Page 31 of Viking (Dixie Reapers MC #24)
Karoline
Sunlight streamed through the kitchen window, painting golden stripes across the counter where I stood kneading dough for biscuits.
Three weeks since the raid on Operation Ghostwalk’s compound, three weeks of waking up in this house, and somehow it already felt more like home than my rental ever had.
Maybe it was the way Athena’s toys had migrated into every corner, or how Viking’s leather cut now hung beside my cardigan on the hook by the door when we were home.
Or maybe it was simply that here, for the first time since Kris died, I could breathe without looking over my shoulder.
“Momma, look!” Athena sat cross-legged on the kitchen floor, arranging her stuffed animals in a semicircle around her. Hopper the rabbit sat prominently in the center, wearing the tiny leather vest Tank had given her for the toy. “They’re having church.”
I smiled, dusting flour from my hands. Since the big fight, Athena had started talking more. She’d also decided to call me Momma and Viking Daddy. “Church, huh? Are you the preacher?”
She shook her head, copper curls bouncing. “Hopper is. He’s saying be good or the bad men come.”
My hands stilled on the dough. Even after everything, those shadows lingered in her three-year-old mind.
But instead of waking screaming every night as she had those first weeks, now she processed it through play.
Progress, the child therapist had called it when we’d driven into town for her appointment.
“No bad men are coming anymore, sweetie,” I said, keeping my voice light. “Viking and his friends made sure of that.”
She nodded solemnly, already moving on to rearranging her stuffed congregation. In the three weeks since Viking had returned, bloodied but victorious, from the raid that had sparked the end of Operation Ghostwalk, Athena had blossomed.
I returned to the biscuits, cutting circles from the flattened dough. The silver locket containing Kris’s photo hung around my neck, a familiar weight against my skin.
The creak of the porch steps announced Viking’s return before the door swung open.
His massive frame filled the doorway, early morning sunlight gilding his blond hair and beard.
Our eyes met across the kitchen, and something warm unfurled in my chest, the same feeling I got every time I saw him -- safety and desire woven together into something I was finally allowing myself to call love.
“Morning,” he said, his voice still rough with sleep even though he’d been up since dawn, checking the compound’s perimeter with Tank and Tempest.
“Bacon’s almost ready,” I answered, unable to keep the smile from my voice. “Coffee’s hot.”
He crossed to me in three long strides, one large hand settling at the small of my back while the other brushed my hair aside so he could press his lips to my forehead.
The simple gesture melted something inside me, as it did every time.
This man, who could kill with his bare hands, who had taken down an entire black ops team to protect us, handled me with such tenderness it made my heart ache.
“You’re up early,” he murmured against my skin.
“Despite being tired, I couldn’t sleep.”
His low chuckle vibrated against me before he pulled away, turning toward Athena who had noticed his arrival and was scrambling to her feet.
“Daddy!” she cried, abandoning her church service to race toward him.
He crouched, opening his arms as she launched herself at him. “There’s my girl,” he said, scooping her up as he stood. She seemed impossibly tiny against his broad chest, her small hands patting his bearded face with familiar affection.
“Hopper was preaching,” she informed him seriously.
“Was he now?” Viking settled her on his hip with practiced ease. “And what was Reverend Hopper’s sermon about today?”
“Being brave,” she answered, resting her head against his shoulder in a gesture of trust that still amazed me.
Viking’s eyes met mine over her copper curls, both of us recognizing the significance. Brave was the word we’d been using with her in therapy -- brave when she tried new foods, brave when she talked about her feelings, brave when she remembered her father.
“That’s a good sermon,” he said, carrying her to the table and setting her in the booster seat we’d installed. “You think Hopper would let me attend next time?”
She nodded, already reaching for the crayons and coloring book I’d set out earlier. Viking watched her for a moment, something soft and wondering in his expression before he turned back to me.
“Need help?” he asked, already moving to flip the bacon sizzling in the cast iron pan.
We moved around each other in the familiar dance we’d developed these past weeks, his large body somehow never crowding me in the small kitchen.
He poured coffee while I slid biscuits into the oven.
I scrambled eggs while he set the table, working around Athena’s artistic endeavors.
The domesticity of it all still startled me sometimes -- how easily we’d fallen into these routines, how right it felt.
“Savior called this morning,” Viking said as he refilled my coffee mug. “The club’s planning a barbecue this weekend. Wants us there.”
I nodded, sliding eggs onto plates. “That sounds nice. Athena loves playing with the other kids.”
“It’s more than that.” Viking leaned against the counter, his voice dropping. “The club wants to make our status official. Savior will announce it to everyone.”
My hand stilled on the spatula. My heart fluttered with equal parts excitement and apprehension. I wasn’t sure I was the right fit to be his woman, but I also refused to let him go.
“That’s not all,” he continued, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a folded document. He placed it on the counter beside me, his fingers lingering on the paper. “I had Wire get this for me.”
I set down the spatula and picked up the papers, unfolding them carefully.
Adoption papers, with Athena’s name at the top and blank spaces for signatures below.
My eyes blurred as I scanned the formal language, phrases jumping out at me: “permanent legal guardianship,” “parental rights,” “best interests of the child.”
“I know you already adopted Athena, but I want to make this official -- all of it,” Viking said, his voice rougher than usual. “You, me, Athena. A real family.”
My fingers went instinctively to the locket around my neck. My brother had sent me to Viking for protection, but had he imagined this? Us becoming a family? Athena calling me Momma and reaching for Viking like he hung the moon?
