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Hitting the road early with Bull and Lynx, I made some club excuses and kicked off the hunt for the right ring for Brat. It felt crucial to nail this, to show her the depth of what she meant to me. I was aiming for perfection when I’d pop the question, all lined up with her old man Scar’s okay.
But the smooth ride I envisioned got bumpy. Rolling back to the Roost, geared up to hash things out with Scar and maybe drop to one knee with his go-ahead, Brat was MIA. Scar, cool as ever, laid it on me that she’d split this morning after some heated words they had last night, while I was gone.
That news had me on high alert, itching to track her down, make sure she was alright. But Scar was steady, saying she needed some space, that she’d be fine. With my gut twisted up, I sat down with him in Rage’s office, the meet feeling more critical than ever.
Facing Scar, I sized him up, trying to get a read on the guy who’d raised the badass woman I was falling for. He was a tower of a man, age only adding to his intense vibe. His Native roots showed in his weathered but dignified features, those deep eyes seeming to carry a saga of hard-earned respect and battle scars. And I knew about the times he’d thrown Slayers for a loop, making us fight tooth and nail for our pride.
His hair, threaded with gray, was pulled back, showcasing the stern set of his face and the sharp cut of his gaze. The dude had a presence, no denying, but it wasn’t about getting intimidated. I felt a surge of respect for him. Here was a biker who’d ruled the scene for years, brought up kids like Brat and the notorious Arizona, packing them with the same tough grit he was made of.
Scar wore his years and heritage like a warrior’s medals, his presence dominating the space as much as any club leader I’d faced off with. The tough skin and life lines on his face told stories of battles and living on the edge, a path I’d carved out myself since leading the Slayers.
Facing him, ready to ask for Brat’s hand, I felt this strong tie to him, to the legacy he carried. He was more than just Brat’s dad. This man was a piece of the biker world’s history, threaded into our lifestyle’s very core.
“I’m here to ask for Star’s hand,” I cut to the chase, the ring box in my pocket, feeling like a ton.
Relief washed over Scar’s features. “We just had a spat about that,” he let on, telling me he’d got it twisted, thinking I was dragging my feet on committing.
“Star’s in the dark about this,” I owned up. “Was gonna ask her after we squared things here.”
Scar’s mood lifted, the air between us clearing. Our chat shifted to our clubs’ paths ahead. I laid it out. We respected the truce with the Asphalt Gods, but the Slayers needed to keep our stand-alone streak.
Scar got it, hinting that we’d iron out the finer points after tying the knot, almost as if he was pushing for us to get hitched while he was still in town.
Sitting there, hashing out terms and picturing a future that Brat and I hadn’t fully vetted felt off. Brat’s a woman who prides herself on her autonomy, and I knew she’d want her voice heard in any decisions affecting her club and us. Deciding stuff without her, even with the best of intentions, wasn’t the way I wanted to kick off our joint future.
But Scar pressing for a quick wedding threw in a wrench. I nodded, agreeing to talk over the dates, but inside, I was twisting up, worried about how Brat would take this news.
Ending the meet with a truce in the works and the foundations of an alliance laid out, this nagging unease wouldn’t quit. Brat’s absence was a silent echo in the cost of these talks.
I had to track her down, to clear the air and, more crucially, to hear her out, to make damn sure our forward march was in sync, not dictated in her absence. Standing there, ready to firm up the deal with Scar, my thoughts were already on overdrive, figuring out how to square things with Brat. I’d mapped out a proposal that respected her fire and our bond. But she hadn’t given her ‘yes’ yet.
Suddenly, it all clicked, and I pulled back, not sealing the deal with a handshake. The direction we were heading felt all wrong, not fully aligned with what Star and I had agreed upon, nor did it respect her independence.
“Wait a sec,” I cut in, the realization hitting me hard. “I’m all for a truce, mainly to be with Star. But she ain’t agreed to marry me yet. I can’t sign off on this without her say-so.”
Scar’s demeanor shifted, his eyes tightening, the friendly vibe disappearing fast. “You bailing on me?” he spat, the warmth in his voice gone cold.
I stood my ground, the tension thick. “If that’s how it is, then yeah, deal’s off,” I admitted, feeling the weight of the decision. “I’ll figure something else out. I’m in it for Star, even if it means stepping away from my club. I want her, with or without your go-ahead.”
Scar sneered, his patience worn thin. “You think you can take my daughter without my word? Not happening.”
Our calm chat turned into a standoff I hadn’t seen coming. Driven by my stubborn love for Star, I shot back, “To hell with it, Scar. I don’t need your okay to be with her.”
That’s when things got physical, our bodies crashing together in a clash of emotions and hard-headedness. Despite my size and youth, Scar was a formidable force. His biker years had honed him into a tough old bastard, quickly putting me in a tight chokehold, proving he wasn’t some old timer to underestimate.
Struggling for air, the chokehold tightening around my neck, I was gearing up for a bad turn. Then Scar’s gravelly voice cut in, “Passed the test, kid,” he growled, easing the pressure. “Wasn’t about to let Star get stuck with some guy who’d boss her around. She needs a partner, not a dictator.”
The fight drained out of us both as quick as it flared up, leaving me catching my breath, seeing Scar in a new light. He stepped off, giving me space.
I rubbed at my neck, looking back at him, respect mingling with the surprise in my eyes. “I’m all about Star. Wouldn’t dream of trying to control her.”
Scar’s nod carried a hard-earned respect. “We’ll find out, Riptide. If you’re the right man for my girl, we’ll talk. Let’s wait for her answer.”
“Hold up,” I pressed, needing to clarify. “You’re still tying the truce to me marrying her?”
Scar’s face was set in stone. “Damn straight. She’s my blood. I won’t have her devalued or left exposed. If marriage isn’t in your cards, back the hell off from my daughter.”
Scar’s tough love test threw a harsh light on the reality. My bond with Star was built on mutual respect and partnership. I was hell-bent on proving that, to her, to Scar, to everyone who questioned the real deal behind my feelings for her.
