Crimson Steel

Chapter Six - Hellbound Loyalty

Colt didn’t sleep that night.

Didn’t need to.

By dawn, the entire clubhouse knew something had changed.

He didn’t give a speech. He didn’t need to raise his voice. The only thing Colt Mercer raised was his standard — and his fist.

It started with a meeting. Quiet. Clean.

He called in the VP, the only man he’d started to trust since taking over: Cal Dawson. A ten-year vet of the club, sharp-eyed, level-headed, and loyal to the patch—not the power. Cal hadn’t kissed Bear’s ass to climb. He’d earned every mile.

Cal met him outside by the garage, leaning against his bike, arms folded like he’d been waiting for this conversation.

“They’re watching you,” Cal said without preamble.

“I know,” Colt said. “Time they stop watching and start listening.”

Cal gave a single nod. “What do you need?”

Colt looked him straight in the eye. “Back me. No hesitation. I move, you move. I bleed, you cover. I can’t build anything if I don’t have a second who doesn’t flinch.”

Cal cracked his neck. “You’ve got me.”

That was all it took.

By midday, Riker was dragged into the back room.

No one asked why.

No one dared.

Colt stood in the center of the concrete-floored space, sleeves rolled, knuckles already bruised from the last man who thought smirking was a good idea.

Riker stumbled as two members shoved him forward.

“You sure about this, Prez?” one of them muttered.

Colt didn’t answer. He just shut the door behind them and locked it.

Then he turned to face Riker.

The man straightened, trying to look composed, but Colt could see the twitch in his eye, the flicker of nerves under the surface. Riker had the build of a fighter but the spine of a weasel. Bear had brought him in personally. That had once meant something.

Now?

Now Bear wasn’t in charge.

Colt circled him slowly. “You’ve been quiet since you got here. Real quiet. But not invisible.”

Riker crossed his arms. “I keep to myself. Don’t see how that’s a crime.”

“Funny,” Colt said, stopping in front of him. “Because Danny Rourke was the same way. Careful. Kept to himself. Until he ended up dead in a back alley with nothing in his pockets.”

“I had nothing to do with that.”

Colt didn’t move. “No one said you did.”

A pause.

“But thanks for volunteering the denial.”

Riker’s eyes shifted.

Colt punched him in the gut. Fast. Brutal. No warning.

Riker hit the wall behind him with a grunt, gasping.

“That’s strike one,” Colt said calmly. “Lie to me again, and I stop using fists.”

Blood in Colt’s mouth didn’t bother him. Sweat under his collar didn’t slow him. This was the part of the job he never wanted—but he’d be damned if he’d let anyone think he couldn’t do it.

“You moved money,” Colt said. “I’ve seen the ledger inconsistencies. I’ve got a man checking our side runs against Bear’s old books. And you know what I found?”

Riker shook his head, wheezing.

“Nothing,” Colt growled. “Which means someone’s washing it clean before it hits the records. Someone close.”

“I didn’t touch the books—”

Colt grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against the wall.

“I said don’t lie to me.”

Riker’s hands clawed at Colt’s wrist, face red.

“You think I don’t know what a rat looks like? You think you’re smarter than Danny Rourke? Because he had eyes on you. He left a name. Yours.”

That hit harder than the fists.

Riker’s face twisted. “He wasn’t supposed to know.”

Colt’s grip tightened.

“What did you say?”

Riker’s breath was ragged. “Bear… Bear told me to keep an eye on him. Said Danny might talk too much. Said to make sure he stayed loyal. That’s all it was, I swear.”

Colt let go.

Riker crumpled, coughing hard, dragging air back into his lungs.

Cal stepped into the doorway, face unreadable.

“You want him alive?” he asked.

Colt stared down at Riker, eyes ice.

“For now.”

Because this wasn’t over.

Not even close.

But now he had confirmation:

Bear wasn’t just retired and watching from the sidelines.

He was still pulling strings.

And Colt? He was done being a puppet.

The back room still smelled like sweat and blood.

Riker was locked up downstairs under watch, his mouth split and ribs bruised—but he was breathing. For now.

Colt rubbed his aching knuckles as he stepped into the upstairs office and shut the door behind him. Cal was already there, leaning against the edge of the desk, arms folded, calm as ever.

The room was simple. Colt had stripped it down the day he took over. No trophies, no vanity. Just ledgers, maps, patched-in photos on the wall, and a thick layer of pressure sitting on his shoulders like it had weight.

Colt didn’t pace. He sat.

He looked at Cal, jaw clenched. “What would you do?”

Cal raised a brow. “You asking as your VP or your friend?”

“Both.”

