Chapter 6 #2
The woman in the bathroom mirror looks like she's been through a war—scratches on my cheeks from branches, the ring of bruises around my neck, dark circles under my eyes.
I splash cold water on my face and run a brush through my tangled hair, not bothering with makeup.
What's the point in hiding the evidence of what I survived?
I've just pulled on one of Greyson's t-shirts and a pair of sweatpants after my shower when I hear the rumble of motorcycles approaching. Peering through the window, I see my father and Mason dismounting their bikes, removing helmets as they stride toward the house.
By the time I make it downstairs, Greyson has already let them in. He hands me a mug of coffee as I enter the kitchen, his fingers lingering on mine, a silent good morning.
"Hey, baby girl," Dad says, his eyes cataloging my injuries with barely contained rage. "How you feeling?"
"Like I got my ass kicked," I admit, sinking onto a stool at the island. "But I'm alive, so there's that."
Mason leans against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. "You look like hell."
"Thanks," I say dryly. "Just what every girl wants to hear."
"But a badass kind of hell," he amends with a smirk. "Heard you went all Lara Croft on that psycho with a crowbar."
Despite everything, I feel a small smile tugging at my lips. "I did what I had to do."
Dad pulls out the chair beside me, his expression changing as he takes my hand.
"We got an update from the police this morning.
With the evidence you provided and the attack yesterday, they're holding Keller without bail.
The DA's filing multiple charges—attempted murder, stalking, breaking and entering, assault with a deadly weapon. "
"Good," I say, relief washing through me. "What about his wife? Did they find her?"
A dark look passes between my father and brother.
"They found her," Mason says grimly. "In the trunk of another car registered to Keller. She'd been there for days."
My stomach drops. "Is she…?"
"Alive, barely," Dad confirms. "Dehydrated, beaten pretty badly. She's in the ICU, but doctors think she'll pull through."
I close my eyes, imagining that poor woman trapped in darkness, wondering if anyone would find her in time. It could have been me.
"So, it's over," I say, more to myself than anyone else. "Really over."
"It's over," Dad agrees, squeezing my hand. "Which means you can come home now."
I open my eyes to find him watching me with an expression I can't quite read.
"Home?" I repeat.
"Back to our house," he clarifies, as if I might have misunderstood. "Where you belong. Where we can keep an eye on you while you recover."
Mason nods, a hint of smugness in his smile. "Mom's already getting your old room ready. She's stress baking like crazy. Cinnamon rolls, and those chocolate chip cookies you like."
I glance at Greyson, who has gone very still, his knuckles white around his coffee mug. His face is a careful mask, but I can see the tension in his jaw, the slight narrowing of his eyes.
"That's… thoughtful," I say carefully, "but I think I'm good here for now."
Dad's expression hardens slightly. "The danger's passed, Livie. There's no need for you to stay here anymore."
"Maybe I want to," I counter, straightening in my chair despite the protest from my bruised ribs.
"Want to?" Dad's eyebrows shoot up. "You've been here, what, two days? Under duress."
"It wasn't exactly a planned vacation, no," I admit, "but circumstances change."
Mason's smirk widens as he watches the exchange, clearly enjoying the brewing conflict. "Told you she'd get attached, Dad."
"This isn't about getting attached," I snap, irritation flaring. "This is about me being an adult who can decide where she wants to stay."
"An adult who nearly got killed yesterday," Dad reminds me, his voice rising slightly. "Who's still recovering from a traumatic experience."
"Exactly why I should get to choose where I feel safe and comfortable right now."
Greyson sets his mug down with deliberate care. "Wilder," his voice is deceptively calm, "maybe we should ask Livie what she wants, instead of deciding for her."
The temperature in the room seems to drop ten degrees. Dad turns slowly to face Greyson, his expression darkening.
"No offense, Grayson, but this is a family matter."
"None taken," Greyson replies, though his tone suggests otherwise. "But considering Livie is currently staying in my home, I think I have some say in when she leaves it."
"Your home," Dad repeats, the words dripping with anger. "Where she only ended up because a psychopath was hunting her."
"A psychopath who's now in custody," Greyson points out. "Which means the immediate threat is gone, and Livie can make her own choices about where she stays."
Dad rises to his feet, the chair scraping against the floor. "And you think she should choose to stay here? With you? A man she's known for all of a couple days since coming back?"
