Crimson Steel

Chapter Twenty – Three - Shadows Don’t Stay Quiet

The clubhouse kitchen was still half-asleep when Avery wandered in barefoot, hair twisted into a lazy knot, Colt already parked at the table with two mugs of black coffee in front of him.

He handed her one without a word.

She took it with a soft “thanks,” wrapping her hands around the mug and leaning against the counter, studying him with a sly smile.

“You know, for a club run like a tight empire… the coffee situation is tragic.”

Colt’s brow lifted. “Tragic?”

“Beyond tragic.” She sipped and grimaced. “No cappuccino setting. No iced coffee button. Barely a hint of cinnamon syrup anywhere. You’re telling me you can run weapons routes but not a milk frother?”

He gave her that rare, deadpan smirk—the one he used to hide amusement he didn’t want the world to see.

“This is a motorcycle club, not a spa.”

“Yeah, well… I’m in both now. Might as well upgrade.”

Colt leaned back in his chair, arms folded, watching her with something soft behind his eyes—something she hadn’t seen often, but now… it lingered.

“You offering to design the club’s new barista menu?”

“If I get my iced caramel macchiato with oat milk, then yes.”

“You’re lucky I’m in love with you,” he muttered into his coffee.

Avery froze for half a second.

He didn’t even blink after saying it.

Just took a sip like he hadn’t dropped a grenade in the middle of the kitchen.

But she smiled. Not flirty. Not flustered.

Just full.

“You’re damn lucky I’m in love with you too,” she said softly.

The moment hung there like sunlight catching dust motes in the air.

Simple. Beautiful. Real.

Until Cal walked in.

Boots heavy. Face tight.

“Sorry to kill the coffee date,” he said, gaze flicking to Colt. “But we’ve got a situation.”

Colt sat up straighter. “What kind of situation?”

“Word came in this morning. There’s talk in town. Someone’s been asking about Avery.”

The room chilled.

Avery’s fingers tightened around her mug.

Colt’s jaw flexed once—then twice—before setting the coffee down and standing.

“Who?”

“Don’t know yet,” Cal said. “But it’s loud enough that it’s not random.”

Avery looked to Colt, and this time, she didn’t ask what they were going to do.

Because she already knew.

Avery’s pulse jumped behind her ribs.

She set the mug down, suddenly cold despite the warm room.

“Do you think it’s him?” she asked, voice quiet but steady. “The guy who tried to kill me?”

Colt didn’t answer right away.

His stare was fixed somewhere past the wall, his mind shifting gears. By the time he met her gaze, the softness from earlier was gone.

President mode.

“I don’t know,” he said flatly. “But I’m not waiting around to find out.”

He turned to Cal. “Lock it down. Get the outer patrols tighter. Anyone comes near the fence line without reason, I want to know who, why, and what color socks they’re wearing.”

Cal nodded once and left without another word.

Colt turned to Avery. “From now on, you don’t go anywhere alone. Not to the porch. Not to the kitchen. Not even to get your cappuccino.”

She tried to push down the rise of frustration in her chest.

“So we’re back to me being a prisoner again?”

“No,” Colt said sharply, stepping in. “You’re not a prisoner. You’re a target. And if it’s who I think it might be—or someone connected—you’re not just being watched. You’re being hunted.”

That cut the air.

Colt’s jaw clenched, the scar near his temple twitching.

“We strike it down,” he said, voice low and absolute. “Before it becomes a problem. Before they even think they have a chance.”

Avery exhaled slowly, grounding herself in the weight of his protection—how natural it was for him to turn ruthless, not just for the club, but for her.

“Okay,” she said. “What do you need me to do?”

Colt’s eyes flicked back to hers. Something shifted again—not the president now. Just the man.

“I need you to trust me.”

She nodded. “I do.”

He kissed her forehead. No fire. Just promise.

“Then let me handle this.”

The compound wasn’t built for quiet.

Engines always echoed through the distance. Boots on gravel. Voices. Music. Life.

But for Avery, the silence now was internal.

