Crimson Steel

Chapter Thirteen - The Softest Surrender

The morning light poured into Colt’s room like a whisper, soft and golden across the hardwood floor.

Avery stirred first.

Her limbs were tangled with his. One of his arms was slung heavy around her waist, anchoring her to him like he knew she might try to disappear again.

She didn’t move.

For once… she didn’t want to.

Her body ached in places she hadn’t known could ache. But it wasn’t the soreness that caught her off guard—it was the peace. The warm, slow hum under her skin. The quiet in her chest.

It wasn’t fear.

It wasn’t shame.

It was something else entirely.

Belonging.

She let her eyes fall shut again, just for a moment. Let herself listen to the steady rhythm of Colt’s breathing behind her. Let herself feel what it was like to wake up not just in his bed—but with him.

When he stirred, his hand slid against her bare stomach, fingertips grazing the curve of her hip.

“You’re awake,” he muttered, voice thick with sleep.

“Barely,” she murmured.

“Good.” He kissed her shoulder, soft and slow. “Means I don’t have to wake you up to keep you here.”

She turned her head slightly to look back at him. “You think I’m going to run?”

“You’ve got the look,” he said, eyes scanning her face. “Like something’s changed.”

“It has.”

He pulled back just a bit, reading her.

“I’m not running,” she said. “I’m… still here. Because I want to be.”

Colt blinked, and for the first time in days, she saw something shift in his expression. Not shock. Not smugness.

Relief.

He reached out, brushed her hair off her face, and just nodded. “Good.”

She exhaled a shaky breath. “But that doesn’t mean I stop being me.”

“I don’t want you to stop being you.”

“I still need space sometimes.”

“You’ll have it. Just not from me.”

She smiled despite herself. “Possessive much?”

“You’ve seen the way I am with my bike. You really thought I’d be any different with the woman in my bed?”

“Fair point.”

They lay in silence a moment longer before Avery shifted, rolling to face him. Her palm pressed flat against his chest.

“I don’t know what this looks like,” she said honestly. “But I’m not scared of it anymore.”

Colt’s hand curled around her waist. “It’ll look like whatever the hell we want it to.”

“Even if it doesn’t make sense to anyone else?”

He smirked. “You think I’ve ever lived a day of my life giving a damn what makes sense?”

She laughed softly—really laughed—for the first time in what felt like forever.

And for once, the sound didn’t feel out of place in this world of smoke and leather and noise.

It felt like it belonged here, too.

Just like she did.

Later that morning, Colt was pulling on his boots by the door when he looked up at Avery, who sat cross-legged on the bed, his hoodie draped over her frame like a second skin.

“I’m letting you out,” he said.

She raised an eyebrow. “Of the room?”

He smirked. “Yeah. You don’t do well caged up.”

“No, I don’t.”

“But you’re not walking around here alone.” His voice had that familiar edge of command, but it was softer now. “Cal or one of my guys will stick close. Don’t argue.”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t order.”

He stood, walked over, and leaned down to kiss her forehead.

“Try not to get into a fight.”

“No promises.”

“Atta girl.”

Half an hour later, Avery stepped out into the main hallway, her chin held high despite the nerves pulling low in her stomach.

Cal was waiting, arms crossed, expression unreadable as usual. He nodded once. “Where to?”

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I just want to walk.”

“Then walk.”

She moved slowly at first—past the kitchen, past the common area where a few men shot her sidelong glances but said nothing. Her heels clicked on the hardwood, a small rebellion in every step. Her perfume lingered like defiance.

Some of them looked surprised to see her. Some looked indifferent. None dared to say a word—not with Cal trailing behind her like a shadow.

She passed through the hallway that led toward the back offices, and that’s where she saw her—a woman, maybe in her thirties, sitting at a round table by the side window, smoking a cigarette and flipping through a battered magazine.

She had copper-red hair tied into a messy bun, sleeves rolled up, tattoos crawling down her arms like vines. She wore jeans and a tank top. No pretense. No attitude.

Just quiet confidence.

Their eyes met.

The woman didn’t smirk. Didn’t size her up like a rival. She just lifted her brows and offered a slow, easy nod.

“You must be the girl who’s got Colt all twisted,” she said.

Avery blinked. “Excuse me?”

She gestured to the seat across from her. “Relax. Sit. I’m friendly. Name’s Frankie.”

Avery hesitated. Then sat. Cal took a spot nearby, watching but not interrupting.

Frankie tapped her cigarette on the edge of an ashtray. “I’ve been around here a long time. Seen a lot of women come and go. None of them lasted longer than a few months. You? You’ve got him acting like he’s actually thinking before he hits someone.”

Avery fought a smile. “That bad?”

“That obvious,” Frankie said with a grin. “But here’s the thing—you’re not like them. And you don’t have to be.”

“I’m definitely not,” Avery said. “I wear heels and foundation. I read legal journals for fun. Most people here look at me like I’m a ticking bomb.”

