Page 67 of Scornful

We stare at each other, a lifetime of stubbornness meeting head-on.

His jaw ticks in that way it does when he's trying to control his temper.

"You think I don't know that?" he finally says, sinking into his chair. "You think I don't see my little girl all grown up? It fucking kills me, Astrid."

The admission surprises me, and some of my anger deflates. "Then why?—"

"Because I never wanted you with someone in the club," he admits, looking older than I've ever seen him. "I know this life, baby girl. I know what it costs. Thought if I kept you away from it, you'd be safer. Happier."

"Instead, I ended up with Laken," I remind him, the name tasting bitter on my tongue. "How'd that work out for your grand plan?"

He winces, running a hand through his hair. "That wasn't what I wanted either. That piece of shit..." He trails off, shaking his head. "I wanted you to find someone normal. Someone who'd give you a white picket fence and Sunday dinners and all that shit I couldn't."

"But that's not me, Dad. That's never been me." I move closer to his desk, needing him to understand. "I grew up in this life. It's in my blood. And Geirolf... he gets that. He gets me."

"Geirolf's dangerous," he says quietly. "One of my best fighters, loyal to a fault, but dangerous. I've seen what he's capable of."

"So am I," I counter. "You made sure of that. All those self-defense lessons, teaching me to shoot, making sure I could take care of myself—you created this, Dad. You can't be surprised when I choose a man who matches that energy."

He's quiet for a long moment, studying me with those sharp eyes that miss nothing.

Finally, he sighs, the sound heavy. "I'll try," he says. "For you. But don't expect me to like it."

"That's all I ask." I turn to leave, then pause at the door. "He makes me happy, Dad. Really happy. Isn't that what you want?"

His expression softens just a bit. "Of course it is, baby girl. I just... Gods, Astrid. Watching you grow up, seeing you with these men... it's not easy for a father."

"I know." And I do. For all his faults, Dad loves us fiercely. "But I'm with Geirolf now, so swallow that pill, no matter how hard it is."

His laugh is short, humorless. "You always were too much like your mother. Stubborn as hell."

"I learned from the best," I say, offering him a small smile.

"Get out of here," he grumbles, but there's no heat in it. "And tell Geirolf if he hurts you, I'll bury him in the desert."

"I'll pass along the message," I say dryly, opening the door.

I leave his office feeling lighter than I have in days.

I kind of feel bad for my father, because if me being with Geirolf bothers him, he’d freak out if he knew what Ingrid was doing with Bjorn.

Geirolf's waiting in the hallway, concern evident on his face. "How bad was it?" he asks, falling into step beside me.

"Could've been worse," I admit. "He's not happy, but he'll deal."

"And if he doesn't?"

I stop walking, turning to face him fully. "Then that's his problem, not ours."

Something flashes in his eyes. "You're the strongest woman I know, princess."

"Come on," I say, grabbing his good hand. "We're going to Bubba's. I need a drink after that, and some space from all the lingering eyes."

We head through the passageway to the attached bar, Geirolf’s cut unlocking the electronic door.

The bar is quieter than the clubhouse, just a few patrons nursing beers in the corners.

The scent of beer and fried food fills the air, and classic rock plays softly from the speakers.

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