“Karo?” Viking’s hand covered mine, warm and steady. “Talk to me.”
I looked up from the papers to his face, seeing the uncertainty there despite his confident words. This giant of a man who could face down killers without flinching, looking at me like I held his heart in my hands.
And I did.
I set the adoption papers on the counter between us. “It’s a big step.”
Viking nodded, his blue gaze never leaving my face. “It is.”
“My biggest worry used to be glitter on the carpet at school,” I admitted with a shaky laugh.
“Whether the finger paint would wash out of clothes, or if I’d remembered to order enough construction paper for the week.
” I glanced around the kitchen of our house, then toward the window where I could see patches of the compound beyond -- motorcycles gleaming in the morning sun, men in leather cuts moving with purpose between buildings. “Now it’s making sure we belong here.”
Viking reached for my hand, his calloused fingers gentle as they laced with mine. His hands were a study in contradiction -- capable of violence, yet unfailingly tender when they touched me, when they helped Athena with her shoes, when they cradled my face before a kiss.
“You belong here,” he said with quiet certainty. “Both of you. You have since the moment you arrived.”
Part of me knew he was right. But the other half? Well, perhaps I was still scared I’d wake up and find out this new life was all a dream, that Viking wasn’t really mine.
“The club isn’t what people think,” he said, echoing conversations we’d had before.
“These men -- they’ve become my family when I had none.
They’ve bled for me, for you, for Athena.
” His thumb stroked across my knuckles. “Savior pulled me aside yesterday. Said he’s never seen me happier than these past weeks with you here. ”
“What did you tell him?” I asked, curious despite myself.
The corner of Viking’s mouth lifted in a half-smile. “That he was right.”
On the floor, Athena flipped to a new page in her coloring book, completely absorbed in her task. Her copper curls caught the sunlight. She’d been with me for less than two months, and already I couldn’t imagine my life without her. Without Viking.
“What about your job?” Viking asked, following my train of thought. “Wire checked -- the preschool in town is hiring for fall. Or…” He hesitated, his fingers tightening slightly around mine. “You could stay home with Athena. The club takes care of its own.”
I’d been thinking about this, weighing options since things had stabilized.
“I’d like to work, I think. Maybe part-time to start.
” I watched Athena carefully coloring inside the lines, her little tongue poking out in concentration.
“She needs routine, structure. Other kids to play with. And I know there are kids here, but I think she needs the chance to meet kids outside of the compound.”
Viking nodded. “Whatever you decide. The house’s yours to change however you want. Make it a home for all of us.”
The casual way he offered this, offered everything, made my throat tighten. “I’ve been thinking about Kris. About what he’d want for her. For us.”
Viking’s expression softened at the mention of my brother. “He sent you to me because he trusted me to protect you both. But I think…” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “I think he’d want more than that for you now. He’d want you to be happy, not just safe.”
I blinked back sudden tears. “I’d like to make a memory wall for him. Photos, his medals, things Athena can see and touch as she grows up. So she remembers him.”
“We’ll put it right there,” Viking said immediately, nodding toward the empty wall beside the hallway. “And we’ll tell her stories about him. About the crazy shit we got up to in high school.” His smile turned rueful. “Maybe not all the stories.”
I laughed despite the lump in my throat, picturing teenage Viking and Kris, their youthful exploits that had surely tested the boundaries of legality even then.
“I’ve protected plenty of people,” Viking said after a moment, his voice dropping lower, more vulnerable than I was used to hearing.
“The club, brothers on runs, people who needed help. But I’ve never had a family to call my own.
Never had someone waiting for me to come home.
Never had a child look at me the way Athena does. ”
The confession hung between us, weighty with meaning. This man who had seemed so invincible to my teenage self, who still struck fear into the hearts of enemies, was laying bare his deepest desire -- not for power or respect, but for family. For love.
Before I could respond, a small hand patted my knee. Athena stood beside me, holding up a page she’d colored -- a lopsided unicorn covered in vivid pink and purple scribbles.
“For you,” she said, pushing it into my hands.
“It’s beautiful, sweetie,” I told her, genuinely admiring her careful work. “Thank you.”
Instead of returning to her spot on the floor, she turned to Viking, arms raised in the universal child’s signal to be picked up. Without hesitation, he lifted her into his arms, making a show of examining her artwork when she showed him a second page.
“Very impressive,” he said seriously. “You’re getting better at staying in the lines.”
She beamed at his praise, then settled against his chest with the comfortable familiarity of a child who felt completely secure. My eyes met Viking’s over her head, and the raw emotion I saw there matched what was swelling in my own chest -- wonder, gratitude, love.
“We’ll make sure she knows about her real dad,” Viking promised softly, one large hand gently stroking Athena’s hair. “What an amazing man he was.”
Athena looked up at him, then at me, her small face solemn. “You’re my daddy now.”
My breath caught at her words. Viking’s hand stilled on her hair, his eyes finding mine, seeking confirmation, permission, reassurance. Even now, after all these weeks, I knew he felt conflicted over her calling him that.
“Yes,” I said. “He is.”
Adoption papers sat between us, no longer intimidating but promising -- a future I hadn’t imagined when I’d fled to this compound with Kris’s letter clutched in my hand and his daughter in my arms. A future with this man who had become everything to us.
“Let’s make it official,” I said, my voice steady now despite the emotion threatening to overwhelm me. “All of it.”
The smile that broke across Viking’s face was like the sun emerging from clouds -- brilliant and warming and full of promise. Athena, sensing the shift in mood, giggled and clapped her hands.
Our family, improbable and perfect and just beginning.