Chapter Twenty-One - Fear Is a Language
1786 Words
The door to the war room slammed shut behind Colt, the sound echoing like a shot through the walls.
Inside, it was just him, Cal, two patched members, and Rourke—the club’s newest mistake.
Rourke had been running his mouth, stirring whispers, pushing against boundaries Colt had clearly set. Not openly challenging him, but enough to make others start watching. Wondering.
And Colt? He didn’t tolerate wondering.
He stood at the head of the table, arms crossed, eyes hard. Silent.
Rourke tried to speak first.
“Look, I didn’t mean anything by it—”
Wrong move.
Colt didn’t raise his voice.
He didn’t need to.
“Get the f**k up.”
Rourke blinked. “What?”
Colt took one step forward, slow and lethal. “I said. Stand. Up.”
The tension shifted instantly. Cal leaned back, arms folded. The others backed off—no one wanted to get caught in the fallout.
Rourke rose, hesitant, his bravado already cracking.
Colt circled him like a predator sizing up prey.
“You been talking about me. Questioning how I run things. Asking why Avery’s still here. Stirring up bullshit like you're trying to test what I’ll tolerate.”
“I didn’t mean—”
Colt slammed his hand into the wall right beside Rourke’s head, fast enough that everyone flinched.
“I built this club on fear and fire. You think I forgot how to burn people down?”
Rourke swallowed, eyes wide.
Colt leaned in.
“You’re alive because I let you be. Don’t make me regret that.”
Rourke nodded, words gone.
Colt didn’t move for a beat.
Then, quietly:
“If you ever speak her name again like she’s anything less than mine—I’ll put you in the ground before you finish your sentence. Understood?”
“Yes—yeah. I got it.”
Colt stepped back, his presence still filling every inch of the room.
“To everyone watching,” he added, sweeping a glance across the table, “this is your one reminder. I don’t need to raise my voice. I don’t need a vote. I don’t ask twice.”
The silence that followed was thick with respect and terror.
Exactly how he liked it.
As Colt walked out of the war room, Cal followed him down the hall.
“You know that’s gonna echo through the whole club by lunch.”
“Good.”
“You sure you’re not just swinging to prove a point?”
Colt stopped, eyes still forward. “Not proving a point, Cal. Just reminding them who the f**k I am.”
And with that, he disappeared around the corner—president first, man second.
The compound was quieter after what happened with Rourke—but it wasn’t peaceful.
It was watchful.
The kind of silence that carried weight.
Whispers didn’t move in the open now. They died in throats.
Everyone knew Colt wasn’t playing at being president anymore.
He was the law.
The last word.
The line between chaos and survival.
Colt sat at the long table in the back room that smelled of old bourbon and war.
The patched members flanked either side—silent, tense, loyal. Cal stood behind him, arms crossed like a living warning.
The agenda on the table didn’t matter.
Because Colt had already made it clear:
This was no democracy.
This was a reign.
“You see how fast things rot when people think they can get away with something?” Colt said, voice cold and even. “It starts with words. Then it’s lies. Then it’s disloyalty.”
He didn’t raise his voice.
He didn’t have to.
One glance from him turned grown men into ghosts of themselves.
“I run this club with two things: fear, and the knowledge that I’ll bleed for it more than any of you.”
He looked each man in the eye, one by one.
“But don’t mistake that for softness. I’ll bleed you just as fast.”
There were no objections. No second guesses.
Just quiet nods from men who remembered the trail Colt carved to get where he was.
He stood slowly, letting his presence speak louder than anything else.
“You want this brotherhood to survive? You fall in line. You protect what’s ours. You don’t question my decisions—and you sure as hell don’t question her.”
No one said her name.
But they all thought it.
Avery.
The only soft spot he had.
The one line no one would dare cross again.
Outside, Colt lit a cigarette with hands that didn’t shake.
Cal stepped beside him.
“You ever gonna tell her what it costs you to do this?”
“No.”
“She’s the only person you trust with that part of you.”
“Exactly.”
They stood in silence.
Colt watched the smoke curl into the air, his eyes unreadable.
Then, finally:
“I give the world the steel. She’s the only one who gets the man.”
The clubhouse was buzzing again.
Not loud. Not chaotic. Just alive in a way that told Avery something had shifted. That Colt had made his presence known—not as a man, but as the leader.
