.

She nods.

I hand the mug back and start to turn away, but her voice stops me.

“T-thank you for earlier.”

I don’t answer. I’m not doing it for her.

She presses on. “My name is Ashley Knowles. You can call me Ash.”