No School, No Peace
2436 Words
“Why are you here and not at the house?” I snapped, my tone sharper than I intended, but I couldn’t help it. My nerves were already frayed from the second I opened my eyes this morning, and Hannah standing in the clubhouse kitchen like she didn’t have a care in the world just rubbed it in. It wasn’t like her to be up this early, let alone out of the house. And then it hit me. I glanced at her flannel pajamas, her bed-mussed hair still clinging to one side of her face. “And why the hell aren’t you dressed?”
As soon as the words left my mouth, Eve’s excuse echoed back in my head—heavy period—and I cringed so hard I felt it in my spine. That disturbing image had taken up way too much room in my brain already today.
Dad looked up from his phone, his expression unreadable except for the subtle twitch of his lips. His eyes flicked to Eve, who was now slowly circling toward his other side, trying to look casual. I saw the smirk Dad was suppressing, and I knew he’d figured it out. He always did. He knew exactly why I was in a foul mood—because Eve had spent the better part of the morning running verbal laps around me like it was her full-time job.
Hannah tilted her head gently, the way she always did when she was trying to understand without judgment. She was halfway through a piece of toast, her flannel pajamas making her look more like a sleepy child than a teenager. Her voice came out soft, warm with genuine concern. “I have a doctor’s appointment.” Then her brows creased just slightly. “Why are you in a bad mood?”
Of course she thought it might’ve been her fault. That was just like Hannah. Always polite. Always thinking of others. Even when I was the one barking at her like a stray dog.
“It’s not you,” I said quickly, then jerked my chin toward her twin. “It’s your other half.”
Hannah followed my gaze and smiled faintly, already returning to her toast like she had her answer. That tiny, knowing smile made one thing clear—she already knew Eve had been stirring up chaos this morning. It wasn’t news to her. Probably wasn’t news to anyone in the house. I was just the latest victim.
So here I was. The only Wilson apparently living in hell today. Both girls had managed to escape school. One on a convenient doctor’s appointment. The other by weaponizing feminine horror stories no brother ever wanted to hear.
Well, if Dad was letting them off the hook, I figured I’d throw my hat in the ring too.
“I’m going to work on my bike,” I said, crossing my arms and standing tall, testing the waters. I met Dad’s gaze head-on, waiting to see if he’d bite.
Dad’s attention snapped away from Eve and zeroed in on me. His eyes narrowed just a bit.
“You’ve got school,” he said flatly, not even blinking.
I groaned, throwing my head back like the world was ending. “Why? Why must I waste my life at school? Bloody school, Dad!”
My protest was cut short by the sudden sound of the clubhouse door slamming open with a loud bang. All heads turned. Even the grizzled old club member who’d been nodding off in the corner straightened in his chair.
Mum stormed in like a hurricane with heels. Her presence was unmistakable. When Mum was angry, she didn’t just walk into a room—she owned it.
“I’m not going!” she shouted before she was even fully inside. “You hear me, Reaper? I’m not going!”
She came to a hard stop beside me, her arms stiff by her sides, her jaw locked tight. She looked furious—and, honestly, spectacular. Mum was like a force of nature in a leather jacket and a fitted black tee. Her presence could command a classroom or clear a bar. Today, she looked like she was ready to do both.
“I’m not putting up with one more smartass remark,” she growled. “I’m not going!”
So this was a continuation of an argument. Clearly, one that started before Dad retreated to the clubhouse. I glanced over at him and saw the expression I’d expected—tight jaw, clenched fists, one hand rubbing his temple.
He hated fighting with Mum. Could handle wars between clubs, could take down armed thugs in a bar brawl, but Abby Wilson was the one battle even the Reaper couldn’t win easily.
Dad finally looked up and sighed heavily. “Abby, we’ve already had this discussion. You’re going.”
Apparently, he thought walking out of the house had ended the argument.
Mum scoffed. “No. We don’t need the money. I’m not going!”
She crossed her arms, standing tall beside me like she was lining up for a standoff. I had to admire her nerve. She was the only living person on this planet who could face down Reaper—club President, feared enforcer, my father—and argue him into a corner. Not even the rest of us kids had that kind of firepower.
Mum wasn’t just tough. She was brilliant. She’d worked her way up from nothing—earned a bachelor’s, then a master’s, and eventually her doctorate. She taught art and culture at the university, gave lectures that made international guests take notice. She was educated, poised, and refined in a way that clashed beautifully with the outlaw world she married into.
And yet, here she was, refusing to go to class today. Over what? Boys drooling at her?
“Abby, you can’t stop halfway through the semester,” Dad said, his voice hardening. “You can’t just quit.”
“Watch me,” she shot back.
Dad stood up, and that got everyone’s attention. Even Hannah put down her toast.
“Think about the example you’re setting,” Dad said. “You want to teach the kids that when things get tough, you quit?”
Mum’s eyes flared. “So now I’m a bad parent because I don’t want to stand up in front of a class full of hormone-crazed boys and be ogled?”
Dad didn’t respond right away. That hesitation said more than words ever could.
Mum narrowed her eyes. “Oh, don’t give me that look, Reaper. You know what I’m talking about. I’ve got more male students than female, and most of them don’t even know what class they’re in. They show up to stare at me. I’m done pretending it doesn’t happen.”
And honestly? She wasn’t exaggerating. Mum didn’t look her age—hell, most of the time, people thought she was in her twenties. Add that to her confidence, brains, and looks, and yeah… she stood out. Every guy with a pulse noticed. Including her students.
I knew Dad hated that. Hated the way men stared at her like they had a right to. And not just strangers either. Even club members sometimes slipped up—drunken glances that lingered too long. And if there was one thing that could get you killed faster than disrespecting a brother’s bike, it was laying a hand on Abby Wilson.
