Crimson Steel

Chapter Seventeen - The Quiet That Follows

Colt stood in the doorway, half in shadow, half in light.

It was late—late enough for the club to settle into its usual nighttime lull. Conversations low. Bottles empty. The beat of distant music pulsing through the walls like a slow, steady heartbeat.

He wasn’t listening to any of it.

His eyes were on her.

Avery sat out on the back deck, a blanket draped across her legs, a half-full mug in her hands, and not a single part of her aware that she was being watched.

She was calm.

Still.

Untouched by the weight of the world that usually hung around this place like smoke.

And for the first time in his life, Colt felt like the outsider.

She didn’t glance over her shoulder to see if he was watching.

Didn’t shift, didn’t fidget, didn’t look like she was waiting for anyone to join her.

She wasn’t avoiding him.

She simply didn’t need him anymore.

And that truth wrapped around his throat like a noose.

Because Colt Mercer had spent his life taking.

Taking respect. Taking control. Taking women.

But peace?

He didn’t know how to take peace.

He’d only ever seen it in her.

Back then, she had walked through high school like she had a world in her hands—books, dreams, charity work, polished shoes and soft perfume.

And now?

Now she had everything he didn’t: stillness, purpose, grace.

And she’d found it again—but without him.

That was the part that cut.

Not the distance. Not the silence.

But that she seemed… whole.

She wasn’t pretending. She wasn’t brittle. She wasn’t pushing buttons to get a rise out of him.

She was just living.

And he wasn’t in the picture anymore.

Cal’s words came back to him then, low and sharp like a punch to the gut.

“She doesn’t look for you anymore… and that should scare the hell out of you.”

It did.

More than Colt would ever admit.

Because this time, he couldn’t drag her back.

He couldn’t kiss away the silence.

Couldn’t f**k away the truth.

She wasn’t playing a game.

She had moved on.

And if he wanted to be more than a fading memory—more than leather and orders and the echo of a name she used to whisper in the dark—he’d have to become someone worthy of her peace.

Someone she didn’t just forgive.

Someone she could actually trust.

And maybe… that scared him more than losing her ever could.

It started small.

A hand lingering too long on Colt’s arm.

A low laugh aimed a little too directly at him from across the room.

A new prospect’s girl batting her lashes like she didn’t know—or didn’t care—who had claimed the king.

They’d waited, these women.

Waited in the wings while Avery made her stand. While the fire between her and Colt threatened to swallow the whole damn clubhouse.

But now?

Now the fire was gone.

And the vultures had circled in.

He noticed it first during a club dinner—one of the loud, chaotic ones where beer flowed faster than words and nobody looked too hard at anyone else's bruises.

Colt sat at the head of the table, Cal on one side, Ripper on the other.

Avery didn’t sit beside him.

She hadn’t in days.

She was tucked back in the corner with Frankie, laughing at something over a shared plate of fries. Her shoulders relaxed. Her lips glossed and parted in a real, open smile.

Meanwhile, one of the newer club girls—Jenna, maybe, or something with a J—had pressed in closer than usual when she handed Colt a drink.

“Need anything else, President?” she purred.

He didn’t even answer.

Didn’t need to.

Because he saw it—the flicker of Avery’s eyes across the table. A glance. A moment.

But that was all.

She didn’t react.

Didn’t glare.

Didn’t roll her eyes or clench her jaw or bite back a comment.

She just went right back to her conversation, like he was some guy across the bar.

Like he was anyone.

And that was the part that gutted him.

Because once, her silence had meant fire.

Now? It meant freedom.

She wasn’t holding her breath anymore.

She didn’t care who touched him.

Didn’t care who tried.

Because to her, it was over.

She’d been in his room for nights now, quiet as a ghost, curled on the edge of his bed like she didn’t want to take up space.

And he had let it happen.

Let her slip away in silence, all because he thought she’d eventually turn around and reach for him again.

But now, watching Jenna toy with his ring, watching other women eye him like he was back on the market—

And watching Avery not care at all—

That was when it hit him.

He was no longer the one being desired.

He was the one being forgotten.

The room was dim when Avery entered that night.

She didn’t say anything at first.

Just toed off her heels, set her phone on the dresser, and walked into the bathroom to wipe off her makeup in silence.

Colt was at the window, smoking in the shadows. The glow of the streetlamp outside painted one side of his face in gold, the rest of him carved from shadow and bone.

He didn’t speak when she returned.

Didn’t try to reach for her.

Didn’t dare.

Avery sat on the edge of the bed, tucking one leg beneath her.

Her voice was calm when she finally spoke.

“Colt.”

He turned his head slightly. Just enough to show he heard her.

She didn’t hesitate.

“I think you should give me my own room.”

The silence between them snapped taut.

