Crimson Steel

Avery Rourke was always the first one through the school gates in the morning. Rain, shine, or frostbitten silence, she walked with that same perfect posture, a backpack slung over one shoulder and her coffee in hand—no sugar, no cream, just focus in liquid form. She was already on her second internship, organizing the town’s annual food drive, and applying to law schools out of state. She was seventeen going on forty, and no one—no one—got in her way. Except Colt Mercer. And he didn’t do it on purpose. Colt was the kind of boy mothers warned their daughters about, even if half the mothers in Blackridge had probably wanted him once too. Tall, lean muscle under a worn leather jacket, cigarette tucked behind one ear, helmet in his hand, and a look that said I don’t give a damn, even when he very much did. He rolled up to school on his blacked-out Harley every morning—loud, unapologetic, the same way his father ruled Crimson Steel. But the only time he shut up, the only time that cocky smirk dropped even a fraction, was when Avery Rourke walked by and didn’t look at him. Didn’t acknowledge him. Didn’t flinch like everyone else did when they realized who he belonged to. He hated how much he liked that. She was everything he wasn’t—clean, smart, driven. He knew her father, Danny, a quiet, respected member of the club. Danny kept her away from the chaos like his life depended on it. Maybe it did. And Colt? He had no choice. His father made the rules. His mother followed them like gospel, wrapped in money and the illusion of control. Colt had been born into this world. There was no path out, only deeper in. He used to think maybe Avery would see him—really see him—if he played the game harder. Flash a smile. Let the girls hang off his arm. Walk the halls like a king because he could. It didn’t work. Not on her. If anything, it made her keep her eyes on her books harder, made her dig into her charity work like she could bury whatever feelings she might have had under community service hours and courtroom dreams. But what Colt never realized back then—what no one told him—was that it did work. Just not the way he wanted. Avery saw every girl he kissed in the back of his truck. Every fake laugh, every locker rendezvous, every meaningless hookup with girls who used to snicker behind her back before they knew Colt was the reason she walked through those halls untouched. They didn’t mess with Avery because they were scared. Not of her. Of him. He didn’t know that, of course. That was Avery’s secret. Her fury was silent. Cold. Controlled. She despised the girls who used to whisper about her clothes, her grades, her “goody-two-shoes” life. But she hated Colt more—for making it all look so easy, for falling into the mess instead of rising above it. For never trying to be more than the world he was born into. But she also noticed him. She noticed how he’d go quiet in history class when the teacher talked about revolutionaries. She noticed how he never bullied anyone, how he let his fists speak only when someone else struck first. She noticed when his hand brushed hers once during a study period they accidentally shared—and how he moved it away like she burned him. He was chaos, and she was order. And somehow, they kept orbiting each other anyway. One late afternoon in early spring, the hallways buzzed with seniors talking about prom and parties. Colt leaned against the lockers, talking to some girl Avery didn’t bother learning the name of, while his eyes drifted to where Avery stood, slipping flyers into teachers’ mailboxes about the weekend food drive. She looked over. Just once. And he smirked. She rolled her eyes, but her heart beat just a little too fast. He knew he shouldn’t want her. She knew she couldn’t afford to want him. But want wasn’t the kind of thing either of them controlled. Not in this town. Not in Crimson Steel territory. Avery moved down the hallway, a stack of flyers held tight against her chest. Her steps were purposeful, heels clicking with quiet command. She didn’t look at Colt. She didn’t need to. She could feel him watching her the way you feel a storm rolling in—just under your skin, unpredictable and electric. He was leaned up against his locker, the latest girl-of-the-week pressed close, laughing too loudly at something he hadn’t even said yet. Avery didn’t bother listening. It was all recycled charm and smoke anyway. But then he called out to her. “Hey, Rourke.” She froze for a breath. Not because he’d said her name, but