Crimson Steel

Chapter Eight - The Cost of Fire

Three Years Later

The bullet missed her by two inches.

Two inches between living and dying in the narrow alley behind her upscale downtown condo. Avery Rourke hadn’t screamed. She hadn’t even frozen. She’d just moved—pure instinct, courtroom heels slipping on concrete, breath locked in her throat.

She lived.

But barely.

And the man who pulled the trigger?

She knew his face.

He didn’t want her purse. He didn’t want her car.

He wanted her gone.

The police had theories. The media had headlines. Her security team had excuses.

But Avery knew exactly what this was:

Retaliation.

One of her clients. Or one of their enemies. She’d danced too close to the line—defending the wrong man, digging too deep. It didn’t matter.

What mattered now was that she wasn’t safe.

And she knew exactly where the safest place in the world was… even if it meant crawling back through hell.

The ride to Blackridge was silent.

She ditched her license plates. Burned her phone. Wore jeans instead of tailored slacks, boots instead of stilettos. It was like peeling off a second skin. A painful one.

The club gates loomed in the dark like the mouth of something ancient and hungry. She hadn't seen them in years, but they hadn’t changed. She parked outside the chain-link fence and got out. No one approached. But she could feel it—the shift in the air.

They were watching her.

And then the front door of the clubhouse opened.

He stepped out.

Colt Mercer.

Larger than life. Leather cut across his shoulders. A cigarette dangling from his fingers. The night curled around him like it knew who owned it.

He didn’t smile. He didn’t speak.

He just looked at her—cold, unreadable—and waited.

Avery walked up the gravel path, every step scraping pride from her bones.

She stopped in front of him, chin high.

“I need help.”

Colt exhaled slow, smoke drifting out of his nose. His voice, when it came, was low. Flat.

“And there it is.”

A flicker of something in his eyes—amusement, maybe. Or just the satisfaction of being right.

“My father always said they come crawling back,” he added. “Didn’t think you’d be one of them. But here you are.”

She didn’t rise to the bait. “I don’t have time for your ego, Colt. Someone tried to kill me.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

That made her blink.

He stepped closer, and she felt it—the quiet power he carried now. No anger. No chaos. Just authority. Controlled. Lethal.

“You made your choice, Rourke,” he said. “You chose courtrooms and microphones over this life. Over me. And now look at you.”

His eyes dragged over her like a judgment. “No driver. No security. Wearing my kind of boots. Asking for protection from the people you called criminals.”

“I didn’t come here for a lecture.”

“No,” he said. “You came here because you’ve got no one left.”

The words hit like a slap—but they were true.

And Colt? He didn’t gloat.

He simply stepped back, letting the door swing open behind him.

“You want protection?” he said. “You get it. But you do it my way.”

“What does that mean?”

His voice dropped. “It means you follow orders. You sleep under my roof. You keep that mouth shut unless I ask for it. And while you’re here—you’re mine.”

Avery’s jaw locked. She wanted to fight. She wanted to scream.

But the truth was already in her eyes.

She wasn’t walking away from this.

Not without him.

And he knew it.

The clubhouse smelled the same.

Leather. Oil. Sweat. Beer.

The scent of violence and loyalty and everything Avery had sworn to forget.

But everything else?

It had changed.

The last time she stood on this floor, she was mourning her father and biting her tongue. She had been treated like a threat—an outsider who didn’t belong.

Now?

Now every head turned the moment she stepped inside.

But they didn’t stare at her with suspicion.

They stared because she was with him.

Colt Mercer walked in behind her, slow and calm, not saying a word—but the room shifted around him like gravity had changed. No yelling. No posturing. Just subtle movement.

Men made room. Conversations stopped.

All it took was his presence.

Avery could feel it—how the club moved around him like soldiers who didn’t need orders to fall in line. Colt didn’t demand respect.

He commanded it.

And he didn’t even look at them.

He just placed a hand low on her back—barely there, just enough to remind her that, in this space, she was under his roof now.

Avery kept her chin high as they walked through the main room. She tried not to flinch when someone muttered under their breath—something about a city girl in biker boots. She didn’t even glance at the two women in the corner booth who were practically undressing Colt with their eyes.

But she noticed.

They all looked at him like he was a king. Like he wasn’t just the president of the club, but something more.

Dangerous.

Untouchable.

Desired.

And God help her, she noticed too.

He always had been handsome—messy hair, cut jaw, eyes that burned when he looked at you like you were the only thing worth touching. But now?

Now he was lethal.

Still leather, still smoke, still whiskey in a lowball glass—but all refined. Sharpened.

A man who no longer had to prove he was dangerous, because everyone already knew.

He moved like the throne wasn’t on his back—it was part of him.

And yeah.

She’d admit it—in her head.

He looked f*****g sexy.

But she’d never give him that.

