Chapter 21 - Kate
Iwant to scream. Shake every boulder loose from the mountain and send them crashing down to crush the bastards poisoning this city. Revenge etched into the bedrock of Shadow Lake. For Barry. For the lives ruined. For everything Grumpy Daddy and I lost.
Grumpy Daddy, or Mace, as Barry called him, parked his brooding ass on the bike behind me, arms crossed, silent as always. A storm in the shape of a man. He drove us up here to give me time to think. Calm down. Test my resilience. Maybe to say goodbye.
I need a moment to myself and stand on the mountain’s edge.
The land below folds into ridges and valleys, green cloaked in shadow, the occasional flash of silver curling through trees.
Peaceful. Free of the city’s filth and stink.
I breathe in the clean air, the fresh pine, damp loam, cracked stone, and after scent of rain.
Nature normally calms me, but I don’t breathe easier with the decision before me.
Barry’s brutal and unvarnished story aches in my sternum. He didn’t have a parent with connections to pull strings, even though I don’t carry the Huntington name or the protection of the Mercury Order. Without that, I may have ended up the same as Barry. Homeless, erased. Nothing.
My eyes sting at the scale of this. The Romans don’t just ruin lives, they bury them, and I’ll be damned if I let them keep the shovel.
The air thickens around me before I hear Grumpy Daddy move.
His arms circle me, steadying me while my thoughts cascade.
Warmth, strength, and determination. I lean back into him and let him hold me.
Let the silence stretch. We both know how to live inside it.
I rest my palm on his wrist and trace the edge of ink that snakes beneath his sleeve.
I’m tempted to reach up and tear his helmet off.
Reveal the man beneath the armor. I want to memorize the lines of his face, the way his eyes may crinkle when he smiles or blaze when he’s fierce.
Know him the way he knows me. Maybe if I see all of him, I won’t be so afraid to show all of me.
The parts I hide behind my mask. I also want all his secrets if I’m going to sacrifice life as I know it for his cause.
I spin in his grip and stare into the dark depths of his visor, searching for the man inside. The shadow and truth of him. “You’re not some moral biker with a grudge, are you, Grumpy Daddy? Who are you behind the mask?”
Rational me and Book Girlie me both want to know why I matter to him beyond blindfolds, orgasms, and heated promises, when realistically, I’m just a pawn in his bloody game.
The hitch in his shoulders shows he weighs the truth against the damage it may cause. “You were supposed to be a threat I crossed off.” His voice is graveled with restraint. “An illegitimate daughter of a Roman.”
He explains how I landed on his radar by posting hand signals in an Instagram video.
I burst into laughter at the absurdity of it. “Girl survives one monster to get flagged as a potential loose end. You’re really nailing the Romantic Suspense vibe, Daddy. So what? Were you trying to decide whether I needed a bullet or a bedtime story?”
His gloved hand covers mine, solid and unwavering. “That’s a last resort, and only if you become a threat to us.”
“Us?” I raise a brow. “I’ve been pretty lenient on letting you keep your secrets. Now it’s time to talk, Mace.”
“Us is the team I work with.” I can tell the admission grates on him like it physically hurts. “Don’t ask me for our name. It compromises our security.”
I let Grumpy Daddy have that one secret for now. But the clock’s ticking, and I expect answers, preferably whispered in my ear. If not, I’ll come armed with a kiss and a crowbar.
“We go by the name of a weapon to conceal our identity.” He’s trusting me with a piece of himself, the first sign of vulnerability from a man locked up tighter than Fort Knox.
Damn, I want to kiss him for it. Strip him for it. Hell, both.
I remain objective for the sake of this, despite the argument my vagina makes. “And what do you all do?”
“We fight for people like Barry,” he says. “Protect them. Hide them. Stories like his deserve light when the courts and cops dismiss them.”
His arms don’t loosen, as if he’s afraid I’ll run when the threat becomes real. Too late—it already has. Blackthorn sent the nightclub guy as a warning.
I huff a breath into his neck. “So, you’re a grumpy Robin Hood?”
Grumpy Daddy pinches my ass. “Something like that, only my arrows are sharper and more accurate. And I don’t do tights.”
“What did they do to you to run you underground?” I want to know his story and what prompted him to become a shadow.
He shoves his hands into his pockets. “Stonewalled me at every turn when I looked where I shouldn’t.” His voice hardens into stone.
“Who did you look into?” My search for answers is getting warmer.