That was enough to make Cal straighten a little.

Colt leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice lower now. “I want this club to fear me. Not because I yell loud or throw the hardest punch—but because they know I make the calls and those calls stick. No one second-guesses the president. And right now? They’re still looking over my shoulder for my old man’s ghost.”

Cal nodded slowly. “They still see Bear’s club.”

“Exactly,” Colt said. “But it’s mine now. And if they don’t believe that, it’s because I haven’t made them. I can’t just fix this s**t by bleeding guys like Riker out in a back room. That’s Bear’s playbook. I’ve got to rewrite mine.”

Cal studied him for a long moment.

“Then you need to confront the old man. In front of them.”

Colt’s eyes flicked up.

“You want the club to follow you?” Cal continued. “Then they need to see you stand over the man they all still measure you against. No more silence. No more keeping it in the family. You want the respect Bear used to get? Then take the man who built this empire and show everyone he’s not untouchable.”

Colt leaned back in the chair, staring at the ceiling.

“You think they’ll back me if I do that?”

“I think the ones who matter already do,” Cal said. “The rest? They’ll follow once they know the Mercer bloodline doesn’t make someone untouchable anymore.”

Colt was quiet.

He thought about Avery. About her walking out the door, fire in her eyes, disgust in her voice. About the way she called him a boy still hiding in the dark, letting other people do the work, still chasing respect through power plays and quick fixes.

He wasn’t that boy anymore.

He couldn’t be.

“This isn’t about revenge,” Colt said finally. “It’s about clearing house. Setting a standard. And I don’t care if he’s my father—if Bear crossed a line, he answers for it.”

Cal gave a tight nod. “Then let’s do it. You call the meeting. Full table. No shadows. No whispers. The old man walks in like everyone else. And when it’s over… you’re the only one standing.”

Colt stood, fists clenched.

“I’m done being the kid in his shadow.”

The table was full.

Every patched member of Crimson Steel sat in the meeting room—shoulders tense, eyes sharp, a low hum of unease filling the air like static before a lightning strike.

They hadn’t been called like this in months.

Not since Colt had taken the gavel from Bear’s hand and dropped it on the table as president.

But this time, Colt didn’t sit at the head of the table right away.

He stood behind his chair, eyes sweeping the room. Every man here had once followed Bear Mercer without question. Some still did in ways they’d never admit.

But that ended tonight.

“Get him,” Colt said.

Two men nodded and left. A minute later, the door opened again—and Bear Mercer walked in.

The old president moved like someone who still owned the room, even if he didn’t wear the patch anymore. His leather jacket hung heavy across his shoulders. His gaze was hard. Unapologetic. He scanned the room, then landed on Colt with a faint smirk.

“Didn’t think you’d have the balls to make this public,” Bear said.

Colt didn’t flinch.

“You had Riker watching Danny. You knew something was going down, and you kept your mouth shut. You let my VP get killed on club soil, then tried to bury it under bullshit.”

Bear shrugged. “I did what needed doing. Danny was gonna bring heat. He was asking questions outside the lines. You think I built this club by letting people run wild?”

“You didn’t build it alone,” Colt said coldly. “And you don’t get to play god just because you started it.”

“You saying you wouldn’t have done the same?” Bear challenged. “You think leading means making friends?”

“No,” Colt said. “I think it means taking responsibility when lines are crossed. Even yours.”

A beat of silence.

Then Colt stepped around the table and stood in front of his father.

“I bled for this patch. I earned it. And now? Every man in this room answers to me. That includes you.”

Bear looked at him—really looked—and for the first time… Colt saw something shift.

Not defiance.

Pride.

The old man gave a single nod, quiet and steady.

“You finally sound like a president.”

“I am a president,” Colt said. “And you’re done giving orders in my club.”

Colt turned to the table, voice calm, iron-steady.

“Riker’s out. He’ll be handled. Anyone else with a side agenda, a dirty ledger, or a loyalty that doesn’t end with this patch—stand up now, or I’ll pull you out myself.”

No one moved.

The message was clear.

He wasn’t Bear’s kid anymore.

He was the man they answered to.

Colt dropped into the president’s chair, not because it looked good—but because it was his. He leaned forward, elbows on the wood, gaze locked with every pair of eyes around him.

“This is my table now. And the next time anyone forgets it…”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

He didn’t have to.

Because they all got the message.

And Bear?

Bear just smiled faintly as he took a step back, pride and ego balanced in the lines of his face.

It had finally happened.

Colt had become exactly the man he’d raised him to be.

All it took… was Avery Rourke trampling over his pride in those damn designer heels and lighting a fire under the boy Bear had nearly given up on.