Frankie shrugged. “So what? Let ’em stare. Your face says you’re smart enough to ruin their lives in court, and your clothes say you don’t care what they think.”

Avery felt a strange warmth rise in her chest.

Frankie didn’t pity her. Didn’t envy her. She just saw her.

“You ever feel like you’re playing a role in here?” Avery asked quietly.

Frankie took a slow drag of her cigarette and exhaled. “Sweetheart, I own the role. I just refuse to let it own me.”

Frankie poured coffee into two chipped mugs from the thermos perched on the windowsill. She pushed one across the table to Avery with an easy nod.

“It’s not fancy, but it’ll get the job done.”

Avery wrapped her hands around the mug and took a sip. Strong. Bitter. Real. “Tastes like the walls here.”

Frankie laughed. “Exactly.”

They sat in quiet for a moment, the kind that didn’t feel awkward—just settled. The sun slipped in through the blinds, casting faint lines across the table, and for once, the clubhouse didn’t feel so heavy on Avery’s shoulders.

“How long have you been with the club?” Avery asked.

Frankie leaned back in her chair, cigarette resting in her fingers, half-burned and forgotten. “Too long to care what year I started. I was young, stubborn, looking to make noise—and then I met a man who rode like the devil and loved like a storm. I’ve been here ever since.”

“Is he still around?”

“Nah. Got shot in the chest trying to protect a shipment that wasn’t worth the ink on the crate. Club lost him. I didn’t.” She tapped her temple. “Still got him in here.”

Avery looked down at her coffee.

“I thought I knew what I was getting into when I came back,” she said quietly. “But I didn’t.”

“You never do,” Frankie replied. “Doesn’t matter how smart you are or how many degrees you’ve got. Love? Loyalty? That s**t makes fools of all of us.”

“I don’t even know if this is love.”

“Sure you do,” Frankie said, taking another drag. “You’re just afraid to admit it. Because the minute you do, you lose some of your control.”

Avery blinked. That hit harder than expected.

“And you?” she asked. “You weren’t afraid to give it up?”

“Oh, I was terrified,” Frankie said. “Still am. But I’d rather be terrified and real than safe and empty.”

Avery was quiet for a beat. Then: “You’re a lot wiser than you look.”

“I get that a lot. Especially from women like you.”

Avery smiled for real this time. Not guarded. Not sarcastic. Just honest.

She sipped her coffee again, letting the warmth settle somewhere below her ribs.

Across the room, Cal leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, face like stone—but there was something relaxed in his stance. Like even he knew this was what Avery needed: a few minutes without Colt’s fire, without the club’s eyes, without the weight of expectation.

Just two women.

Coffee.

And the slow beginning of something that felt like friendship.

The sun was warm on her skin.

Avery hadn’t realized how much she missed feeling it—not just sunlight, but lightness. Fresh air. Space to breathe.

Frankie led her around the side of the clubhouse where a pair of worn wooden chairs sat near a patch of overgrown grass. There was a soft breeze, the faint scent of motor oil and wildflowers mingling in the air.

Cal stayed behind, leaning against the building in the shade, far enough to give them space but close enough to remind her she wasn’t alone.

Frankie sank into one of the chairs, pulling off her boots and propping her feet up on a cinder block.

Avery took the other seat, folding one leg over the other, her coffee cup still warm in her hands.

They sat for a while, not speaking. Letting the sun soak in.

It was Avery who finally broke the silence.

“I was in love with him.”

Frankie didn’t look surprised. Just took a sip from her thermos and waited.

“Since high school,” Avery added. “He doesn’t know. Or maybe he does, I don’t know. But I was. I was gone for him.”

Frankie tilted her head. “And now?”

Avery breathed out slowly. “I don’t think I ever stopped. I just got better at pretending I did.”

Frankie gave her a soft, knowing look. “Love doesn’t just pack up and leave because you move to the city.”

Avery smiled weakly. “I thought distance would make it easier.”

“It never does.”

She ran her hand over the rim of the coffee cup, then stared straight ahead, voice lowering.

“He told me once—recently—that he liked me too. Even back then. That he tried to get my attention by… screwing other girls.”

Frankie let out a dry chuckle. “Sounds like a man.”

Avery didn’t laugh. Her jaw clenched instead.

“I hated him for it,” she admitted. “Still do, in some ways. Because it worked. I noticed. I noticed every damn time. I’d walk into school and see another girl bragging about how good he was in the back seat of his car or the shed behind the gym and—”

She stopped. Swallowed hard.

Frankie’s voice was quiet. “Burned it into your memory.”

“I didn’t want to. But it’s still there. Like it happened yesterday.”

She looked down at her lap.

“And then I came back,” she whispered. “And nothing had changed. Not really. I walk into the clubhouse and what do I see? A woman with her mouth on him in the kitchen.”

Frankie winced softly. “Shit.”

“I pretended it didn’t bother me. Walked right past like I was made of stone.” She looked up. “But I’m not. And now I’m supposed to share space with women who’ve had him—who maybe still want him—and just shut that part of me off.”