She wasn’t scared—not the way she had been when this started.

She was calculating.

Present.

And for the first time in a long time… she wasn’t alone in the weight of it.

She sat on the edge of her bed, eyes scanning the open door where Cal leaned casually against the frame, arms crossed, eyes sharp as ever.

Colt’s orders, obviously.

And she didn’t argue. Not once.

Because Colt knew what he was doing.

He didn’t make promises to calm her. He didn’t try to soften the truth.

He laid it out cold. Tactical.

He was built for this. Raised in it. Carved by it.

And if anyone could stop a threat before it landed on her doorstep—it was him.

So Avery did the only thing he asked of her.

She followed his lead.

She stayed out of the line of fire. Didn’t wander off. Didn’t go to the clubhouse alone. Kept herself guarded, head on a swivel, just as he’d taught her to do in the early weeks.

And this time?

It wasn’t about control.

It was about respect.

Still, she felt it.

The tension winding tighter through the halls.

The way conversations shifted when she walked into a room. The glances. The heat of quiet worry settling in the air like dust no one could wipe clean.

They were preparing for something.

And Avery?

She was preparing too.

Not to run.

Not to fight.

But to stand.

Behind Colt.

With Colt.

Whatever came for her this time—he wouldn’t face it alone.

And she wouldn’t pretend she was just a lawyer in heels anymore.

The clubhouse garage had been turned into a makeshift packing zone for the care boxes Frankie organized every month—supplies for shelters, battered women, struggling families tied to the fringes of the club’s reach.

Avery liked helping here. It gave her something to do with her hands. Something normal.

She slid a pair of baby wipes into a box while Frankie passed her packs of socks.

“That’s the last of the kids’ stuff,” Frankie said, brushing hair from her eyes. “Want to double check the list?”

Avery nodded and reached for the clipboard.

For a few minutes, they worked in easy silence—until Frankie broke it with a casual, almost teasing tone.

“You know, I’ve known Colt a long time.”

Avery looked up.

Frankie gave her a smirk. “He’s not usually this… settled.”

Avery arched a brow. “Settled?”

“Relaxed. Still scary as hell, don’t get me wrong. But the guy’s carrying less weight in his shoulders. He’s lighter when you’re around.”

Avery gave a soft, dry laugh. “Doesn’t feel like I’ve lightened him. I just brought more s**t to his plate.”

Frankie shrugged. “Yeah, but it’s real s**t. Not power struggles and club politics. You’ve got roots in him. I see it.”

Avery went quiet.

Her fingers traced the edge of the tape dispenser without moving it.

“It’s strange,” she admitted. “I spent years building a life far away from this. Swore I’d never touch any of it again.”

Frankie didn’t interrupt.

“But then I came back. And it’s not what I thought. He’s not what I thought. Or maybe he is, and I just see him better now.”

Frankie leaned her hip against the table, box cutter in hand.

“Girl, all I know is the Colt I saw before you came back had a fire under him that never cooled. It was all fury and legacy and trying to prove he was more than Bear’s shadow.”

“And now?”

“Now?” Frankie grinned. “He looks like a man who finally understands why the hell he’s fighting so hard. That changes things.”

Avery didn’t answer.

She didn’t need to.

Because maybe Frankie was right.

Maybe the love Colt gave was the kind you had to survive first.

And somehow?

They both had.

The war table wasn’t what outsiders expected.

No maps.

No guns laid out.

Just Colt. Cal. Whiskey. And silence that didn’t need to be filled.

Colt stood with his arms crossed, eyes burning into the cracked cement wall across the room like it might give him an answer he didn’t already have.

Cal sat nearby, calm but alert, like he always was—watching, measuring.

“It’s confirmed,” Colt said finally. His voice low. Lethal. “It’s the same son of a bitch.”

Cal didn’t ask how he knew. Colt never spoke unless he was sure.

“He’s been in town two days. Moving quiet. Not making mistakes.”

“Cops still got nothing?”

Colt shook his head, jaw set hard. “Not enough to stick him. No prints. No weapon. The case is cold outside our walls.”

