Crimson Steel

Chapter Four - Smoke & Sins

The funeral ended just after noon.

The sky was overcast, heavy with the kind of stillness that always follows something permanent. Dirt covered the simple wooden casket. The headstone wasn’t installed yet—just a flat plaque with her father’s name and the years of his life carved into cold metal.

Avery didn’t cry.

She’d already done that. Alone. Quietly. On the floor of her childhood bedroom the night before, with her fists pressed to her mouth to keep the sound from spilling out.

Now, she was packed. Clean. Controlled.

And ready to leave.

She didn’t say goodbye to anyone. Not the club members who shook her hand out of habit. Not the old ladies who gave her pitying glances. And definitely not Bear, who muttered something under his breath as she passed, but she didn’t bother catching it.

She tossed her duffel bag into the back of the rental car and slid into the driver’s seat, hands gripping the wheel.

Then she heard the knock.

Three sharp raps on the window.

Colt.

Of course.

She rolled it down halfway, not even bothering to mask her exhaustion. “I’m leaving, Colt.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I see that.”

“Then get out of the way.”

He leaned down, elbows resting on the window edge, close enough that she could smell the leather of his jacket and a hint of cigarettes.

“You really gonna walk out of here without asking why?”

She blinked. “Why what?”

“Why your dad was found face-down in a back alley with no witnesses, no calls, and no warning.”

Her breath stilled. “The coroner said heart attack.”

Colt’s jaw ticked. “You believe that?”

Avery’s grip on the wheel tightened. “You expect me to stay just because you say something doesn’t feel right?”

“No,” he said. “I expect you to stay because if you loved him—and I know you did—then you’d have the damn decency to honor him. Not just with flowers. But with the truth.”

She looked away, eyes burning. “You don’t get to guilt me.”

“I’m not.” His voice dropped. “I’m telling you that the man who spent his whole life protecting you—giving you everything so you could get out—deserves more than a drive-by goodbye.”

That cut.

Deeper than she expected.

Because he was right.

Her father had sacrificed everything. Swallowed his place in the club. Slept with one eye open for years. All so she could chase her dreams without chains around her ankles.

And now?

She was running. Again.

“Damn it,” she muttered under her breath.

She stared through the windshield for a long moment before finally shifting the car into park.

Slowly, she opened the door.

Colt stepped back, letting her out.

She stood there on the gravel driveway, staring at the ground between them.

“If I stay,” she said quietly, “it’s to find out what happened. That’s it. I’m not here for the club. I’m not here for you.”

Colt nodded once. “That’s all I’m asking.”

But the way he said it made her chest ache.

Because they both knew that nothing between them was ever just one thing.

They stood by the car in thick silence, the wind tugging at her jacket, the road behind her already calling her name.

Colt watched her with that same unreadable expression—the one that made her feel like he was constantly calculating what she didn’t want to admit.

“I’ve got to ask,” she said finally. “What exactly do you think happened to my dad?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Not yet.”

“Then why the hell are you so sure something’s off?”

He hesitated—just for a second—but it was enough.

“Because your dad didn’t go down like that,” Colt said, voice low. “He wasn’t the kind of man to just keel over behind a bar with no one seeing a thing. He was careful. Paranoid even. And now he’s gone, and there’s nothing in his pockets. No phone. No wallet. No jacket. Just his body. Left like trash.”

Avery’s blood ran cold.

She hadn’t heard that part. No one had told her that.

“Jesus,” she breathed.

“And if someone wanted him dead?” Colt continued, stepping closer. “There’s a chance they’re not done tying up loose ends.”

Her heart stuttered.

“Meaning me.”

He didn’t say yes. But he didn’t deny it either.

“I’m not saying run scared,” he said. “But you can’t stay here. Not alone. This house isn’t safe.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Not if you don’t know who the threat is.”

She looked back at the house—the home her father built to keep her away from all this. From the world Colt belonged to. The same world she swore she’d never crawl back into.

“I’m not staying at some cheap motel,” she said.

“You won’t.” He took a breath. “Come to the clubhouse. I’ll have a room cleared out. Somewhere upstairs. Safe.”

She stared at him, stunned.

“The club? Are you serious?”

“You said you want answers,” Colt said, folding his arms. “That’s where they are. You want to find out who your dad pissed off Who’s still around that might’ve had a reason to end him? You’ll have to get your hands dirty.”

Avery laughed bitterly. “You think Bear will let me within ten feet of that place?”

“I don’t give a s**t what Bear thinks,” Colt said evenly. “He’s retired. I’m president now. That patch means it’s my call.”

She hesitated. Everything in her screamed don’t go. That it was a trap. A slow slide back into a world that took everything.

But…

If Colt was right—

If someone had killed her father—

And if she was next—

She couldn’t afford to ignore that.

Still, she looked him in the eye and said, “Your father made it very clear I wasn’t welcome there. He made sure the whole club knew I walked away. That I didn’t belong.”

Colt’s jaw tightened.

“Well, now I’m making it clear,” he said. “You’re coming. You’ll stay in the clubhouse until we figure this out. Anyone has a problem with that… they’ll have to go through me.”

Her pulse pounded.

It was everything she hated—control, command, that old Crimson Steel arrogance.

And yet…

It was also safety.

Maybe the only safety she had left.

She crossed her arms.

“Fine,” she said. “But the second I have answers, I’m gone. And don’t mistake this for trust, Colt. You’re still part of the world that took him from me.”

