Chapter Seven - Glass Houses & Loaded Guns
1400 Words
Avery hadn’t unpacked.
She didn’t plan to stay long enough to need to.
The motel room smelled like stale air and bad decisions. Thin curtains, buzzing light above the bed, and a chipped nightstand that listed hard to one side. It was a step up from danger and a step down from comfort, and that felt about right for where she was now.
She was mid-scroll through the notes she’d made on her phone—cross-referencing the name “Riker” with anything in the public records—when a knock came at the door.
Three short raps.
Sharp. Deliberate.
Her heart stilled.
She checked the peephole.
Colt.
She unlocked it slowly and opened the door.
He stood there in the golden haze of the parking lot, shoulders broad, boots scuffed, jaw tight. And his hands—his knuckles—were raw. Bruised. Red like he'd broken something that hit back.
Or didn’t get the chance.
Avery didn’t invite him in.
She just stared at him. “What?”
“I came to give you what you wanted,” he said. “The truth.”
She stepped back slowly and let him in, keeping her distance like he might leave blood on the carpet.
He moved to the window but didn’t sit. Just stood there, hands at his sides, tension rolling off him like heat.
“I confronted Riker,” Colt said. “He was Bear’s guy. Planted in the club under the radar to keep tabs on Danny. My dad thought your father was getting soft. Thought he might flip or talk.”
Avery swallowed, her throat dry.
“And?”
“And Riker made sure Danny couldn’t.”
There was no emotion in Colt’s voice. No theatrics. Just fact.
Avery crossed her arms. “You got this out of him?”
Colt nodded once. “He didn’t have a choice.”
Her eyes flicked down to his hands.
“You beat it out of him.”
He didn’t deny it.
“You make sure Bear answered for it too?”
Colt met her gaze, calm and steady. “He stood before the table. I laid it all out. What he did. Who he manipulated. What it cost. And I made damn sure every man in that room saw who they answer to now.”
She nodded slowly, but her voice was sharp. “And what about your hands, Colt? What did they cost?”
He stepped forward, jaw tightening.
“Less than your silence would’ve.”
That one hit deep.
But Avery wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of flinching.
“You came all this way just to confess?” she asked.
Colt laughed, but it wasn’t amused. It was bitter. Dry. Tired.
“No. I came to tell you to pack your s**t and go back to your city. Go back to your glass office and your perfect cases and your moral compass.”
Her spine straightened. “Excuse me?”
“You were right,” he snapped. “You were right about me. I stayed in the safe place. In the shadow. I let Bear run the show from behind the curtain because it was easier than pulling the damn thing down myself.”
His voice dropped.
“But that’s over.”
Avery watched him closely. “And what now? You think this makes you a hero?”
“No,” he said. “I’m not the good guy in your story, Avery. I never was. I run a violent club. I lead men who break bones for money and burn lies to survive. And now I lead it without mercy.”
He took one step closer.
“Not for Riker. Not for Bear.”
His voice darkened.
“Not even for you.”
Her chest rose with a silent breath. Not fear. Not anger. Something worse.
Disappointment.
Pain.
Maybe even heartbreak.
“I didn’t ask you to show me mercy,” she said quietly.
“No,” he replied. “But you expected me to be something I’m not.”
“I expected you to grow up.”
“I did,” he said. “I just didn’t grow into someone you’d approve of.”
Silence stretched between them.
Heavy. Final.
And for the first time, Avery realized she wasn’t just looking at the boy who used to watch her from across the school library.
She was looking at the man her father warned her never to become.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Avery stood still for a long time, listening for his footsteps—half-hoping he might turn back, say something else, give her something other than that cold, iron declaration that he didn’t even have mercy left for her.
But all she heard was silence.
And then the low rumble of his motorcycle pulling away into the dusk.
He was gone.
And this time… he wasn’t coming back.
She turned slowly, eyes scanning the empty motel room like it might help her hold it together. The same cracked mirror, the same buzzing light above the bed, the same dull ache behind her ribs.
She sat down on the edge of the mattress, heart pounding like it was trying to outrun the truth.
But it caught her anyway.
Colt was no longer the boy who used to ride too fast just to make her smile. He wasn’t the quiet protector who watched her from a distance, or the kid who once looked at her like she was the only person in the world worth something clean.
He was gone.
Not dead.
Just… lost.
To the club.
To his father’s legacy.
To blood and steel and the weight of the throne he now ruled with clenched fists.
And for the first time in years—since she left this town behind, since she promised herself she’d never look back—Avery Rourke let herself feel it.
Really feel it.
She curled into herself on the edge of the bed, shoulders shaking, breath catching. The tears came fast, hot, violent. Not quiet. Not graceful. Just raw.
This wasn’t about losing him.
It was about loving him.
Still.
Stupidly.
Hopelessly.
And realizing he would never be hers. Not now. Maybe not ever.
She cried for the boy who used to make her believe there might be something good buried beneath all that leather and smoke. She cried for the girl who thought she could escape this town without leaving pieces of herself behind. She cried for her father, for what he died trying to protect her from.
By sunrise, Avery was packed.
There was no reason to stay.
Her father’s killer had a name. That name had been handled. The truth she came looking for—bitter and brutal—was in her back pocket, literal and metaphorical. Justice, if she could even call it that, had already been dealt.
And Colt? He’d made his position painfully clear.
He was no longer on the edge of that world. He was its center now.
She zipped her duffel slowly, fingers lingering on the worn leather handle. For a split second, she thought about leaving something behind. A note. A message.
But there was nothing left to say.
Everything that could’ve been between them had been buried under fists, blood, and years they couldn’t take back.
She checked out without fanfare.
The drive through Blackridge was quiet. Morning haze clung to the trees. The town moved like it always had—slow, stubborn, unchanged. She passed the old rec center, the diner that still had her name etched into the window from some charity event a lifetime ago, and finally the road that led out of town.
She didn’t look back.
She didn’t need to.
There was nothing left for her here.
Her father was gone. The truth was buried. And Colt Mercer had made his choice.
Now, she was making hers.
She had a life to return to. A courtroom to step into. Clients who needed her strength, not her pain.
But as the open road stretched in front of her and the weight of Blackridge slowly peeled off her skin, she felt something she didn’t expect.
Relief.
Not because she didn’t love him.
But because she finally stopped trying to save someone who didn’t want saving.
The past was behind her now.
And for the first time in years… Avery Rourke let it stay there.
- Writer