His helmet slides to the left, indicating he’s reluctant to give details. This is hard for him. Cracking open your past is tapping into a well of pain. I give him time and rub his bicep through the leather.
He finally peels back another layer. “I used to dig into other people’s messes. Lies. Manipulations. Fraud. Infidelity. Disputes. People came to me when official channels went dead.”
I dig further for the truth. “Did you work for the law or government?”
“Private investigator.” Grumpy Daddy shuts that line down fast. “When I saw you in trouble… old instincts don’t die easy.”
“When you pull at certain threads, the truth turns ugly.” We have that in common. I unearthed information about Blackthorn that put me on his radar.
“I got too close to the rot and where the handshakes turn bloody, and that’s when they came for me and my family.” He exhales slowly, like pain snags in his chest.
Rational me wells with pity. Book Girlie me wants to stab the people who hurt him.
“I’m sorry for everything you lost. That’s why you went underground?”
“Yes,” he replies.
“You don’t have to keep that thing on here.” I trace the smooth lines of his helmet. “No one’s chasing us up here.”
He finally faces me. “The people I went up against don’t forget a face, and I can’t let anyone close to the crossfire.”
My chest stings that he still doesn’t trust me. I try something on a personal level. “You know what I look like.”
“My father taught me that trust is earned.” He grinds his jaw. “I learned the hard way that it comes with a knife in the back. Loyalty is traded like a commodity.”
“A cynical perspective.”
“I call it realistic.” His voice drops like a stone in water.
I swallow around it, unsure what to say to grief that’s chained in darkness.
“The man my father raised is gone.” Each word ricochets like a bullet on rock. “The Romans turned me into someone who watches from rooftops, lives in shadows, my name erased, my new purpose to be the ghost they can’t kill.”
I look at him. Really look at him. The helmet. The armor. His wounds stitched into silence. Trauma changes you into something you don’t recognize but are forced to accept as the new normal.
My breath stills. He’s not just hiding from them, he’s protecting all of us. “How do you live like that?”
“I don’t.” His palm makes another pass of my arm. “I survive. And I’ve forgotten what softness and vulnerability feel like.”
I link our fingers together. “You’re in luck, Grumpy Daddy. I’ve got enough softness and vulnerability for both of us. I’ll loan you some, interest-free.”
He doesn’t take the bait, remaining stoic, hell-bent on vengeance. “Abuse of power changes a person. How did the Romans change you, Glitter Bomb?”
Years of pain, shame, and guilt rise in my throat. I swallow it down.
“It turned me into someone who doesn’t sleep without triple-checking the locks.” My voice cracks, and I swallow the rising lump.
I grip the hem of my sundress and tug it lower, covering skin I deliberately chose to show. My other hand pulls the bust tight to hide that too.
“I dress this way to be noticed.” My voice is thin and brittle. “To control the room before anyone else can. I used to be the girl in the corner. Black dress, mousy blonde hair, nude makeup. Invisible and forgettable. Easy to overlook.” I bury my face in his chest. “Easy to corner and hurt.”
Grumpy Daddy’s hand passes up and down my back. He lets me tell my story without interruption or judgment.
“Now I’m loud. Bright. Bold. Armed.” I claw his jacket in my fists. “A threat painted in glitter. Now people don’t underestimate me.”
Shame heats my skin. I want to feel powerful when all I feel is fake. Fake color, hair, sharp humor. Nothing but armor and weapons. Everything constructed to keep predators at bay, so I never disappear again.
His finger tilts my chin gently. “You don’t have to pretend to be someone else, Cinderella.” I love the intimate drop of his voice and the soft clasp of my nape. “You don’t need the ball gown or the flashy shoes to earn your place. You’ve already got the crown.”
Damn. I ache when he calls me that. It hits somewhere no one has ever touched, not even my best friends.
“Are you offering to be my dark prince?” I need a moment of levity amid the darkness facing me.
His low chuckle vibrates through my body. “That depends. Do I need to be a red or orange flag for that?”
I stroke his visor, wishing to be rid of the last barrier between us. “Orange is just red waiting to be loved.”
He runs a hand down the side of my face. “I wish I viewed everything as a fairytale or a romance novel. To see the world with hope when I’ve seen one too many heroes not make it out alive.”
A dark outlook. “Maybe it’s time to see that you’re the reason victims keep going. The hero who gets saved, kiss by kiss.”
I press a kiss to the side of his visor, a promise of sugar and spice. Not just for him, but every buried voice waiting to be heard. He doesn’t acknowledge that, as if he doesn’t deserve saving.