“I’m not in your bed anymore,” she continued, gaze fixed ahead. “And everyone knows it.”

Still, Colt didn’t speak.

She swallowed, then added softly, “It’s better for both of us if I have my own space.”

She meant it.

She wasn’t trying to sting him. Wasn’t trying to make a statement or draw blood.

It was just the truth.

It felt… logical. Clean. Unemotional.

And that’s what hurt him most.

Because she didn’t say it with venom.

She said it with finality.

She stood then, brushing her hair off her shoulder. “I’ll pack in the morning.”

Colt didn’t move.

Not even a twitch.

And Avery didn’t wait for his response.

She just slid under the covers, turned her back to him, and closed her eyes.

Not because she was tired.

But because that conversation was over.

And she had no intention of repeating it.

By morning, Avery was up before the clubhouse had fully stirred.

She didn’t pack like someone running away.

She packed like someone making room.

Every motion was measured—calm, clear, efficient. She folded her clothes with care, placing them neatly into the same small suitcase she brought from the city.

She left the heels.

Took the perfume.

Folded the silk robe he once pulled from her shoulders like it was made of smoke—and placed it in the very bottom of the bag.

Colt wasn’t there when she left the room.

Of course he wasn’t.

He hadn’t said a word when she’d asked for her own space. Not last night. Not when she brushed past him in the early morning light. Not when she started packing her things in his room like she’d never belonged there.

She didn’t expect him to.

She wheeled the suitcase through the hallway, past the rows of doors that still felt more like a bunker than a home, and stopped in front of the spare room Frankie had helped her claim.

Simple. Clean. Tidy.

Hers.

Avery stood in the doorway for a moment, exhaling slow.

Then she stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

Colt stood at the edge of the hallway, watching.

He hadn’t moved.

Not since he saw her walk out with that suitcase.

She hadn’t slammed the door.

She hadn’t even looked back.

And somehow, that was worse than if she’d screamed.

Because Avery leaving his room wasn’t the loss of a bedmate.

It was the loss of every chance he’d had and let slip through his damn fingers.

He thought she’d stay until the heat returned.

He thought he could wait her out.

He thought—stupidly—that silence still made him strong.

But it didn’t.

It made him hollow.

And now?

Now he could feel the weight of that silence like a loaded gun in his chest.

She was still here…

But not his anymore.

And if he didn’t do something—soon—she never would be again.

Avery’s new room was smaller. Quieter. Farther from the noise.

It suited her.

The walls didn’t carry the same weight. The bed didn’t smell like his skin. And the air felt still—like a storm had passed through and finally moved on.

She’d unpacked fully. Hung up her clothes. Aligned her heels. Set her little travel candle on the nightstand—lavender and sage—and lit it just to feel human.

She liked it here.

She wasn’t his anymore.

But she was hers.

Later that afternoon, Avery and Frankie sat on the clubhouse porch, sipping lemon tea from mismatched mugs.

The sun had started to dip low, spilling warm gold across the yard. It was the kind of peace Avery hadn’t realized she’d missed. The quiet hum of summer bugs. A breeze curling around her bare ankles. Frankie talking about fixing up her own corner of the house.

And then they came.

Three women.

Confident. Curious. Maybe a little too casual.

They didn’t circle like vultures.

They walked right up, heels clicking on wood, all perfume and practiced charm.

“Avery,” one of them said—Shay, maybe. Or Tara. It didn’t matter.

“We were wondering something.”

Avery arched a brow but said nothing.

The woman continued, not unkind. “You’re not in his bed anymore. We’ve all noticed.”

Avery took a slow sip of her tea. “You’ve been watching?”

“You’re in his room, you’re not anymore… just thought maybe—” she tilted her head, smile tight— “if you’re not in it, maybe someone else could be.”

Avery didn’t flinch.

Didn’t even blink.

She placed her mug down gently and gave them a small, calm nod.

“He’s fair game.”

The silence hit sharp and short.

Frankie turned, brows lifted. “You sure?”

Avery shrugged. “He was never truly mine to begin with.”

One of the women looked a little surprised. Maybe disappointed. Maybe impressed. But they all gave polite nods, murmured thanks, and turned to go—like predators realizing the hunt had been cleared.

Once they were gone, Frankie leaned in.

“Damn,” she said. “That was cold.”

Avery smiled faintly, eyes on the trees in the distance.

“Not cold,” she said. “Just clean.”

Frankie sipped her tea. “You okay?”

“Better than I’ve been in a long time,” Avery said honestly. “Because now, I don’t owe him my hurt. And I don’t owe myself the lie that he ever knew what to do with me.”

And she meant it.

Every word.

Colt didn’t mean to overhear it.

He hadn’t been looking for her. Not really. He’d just stepped out onto the back porch, looking for a smoke, maybe a distraction—something to get her off his mind.