His voice dropped. “I know.”

And the thing that scared her most?

He meant it.

The sun was nearly down by the time Avery pulled into the lot behind the Crimson Steel MC clubhouse.

The building sat like a beast on the edge of town—low, wide, scarred with years of wear and violence. Rows of bikes lined the gravel like a wall of growling wolves. The sound of music—deep, gritty, unapologetic—bled through the walls like blood under a bandage.

She sat behind the wheel, staring at the front door.

The last time she stood there, Bear Mercer offered her the world. A golden leash disguised as a favor. She’d told him to go to hell and walked away with fire in her chest.

But now?

Now she was walking back in.

Not because she wanted to.

Because she had no choice.

She stepped out of the car, duffel bag in hand, spine straight even as her stomach twisted. The second her boots hit the gravel, she could feel them—eyes from the garage, from the porch, from the second-story windows.

Watching her.

Measuring her.

Judging her.

There she is, the traitor. The one who thought she was too good for the life that fed her.

Colt had told her the house wasn’t safe. That someone might be cleaning up loose ends. She didn’t trust his world, but she trusted his warning.

Still… this didn’t feel like safety.

It felt like being swallowed whole.

The heavy metal door creaked open before she could knock. Colt stood there, his eyes sweeping over her like he was checking for damage she didn’t want him to see.

He didn’t say anything. Just held the door open.

She walked past him without a word.

The air inside was thick—smoke, leather, beer, sweat, gasoline. The scent of everything she hated about this world.

The main room was exactly how she remembered it. A big open space with scuffed wooden floors, low lights, patched men laughing too loudly, pool balls cracking like distant gunfire, and women draped over laps like trophies. A few glanced up when she walked in.

Most stared.

She kept her face blank. Shoulders squared. Her bag tight in her grip.

“Look who decided to come home,” someone muttered under their breath.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t stop.

Colt moved in beside her, his presence a silent shield.

“She’s with me,” he said loud enough for everyone to hear. His voice was calm, but iron. “She’s staying. No one touches her. No one gives her a reason to leave.”

A few men glanced away. One or two looked straight at Avery like they didn’t agree with their president’s call.

She met those stares head-on.

She wasn’t a club girl. She was Danny Rourke’s daughter, and she would walk through hell with her chin up before she showed them fear.

“Upstairs,” Colt said, motioning with a nod.

She followed him up the narrow stairs, the beat of music softening behind them. Her bag felt heavier with every step.

The hallway was dark, lined with doors. He led her to one at the end and opened it.

A simple room. Clean. Small. A dresser. A bed. A window looking out over the back lot. It smelled like cedar and old leather.

“This was yours?” she asked, stepping inside.

He nodded. “Until five minutes ago.”

“You gave me your room?” she asked, turning to face him.

“You said you wanted safety,” he said. “That’s the safest room in the building.”

She hesitated at the doorway, her body taut, her heart racing like a warning bell.

“This doesn’t make us allies,” she said. “And it sure as hell doesn’t make me one of you.”

“I know,” he said. Then added quietly, “But this makes you less of a target.”

Her jaw clenched.

She stepped inside, dropped her bag, and turned her back to him.

“You can leave now, President.”

He didn’t say anything.

But he didn’t slam the door when he left, either.

Just a soft click.

And she was alone, once again, in a place that remembered every part of her she tried to leave behind.

The clubhouse was quiet by the time Avery crept downstairs.

Mostly.

A low thrum of bass still pulsed through the walls from someone’s music. Laughter filtered from a back room. But the main floor was nearly empty, dimly lit, with the weight of the day settling into the wood and stone.

She padded barefoot into the kitchen, wrapping her arms around herself. She hadn’t been able to sleep—not really. Not with the smell of the club in the walls, the old ghosts in Colt’s room, and the dull ache of grief clawing at her chest.

All she wanted was a cup of tea. Something warm to ground her.

But when she stepped into the kitchen, she froze.

She wasn’t alone.

Colt stood near the counter, back braced against it, shirt half-unbuttoned, head tilted back.

And a woman—someone tall, lean, in a too-tight tank top—was on her knees in front of him, her hands gripping his belt, her mouth—

Avery looked away.

Fast.

Her breath caught for a split second, but she didn’t make a sound. Didn’t give herself away.

He hadn’t seen her yet. Or maybe he had.

It didn’t matter.

She didn’t speak. Didn’t move any faster than necessary.

Just walked to the fridge like her stomach wasn’t folding in on itself.

Like the sight of him being touched like that—so casually, so openly—wasn’t ripping open every old wound she'd spent years cauterizing.

She grabbed a bottle of water. Closed the fridge.

And walked right back out the way she came.

No words. No emotion. No weakness.

Just like high school.

Back then, she’d caught him like this more than once. In a car, behind the bleachers, at a house party she never wanted to attend. Girls with his name on their tongues and his hands tangled in their hair.

It always felt like betrayal.

Even when they weren’t anything.

Even when he owed her nothing.

It still hurt.

And now?

It still did.

But this time she didn’t slam a door. Didn’t throw a look or a cutting word.

She just walked back upstairs, closed the door behind her, and sat on the edge of Colt’s bed.

Back straight. Bottle of water in her hand. Eyes burning.

This was what the club was. Raw, rough, selfish.

And Colt Mercer was its perfect king.

She would remember that tomorrow.

She had a death to investigate.

And nothing—not grief, not memories, and definitely not him—was going to distract her from the truth.