“But not inside,” Cal said.

Colt looked at him.

“Inside,” he said, voice like steel, “he’s dead. He just doesn’t know it yet.”

Cal leaned back in his chair and exhaled.

“You want me to run point?”

“No,” Colt said. “I need you here. At the gate. With her.”

A pause.

Something shifted in Cal’s eyes.

He nodded, then reached for the whiskey and poured two fingers for each of them.

“After this, I’m stepping down.”

Colt didn’t react. Just waited.

“Been thinking about it for a while,” Cal went on. “I’m not twenty-five anymore. Not fast like I used to be.”

“You’re not slow either,” Colt said.

Cal smiled. “No. But I’m not you. And you don’t need me breathing down your neck while you’re trying to run this place your way.”

“You’ve had my back.”

“Still do. Always will.”

Colt looked down at the glass in his hand. Then at Cal.

“You got someone in mind?”

Cal nodded. “Young. Quiet. Loyal as hell. The kind of guy who would take a bullet for you without blinking.”

“He got a name?”

“Reyes.”

Colt thought on it. He’d noticed Reyes. Always on time. Never running his mouth. Sharp eyes. Steady hand.

“You trust him?”

“I do,” Cal said. “But more important—he trusts you. That matters more.”

There was a long pause between them.

A rare kind of silence.

Then Cal added, voice low:

“You’ve got Avery now. She sees the man. I see the business. You’re going to need someone beside you who speaks your language.”

Colt finally knocked back the whiskey.

The taste was sharp. Familiar.

“Then let’s make sure the guy who came for her never speaks another word again.”

The plan came together fast.

Because Colt didn’t hesitate.

Not when it came to her.

Cal pulled in Reyes to shadow the mark—the man who tried to end Avery’s life. No names spoken. No threats exchanged. Just eyes on him. Waiting for the right moment.

Three men on foot. Two bikes circling downtown. Colt didn’t need a battalion—he needed silence. Precision. Message sent and buried.

The plan came together fast.

Because Colt didn’t hesitate.

Not when it came to her.

Cal pulled in Reyes to shadow the mark—the man who tried to end Avery’s life. No names spoken. No threats exchanged. Just eyes on him. Waiting for the right moment.

Three men on foot. Two bikes circling downtown. Colt didn’t need a battalion—he needed silence. Precision. Message sent and buried.

The guy didn’t know he was walking into his last hour.

He thought he was being smart.

Moving through side streets, checking his reflection in every glass window, hiding in the noise of a small town that didn’t look twice.

But Reyes was better.

A shadow that never missed a step. Silent, sharp, and invisible.

By the time Colt arrived, it was dusk again—like the day he took Avery for that ride.

Only this time?

There was no warmth in the wind.

Just the kind of cold that meant someone wasn’t going to walk away.

They grabbed him behind the burned-out gas station at the edge of town—neutral ground, no cameras, no civilian traffic.

He didn’t even get a word out before Reyes drove a fist into his gut and dropped him to his knees.

Colt stepped in from the dark like death itself—no leather cut, no colors. Just the man.

The executioner.

“You remember her?” he asked, voice low and flat.

The man wheezed, blood already pooling at his lip. “What—”

Colt didn’t let him finish.

He crouched low, grabbing the man by the jaw, forcing his face up.

“Avery.”

Recognition flickered.

Fear followed.

“Yeah,” Colt said. “That’s what I thought.”

No speech.

No dramatic threat.

Just one clean signal to Reyes.

And when the man tried to crawl, Colt stood tall and stepped back.

“No one touches what’s mine.”

Gunshot.

Muffled.

Final.

Colt didn’t watch him fall.

He didn’t need to.

He just turned and walked back toward the shadows.

Reyes followed a few paces behind.

“What now?” Reyes asked.

Colt didn’t pause.

“Now I go home.”

Avery would never know the full details.

But that night, when he slid into bed behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist—warm, steady, silent—she knew something was different.

The storm had passed.

And whatever haunted the edges of his soul had been buried with the body that would never be found.