Frankie didn’t jump in to fix it. Didn’t offer some patronizing line like “he chose you.”

She just let Avery feel it. Let her say it out loud without shame.

“It’s okay to not know how to carry it yet,” Frankie said finally. “It’s okay to hate it. And it’s okay to admit that it still hurts.”

“I’m not jealous,” Avery said softly. “I’m… territorial.”

Frankie grinned. “There it is.”

“I don’t need him to promise forever. I just want to believe I’m not another warm body in a long line of blurred faces.”

Frankie leaned over and tapped Avery’s knee lightly.

“Then make damn sure he knows that. You’re not like the rest of them. And he already knows it. That’s why he’s scared.”

Avery blinked. “You think Colt’s scared of me?”

“Of what he feels for you? Hell yes.”

That made Avery go quiet again.

The wind rustled through the tall grass nearby. Cal glanced over once, but said nothing.

For the first time, Avery felt the ache in her chest soften.

She wasn’t over it.

But maybe she didn’t have to be.

Not yet.

Avery walked back toward the clubhouse entrance with her shoulders squared and her chin high. The sun still warmed her skin, but it was something else entirely giving her that heat now—purpose.

Cal fell into step behind her. “You good?”

“I need to see Colt,” she said, not breaking stride.

“You want me to check if he’s—”

“I said,” she replied, glancing over her shoulder, “I need to see him.”

That shut him up. Cal nodded once and let her go.

She passed through the common room, ignoring the glances again. They didn’t sting like before. Not after Frankie. Not after everything she'd just said out loud.

When she reached Colt’s office door, she didn’t knock.

She opened it.

Colt looked up from behind the desk. Leaned back in his chair slowly, as if he wasn’t the least bit surprised.

His eyes dragged down her figure—tight jeans, tucked-in blouse, blazer rolled to the elbows like she meant business.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, voice even.

“Nothing,” she said, stepping inside. “That’s why I’m here.”

She closed the door behind her.

Colt studied her. Cautious now. Curious.

Avery didn’t stop until she reached his desk. She leaned her hands on the edge, meeting his gaze squarely.

“I’m not going to be one of those women, Colt,” she said quietly.

His brow ticked. “What women?”

“The ones who wait around for you to need them. Who take whatever you give them because they’re scared it’ll be the last time.”

His expression shifted. “Avery—”

“No,” she cut in. “You’ve had control since I came back. You said I was yours. You marked me. You put me in your bed. And I let you. Because I wanted to.”

She stepped around the desk slowly, voice low but steady.

“But now I’m telling you something. You’re mine too. When I want you, I get to take. When I need you, you show up. And if you ever make me feel like I’m just another set of lips on you in some dark hallway—” she leaned down, her mouth at his ear, “—you’ll find out just how cold I can be.”

Colt’s jaw was tight. His hand gripped the arm of the chair like he was holding himself back.

“You think you can flip the script?” he murmured.

“I don’t think.” She straightened, looking down at him. “I know.”

His eyes darkened—pride, heat, and something else she couldn’t name.

He stood slowly, towering over her in that way that used to make her feel small.

It didn’t anymore.

“You want to want me?” she said, tipping her chin up. “Then show me what it looks like when a man doesn’t just take. He earns.”

Colt stared at her for a beat, then gave the barest nod.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, counselor.”

She smirked. “Good thing I like danger.”

Colt didn’t move.

Neither did she.

The space between them was thick—heat and silence and challenge braided into one long, electric standoff.

His jaw flexed once. His eyes locked on hers like a loaded weapon. But he didn’t say a word.

Avery’s heart pounded in her chest. She wasn’t sure if it was from adrenaline or the sheer restraint it took not to close the final inch between them.

Not to kiss him.

Not to beg.

Not to give in.

She wanted him.

Of course she did.

But she wanted him to feel it, too. To sit in the fire she’d been burning in for years. Let it crawl over his skin. Let it test his self-control for once.

Colt’s voice, when it came, was rough. Low.

“You done?”

“For now,” she said, eyes steady. “Unless you’ve got something to say.”

He stepped closer—one step—enough to tower, enough to tease.

“I always have something to say,” he murmured. “But not when I’m this close to proving you right.”

Avery arched an eyebrow. “Proving me right about what?”

His gaze dipped to her mouth, then back up.

“That I want you just as bad. Maybe worse.”

Her throat tightened, but she didn’t let it show.

“Then say it.”

He smiled—dark and slow and lethal.

“No.”

Then he turned and walked around her, back to his desk. Sat down like his blood wasn’t boiling. Like he wasn’t seconds from dragging her down into his lap and kissing the fight out of her.

Avery didn’t move either. She stood there for a few long beats, pulse pounding, spine straight.

“You’ll come back when you’re ready to say it,” she said quietly.

“I always do,” he replied.

She didn’t wait for permission. She walked out on her own terms—shoulders back, heels sharp, and fire in her veins.