because of the way he’d said it. Low. Smooth. Like he knew her real well, and maybe he did—at least better than she wanted him to. She turned slowly, chin tilted up, eyes sharp and unimpressed. “What?” The girl on his arm clung tighter, suddenly insecure. Avery didn’t spare her a glance. “There’s a party tonight. Up at Mason Ridge. Fire, bikes, music—club’s throwing it for one of the guys coming home from lock-up.” He smirked. “You should come.” Avery blinked. Once. Then gave a short laugh that didn’t reach her eyes. “You’re serious?” He tilted his head, still smiling, but she could tell—he knew exactly how ridiculous it sounded. “I don’t do parties, Mercer.” “That’s kinda the point.” His eyes locked onto hers, unreadable. “Wouldn’t be any fun if it wasn’t unexpected.” She looked at him like he’d lost his damn mind. And maybe he had. “You think just because you swagger down the hallway and girls forget their last names, I’ll drop everything to hang out with a bunch of drunk bikers in the woods?” Her voice was low, calm, dangerous in a way that didn’t need volume. Colt’s smirk faltered. Just for a second. “No,” he said. “I think you could use a break from pretending you’re better than everyone else.” She stepped toward him then, not flinching, not angry. Just… disappointed. “I’m not pretending, Colt. I am better. Not because I think I’m special—but because I’m trying to get out. Trying to do something that doesn’t leave blood on the pavement.” His face changed then. Just a flicker. Like she’d cut deeper than she meant to. She regretted that. A little. But she didn’t apologize. She turned away without another word and walked straight into the front office to drop the flyers off. Colt stayed there, his girl now silent at his side, looking up at him for approval he didn’t care to give. He watched Avery go with a frustration he’d never admit out loud. She made him feel like nothing he did mattered. Like no matter how many people followed him, how many girls wanted him, or how inevitable it was that he’d wear his father’s patch—none of it would ever impress her. And damn it, he wanted to impress her. Not just because she was beautiful. Because she believed in something. And for a guy who’d been raised to believe in nothing but loyalty and power, that was the rarest thing of all. The final bell rang, releasing a wave of half-awake seniors into the halls, already buzzing about the party. Avery was long gone, probably headed to the rec center to organize canned goods or work another pro bono tutoring shift. Always moving. Always building a future. Colt lingered by the stairwell, jaw tight, helmet swinging from two fingers. That’s when he heard it. A pack of girls near the vending machines, huddled close like vipers. Laughing too hard, voices too sharp. “She thinks she’s better than us because she’s got straight A’s and a daddy in leather.” “Did you see the way she looked at Colt today? Like he was dirt.” “She won’t even come to the party tonight. Maybe someone should loosen her up a little.” They didn’t notice him until he was already moving toward them. The tallest one—Tammy or Tina or something that didn’t matter—flinched when Colt’s shadow stretched over them. He didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there, six feet of warning wrapped in leather and quiet rage. “What’s so funny?” he asked, voice smooth as gravel. Silence. He stepped in closer, slow and deliberate. “You think you're tough? You think you can say her name and laugh about it like she’s just some girl walking these halls?” “Colt, we weren’t—” one of them started, but he cut her off with a glare that shut her mouth faster than any slap. “You don’t talk about her,” he said. “You don’t look at her sideways.” “She’s not even—” “She’s part of the club.” His voice was low, lethal now. “You wanna know what happens to people who mess with what’s mine? Ask the ones who tried. If they can still talk.” A long silence stretched between them. One of the girls blinked fast, like she might cry. Good. He took a step back, voice cold as steel. “Avery Rourke is off limits. That’s not a request.” Then he turned, helmet in hand, and walked out of the building like the earth belonged to him. He didn’t know if Avery would ever thank him. Probably not. She’d hate that he pulled rank like that, that he used fear instead of reason. But Colt didn’t care. Because whether she liked it or not, she was one of theirs. One of his. And he’d burn the whole damn town down before he let anyone touch her.