She’d heard the whispers walking through the halls.
“Rourke didn’t even see it coming.”
“Colt barely moved, and the kid nearly pissed himself.”
“The president’s done playing house—he’s back.”
Avery didn’t ask questions.
She didn’t need to.
This was his world.
And he knew how to run it.
She sat on the back porch, tea forgotten in her hands, her mind circling one truth over and over:
This is the life she swore to walk away from.
And now?
She was living in the heart of it.
Not blind. Not broken. But aware.
When she’d walked away after high school—six, nearly seven years ago—she told Bear she could never support the club. Never be one of those women, the kind who stood behind men like statues—silent, complicit.
“I’m not cut out for this,” she’d said, her voice sharp and sure.
“I want something better. Something good.”
But what she hadn’t understood then—and did now—was that good doesn’t always look like clean lines and clear choices.
Colt wasn’t Bear.
And she wasn’t the girl who still believed the world played fair.
He didn’t want to own her.
He never asked her to fold herself small.
He just wanted her to stand beside him.
And now?
She could.
Because Colt let her be who she was.
So she would let him be who he needed to be.
Even if that meant ruling through silence and fear.
Even if it meant hearing whispers of blood and knowing he didn’t flinch.
The clubhouse had gone still again.
Not quiet like before.
This was the silence that followed submission.
Colt’s orders had been carried out. No one dared question the weight of his voice, or the look in his eyes. Not tonight. Maybe not for a long time.
He was alone in his office.
The door was closed. His jaw tight. Shoulders squared like he hadn’t shaken off the moment yet. A half-drunk glass of whiskey sat untouched beside the stack of club files.
He didn’t move when the door opened without a knock.
He didn’t need to look up.
He knew it was her.
Avery stepped in slowly, shutting the door behind her. No heels. No armor. Just soft steps and quiet breath.
She crossed the room without a word, standing beside him where he sat.
And gently—without asking—she ran her fingers through the back of his hair.
Colt exhaled once, slow and deep.
Not broken.
Not tired.
But... seen.
She didn’t speak.
Didn’t ask if he was okay.
Didn’t try to fix it.
She just let her presence settle around him like a balm.
After a long minute, Colt reached for her hand and pulled her gently into his lap. She came easily, curling into him like she belonged there—which she did.
His hands circled her waist, grounding himself.
Her cheek rested against his.
Still, no words.
Because this wasn’t a moment for explanation.
It was a moment for knowing.
She knew what he’d done tonight.
And she knew what it cost him, even if he’d never say it out loud.
To the world, he was a coldhearted bastard. A king in leather and blood.
But to her?
He was the boy who never learned how to be soft without breaking.
The man who carried the sins of everyone else.
The leader who didn’t flinch—but still bled in the quiet.
She kissed the edge of his jaw and whispered:
“I’ve got you.”
And for Colt?
That was the only mercy he allowed himself to take.
Colt didn’t say thank you.
He wouldn’t.
Not because he didn’t feel it—he felt it too much—but because gratitude sounded too small for what Avery was giving him.
She sat in his lap like she belonged there, her hands resting on his chest, feeling the rise and fall of the man who led with steel.
He hadn’t spoken a word about what happened that day.
Didn’t need to.
And she didn’t need him to.
But when her fingers brushed over the faint scar near his collarbone, her voice finally broke the silence—quiet, certain, and meant only for him.
“When the weight gets too heavy,” she said, “and you break—I’ll put you back together.”
His jaw tensed, but he didn’t interrupt.
“I won’t run, Colt.”
He looked at her now—really looked. And she met it head on.
“I know who you are. I’ve always known. I know how dark it gets for you, how hard you fight to keep that control.”
She leaned in closer, her breath warm against his skin.
“And when it finally slips… I’ll still be here. I’ll still love you.”
There was no wobble in her voice. No hesitation.
Only truth.
Only her.
Colt swallowed hard, something unspoken catching in his throat.
And she just kept her eyes on his, as steady as her vow.
“I’ll be your anchor,” she said softly. “When the whole damn world tries to pull you under.”
For the first time in days, Colt closed his eyes and let her words settle into him.
No orders.
No blood.
No mask.
Just her.
And the quiet, steady weight of a love that didn’t ask for anything in return.
- Writer