Like at the party last weekend.
A man from another club—we were supposed to be at peace with them, sharing beers, swapping stories, like things were fine—grabbed Mum’s arm. Didn’t even say anything. Just reached out, fingers curling around her like she was some trophy.
Dad nearly tore him in half.
Even now, I could still hear the sickening crunch of bone when Dad drove his fist into the guy’s face. The clubhouse went dead quiet after that. Even the music stopped. No one touched Mum. Everyone knew that.
The message had been loud and clear. And now Mum wanted to remove herself from situations where it kept happening.
Was she wrong?
Maybe not.
But damn, did it complicate everything.
Abby, drop it. You are going.”
Dad’s voice cut through the air like a blade. No room for argument, no hint of softness. It wasn’t a suggestion—it was law, and we all felt it. His tone was the kind that turned grown men silent and made even the rowdiest club prospects straighten up and shut their mouths. But Mum? Mum wasn’t just anyone. And this morning, she didn’t look even slightly impressed.
“I already have Eve and Hannah home for the day,” he added, his voice lowering as he flicked a glance at the twins. “I won’t be having you as well.”
There it was—the unspoken truth. Dad knew the chaos that came when the three of them were left in the same space for too long. It was like tossing gasoline on a fire and then acting surprised when it exploded. He’d been down this road before.
Eve and Hannah weren’t just mischievous daughters—they were masterminds in disguise. Tag-teaming with Mum only made them stronger. One had charm. One had wit. The third had absolute authority in our house when Dad wasn’t looking. When the three of them joined forces, they were unstoppable. And if they got bored? Game over.
I’d seen it happen too many times. One minute Dad would be sitting at his desk trying to work, the next, he’d be in the cinema room, sandwiched between the twins, buried in throw pillows and blankets, watching back-to-back Disney princess movies or some emotional indie film Hannah was obsessed with. They’d guilt-trip him with wide eyes and fake tears and somehow convince him to make popcorn while they commandeered the remote.
What made it worse? I never understood why he let it happen. Maybe he secretly liked it. Maybe it reminded him that beneath the club president exterior, he was just a man with three women who owned his heart and soul. But today, he was putting his foot down.
“Fine,” Mum said coldly.
One word. Simple. But the way she said it made the hairs on my arms rise. I looked at her face and instantly knew she was about to flip the script.
Her eyes narrowed, gleaming with something dangerous—calculated, almost predatory. Her stance shifted, arms folding slowly across her chest, chin lifting just enough to radiate confidence. A smirk teased the corners of her lips, and I knew—oh hell—she was up to something.
“You can come,” she added.
Dad blinked. “What?”
“You can come with me to class,” Mum repeated, her tone syrupy sweet but laced with steel. “Let them all meet my husband.”
I felt my mouth drop open slightly. She couldn’t be serious.
Dad’s eyebrows shot up. He looked like someone had just suggested he run for mayor or teach a kindergarten class. “You want me to come… to the university?”
Mum nodded slowly, smug now, completely in control of the conversation. “Change into a t-shirt,” she said, voice light, casual, too casual. “Show off your tattoos. And put on that black vest. The leather one. With all your patches. I want them to see the real you.”
I blinked again, caught somewhere between amusement and disbelief.
“You want me to scare your students?” Dad said flatly, as if the words themselves made no sense.
“That’s exactly what I want.” Mum’s smile widened. “I want them too terrified to even glance in my direction. I want them so uncomfortable, so off-balance, that the next time they think about signing up for my course just to stare at my ass, they’ll remember your face instead.”
Hannah choked on her toast and quickly grabbed her orange juice, while Eve leaned back in her chair, clearly entertained. I sat there, silent, biting my tongue to keep from laughing.
Dad, to his credit, looked like he was trying to process the request logically. “You realize I can’t just walk into your class like that.”
“Why not?” Mum asked. “You’re my husband. Who’s going to stop you? Besides, it’s art and culture—you’ll fit right in.”
“Abby, I look like a felon.”
“Perfect.”
He let out a frustrated sigh and ran a hand down his face. “That’s insane.”
Mum stepped closer, resting a hand on his shoulder, her smile still smug. “Is it? Or is it genius?”
“I’m not a scarecrow you prop up to protect your lecture hall.”
“No, but you are an outlaw biker with a reputation,” she said sweetly. “And I’d like to use it for once. If it keeps the twenty-year-old frat boys from imagining me naked, I call it a win.”
“Jesus, Abby.” Dad shook his head, but I could tell he wasn’t angry. He was flustered. Which, let’s be honest, wasn’t something we saw every day.
The Reaper, our father, feared by club members and rival gangs alike—outmaneuvered in a breakfast conversation by his wife.
Again.
“You’re really going to do this?” he asked her, still trying to make sense of it.
Mum crossed her arms, nodding once more. “Either you come with me and scare them off for the semester… or I quit. Those are your options.”
That was the checkmate move. Mum had been lecturing at that university for years. She didn’t need the job—we didn’t need the money—but it meant something to her. It was part of who she was. But her discomfort with the way some of her students ogled her had clearly reached a boiling point.
Dad knew he couldn’t push her too far. He also knew that if she said she’d walk, she would.
“Fine,” he muttered under his breath, not looking at anyone now. “I’ll come.”
“You’ll wear the vest?”
He muttered something under his breath again. Mum took that as a yes and beamed.
I sat back in my chair, trying not to laugh out loud. This day had taken a turn I definitely didn’t expect.
Eve grinned at me. “You think the university’s ready for Dad?”
I snorted. “They’re barely ready for Mum.”
- Writer