"I've known Greyson my entire life," I interject, but neither man seems to hear me.
"I think," Greyson says, stepping closer to my father, "that Livie is more than capable of deciding what's best for herself without either of us making assumptions."
The two men face off across the kitchen, tension crackling between them. My father, older but no less intimidating in his fury; Greyson, taller and radiating a cold anger that's somehow more frightening than my dad's explosive temper.
"Guys," Mason starts, pushing off from the counter, but I cut him off.
"Enough!" I slam my palm on the island, ignoring the pain that shoots up my arm. "I'm sitting right here. Stop talking about me like I'm not in the room."
Both men turn to look at me, identical expressions of surprise on their faces.
"I appreciate that you're worried, Dad," I continue, forcing my voice to remain steady. "I love that Mom is baking for me and preparing my room. But I'm not coming home right now."
"Livie—"
"No, let me finish." I stand up, facing my father directly. "Yesterday I fought for my life. I made choices that kept me alive until help arrived. I'm not the little girl who needs her daddy to decide where she sleeps at night."
Dad's expression changes to one that I can only describe as pain-filled. "I know you're not a child, baby. But after everything that happened—"
"After everything that happened," I interrupt once more, gently, "I need space to process. I need to feel in control of something, even if it's just where I stay while these bruises heal."
"And that place is here? With him?" Dad jerks his chin toward Greyson.
I take a deep breath, knowing my next words will change everything between us. "Yes. With him."
The silence that follows is deafening. Mason's smirk has vanished, replaced by genuine surprise. Dad looks like I've slapped him.
"It's not just about convenience, Dad," I add. "It's not just because I'm already here. Greyson and I… there's something between us. Something real. Something worth exploring."
Greyson moves to stand beside me, his hand finding the small of my back in a gesture that's both supportive and possessive.
"I care about your daughter, Wilder." His voice is steady. "More than I can put into words. This isn't some fling or rebellion. This is real for me too."
Dad's gaze shifts between us, something complicated passing across his features—anger, resignation, and underneath it all, a father's fear of losing his little girl.
"How long have you known?" he asks finally.
I blink, confused. "Known what?"
"That you have feelings for him. That this was where you were heading."
The question catches me off guard. I glance up at Greyson, finding strength in the steady blue of his eyes. "I think I've always known, on some level. Since before I left for LA. But I wasn't ready then."
"And now you are?" Dad's voice is quieter now, the fight draining out of him.
"Now I am," I confirm. "Yesterday showed me what matters, Dad. Life is too short to waste time being afraid of what I feel."
Mason clears his throat, looking uncomfortable with the emotional turn of the conversation. "So, what, you're just going to live here now? With the president of the Devil Souls?"
"I don't know what I'm doing long-term," I admit. "I still have the salon job with Aunt Brittany. I still need my own space eventually. But for now, yes, I'm staying here."
Dad runs a hand over his face, a gesture I recognize from childhood—his way of processing something he doesn't want to accept. Finally, he looks at Greyson, all trace of anger replaced by something far more dangerous: paternal warning.
"If you hurt her," he says quietly, "if you push her into club life before she's ready, if you ever make her feel less than the treasure she is, there won't be a patch on your back that can protect you from me. President or not."
Greyson nods, accepting the threat with the gravity it deserves. "I'd expect nothing less."
"And you," Dad turns to me. "You call your mother. Today. Explain this to her yourself, because I'm not doing it for you."
I step forward, wrapping my arms around him in a hug that catches him by surprise. "I will. I promise."
After a moment, his arms come around me, careful of my injuries. "I just want you safe, baby girl," he murmurs into my hair.
"I know, Daddy," I whisper back. "I am safe. With him."
Dad releases me with visible reluctance, stepping back to regard Greyson with narrowed eyes. "We're not done discussing this."
"I'd be disappointed if we were," Greyson replies, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
Mason shakes his head. "Well, this is going to make family dinners interesting."
The tension now broken, Dad moves toward the door. "Come on, Mason. Your mother's waiting for a report."
"Tell her I'll call soon," I promise. "And that I'll come for dinner tomorrow night."
Dad nods, his hand on the doorknob. "I'm holding you to that." He fixes Greyson with one last warning look. "Both of you."