He already took too much. Her time, her safety, her options. He was drawing lines around her life again—setting rules, boundaries, terms.

She had to keep something for herself.

Even if it was just this one secret.

That deep down, her body still wanted him.

Still ached for him.

She hated it.

But she hated herself more for how right it felt to stand beside him.

Colt led her down the hall, past the bar, past the turned heads, to the same staircase that led to the upper rooms. She remembered it. Vividly. The walls. The noise below.

And his room.

He opened the door for her, motioning her inside.

She didn’t speak.

She stepped in, heart beating hard in her chest.

Colt followed, closing the door behind them with a soft click.

And just like that, they were alone.

In his world.

On his terms.

And she didn’t know what scared her more—

The danger waiting outside…

Or the fire still burning between them.

The door shut behind them with a finality that echoed louder than it should have.

Avery stood in the middle of Colt’s room—wood floors, clean but stark, a bed that looked untouched and a chair in the corner worn smooth from long nights. No personal touches. No softness.

Just like him.

He didn’t offer her a drink. He didn’t ask how she was feeling.

He leaned back against the door, arms crossed, and looked at her like a problem he already knew the answer to.

“You know what this is,” he said. Voice low. Controlled. Final.

“I came for protection,” she said, standing her ground.

“No,” Colt replied. “You came because you couldn’t protect yourself. Big difference.”

She clenched her jaw.

He stepped forward—slow, unhurried, like a man who didn’t need to yell to make you feel cornered. His gaze raked her from head to toe, unreadable.

“You want my help?” he said. “Then we do this my way.”

Avery didn’t speak.

He continued, each word precise.

“You stay in my house. You sleep in my bed. You don’t go anywhere without me or someone I trust. And while you’re here?” His voice dipped. “You’re mine.”

Her stomach dropped.

“You can’t just—”

“I can,” he said, interrupting. “And I will.”

A beat.

“If you don’t like it, the door’s right there. Go ahead, walk back out on those designer heels and tell the world you’ve got it handled. Keep pretending like you always have—that you don’t need anyone. That you’re just fine on your own.”

He stepped in even closer. “Let’s see how long you last.”

The heat of his presence burned through her. She couldn’t meet his eyes, but she didn’t back down either.

“You’re not giving me a choice.”

“No,” Colt said, jaw tight. “I’m giving you a reality. You walked away from this life. From me. Now you’re back. That means you don’t get to decide what this looks like.”

Her throat tightened. “So that’s it? I’m just… your possession now?”

His eyes didn’t flinch.

“You’re what’s mine,” he said. “And that means no one touches you. No one gets near you. You don’t make a move unless I say it’s safe. And the second you stop listening? I stop protecting.”

Avery’s breath caught.

Because she knew what he meant.

And because she knew… she didn’t have another option.

She could hate him.

She could hate what this meant.

But she wouldn’t survive without him.

And they both knew it.

So she nodded. Once.

Tight. Hollow.

“I agree,” she said, her voice just barely above a whisper. “But don’t think I’ll ever be okay with this.”

He didn’t blink. “I don’t need you to be okay with it.”

He turned away, heading toward the bathroom, pausing just before the door.

“I just need you alive.”

Then he disappeared inside, leaving Avery standing in the middle of the room—heart hammering, pride shattered, and future suddenly rewritten.

She was his now.

And for the first time in her life…

She didn’t know who she was anymore.

She stood there, still breathing heavy, still processing the hard lines Colt had drawn around her freedom.

And then she felt it.

Him.

Moving toward her. Slow. Intentional.

Avery turned, but it was too late—he was already in front of her, already in her space. His hand caught her chin, fingers rough, grip sure.

She froze.

But he didn’t.

He leaned down, and his mouth crashed against hers.

It wasn’t gentle.

It wasn’t a question.

It was a claim.

His lips were fire—demanding, punishing, possessive. One hand moved to her hip, pulling her closer like he didn’t care if she protested, like he needed her to feel it. The kiss didn’t ask for permission—it made a statement.

You’re mine.

Avery didn’t kiss back.

But she didn’t pull away either.

She couldn’t.

Her thoughts spun out—rage, confusion, want. Her fists clenched at her sides, useless. His kiss tasted like smoke and sin, and the worst part? Some dark, forgotten part of her wanted it.

When he pulled back, her lips were swollen, her breath ragged.

He didn’t look sorry.

“Get used to it,” Colt said, voice gravel low. “That’s how it’s gonna be now.”

She stared up at him, stunned. “I don’t know how to do this, Colt. I didn’t grow up in this world like you did.”

His gaze didn’t waver.

“Then figure it out,” he said. “You’re a smart girl.”

And with that, he walked past her again—no hesitation, no pause—leaving her standing there in the middle of his room, heart pounding, body burning, and soul already halfway torn between running and staying exactly where she was.