But there she was.

Sitting in the sun beside Frankie.

And a few girls standing in front of her.

He stayed just behind the wall, out of sight, half-shadowed. Close enough to catch a few words.

“You’re not in his bed anymore…”

“Thought maybe… someone else could be.”

He felt it immediately—that slow churn in his gut. The rise of something bitter in the back of his throat.

He leaned closer, eyes narrowing, breath caught.

And then he heard her answer.

“He’s fair game.”

That alone should’ve been enough to knock the air from his lungs.

But she didn’t stop there.

“He was never truly mine to begin with.”

For a moment, Colt couldn’t move.

Couldn’t speak.

Couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t f*****g think.

She said it so calmly. No bitterness. No venom.

Just truth.

The kind of truth that cuts clean and deep.

The kind you can’t argue with.

He didn’t even notice the cigarette slipping from between his fingers, dropping silently to the floorboards at his feet.

Later, Colt sat alone in his office, the light off, just the hum of the old ceiling fan above him.

Her voice echoed in his head on a loop.

“He was never truly mine to begin with.”

She was right.

Because he never let her have him.

Not all of him. Not the real parts. Not the bruised, broken pieces underneath the steel.

He gave her a bed.

A claim.

A role.

But never a place in his life she could stand in without wondering when it would be pulled away.

And now… she’d pulled herself away first.

She hadn’t yelled.

She hadn’t cried.

She hadn’t even looked back.

And that?

That was the loudest goodbye he’d ever heard.

The next morning, Avery didn’t wake up wondering if Colt had noticed her words.

She didn’t replay the porch conversation in her head.

Didn’t analyze how tightly the girls had smiled.

Didn’t flinch wondering if Colt would say something—anything.

She woke up… rested.

Lit her candle.

Tied her robe around her waist.

And made her tea in the kitchen like she owned the space.

Because today wasn’t about him.

It was about her.

After breakfast, Avery headed out into the garage.

She didn’t go looking for Colt.

She went to Frankie—who was elbow-deep in a donation bin, sorting jackets for an outreach run the club quietly supported through a battered women’s shelter two towns over.

“Need help?” Avery asked.

Frankie smirked. “Thought you’d never ask.”

The next two hours were filled with dust, denim, and laughter.

Avery took over the clipboard, organizing inventory, labeling items, color-coding the damn thing until Frankie whistled under her breath.

“Girl, you missed your calling. You were built for ruling empires.”

Avery shrugged, smiling softly. “Maybe I still will. Just… a different kind than I thought.”

By midday, they were in town.

Frankie had offered to drive, but Avery took the wheel. She wore jeans, a soft cashmere sweater, and her usual bold lipstick. Her armor had changed—but it was still hers.

They dropped off the jackets.

Talked with the women.

Held babies.

Listened to stories.

Laughed.

Cried.

And for the first time, Avery felt useful here—not as a possession, not as Colt’s claimed woman, not as someone who had to earn her space.

But as herself.

She didn’t check her phone once.

Didn’t wonder where Colt was.

Didn’t ache for him to text.

Because this was real.

And it didn’t require his permission to exist.

That night, she returned to the clubhouse late—hair messy, mascara faintly smudged from laughter and exhaustion. Her arms were full of flyers and thank-you notes from the women at the shelter.

She walked past the main room without stopping.

Past the bar.

Past Colt’s office door.

Past his stare—because she felt it, even if she didn’t meet it.

She had nothing left to prove.

And nothing left to beg for.

She was no longer the girl waiting for the boy with the motorcycle to choose her.

She’d chosen herself.

Avery stood outside on the porch again, her phone pressed to her ear, one heel hooked behind the other as she watched the late afternoon sun dip low across the yard.

She wasn’t pacing.

She wasn’t wringing her hands.

She just stood still, jaw tight, listening to the detective’s voice crackle through the line.

“No new movement on the suspect since last report. But we’ve upped surveillance around your place just in case.”

Avery nodded, her gaze fixed on the gravel drive.

She missed her house.

The one with the blue front door and the creaky floorboards.

The one with the bookshelves she’d put up herself and the coffee maker that never quite worked right.

She missed the silence of it.

The safety.

Her life.

“Do you think it’ll be safe to return in the next few months?” she asked, voice low but firm.

The detective hesitated.

“If things stay quiet, there’s a good chance. You’ll want the cameras and some security upgrades. I’d still recommend laying low until we officially close the case.”

“Understood,” she said.

“You’re doing alright there?”

A pause.

Avery looked out across the yard—at the clubhouse doors, the bikes lined up like soldiers, the men moving through it like shadows.

At the life she never asked to be part of.

But more than anything, she thought about the woman she was becoming inside it.

Stronger.

Still standing.

“Yes,” she said. “I’m doing just fine.”