Chapter 6 Lucy
LUCY
“Let’s go, Lucy,” my mother says, her tone filled with distaste and snobbery.
She never could understand what I saw in Grudge. But it was everything I just witnessed. He had a rare power, deep masculinity, and a brave recklessness.
It was exciting. Heady. It never scared me. Because he wrapped me in a kind of safety I never found anywhere else. He was exactly who he was—no pretense. And because of that, I could be utterly who I wanted to be around him too.
So, it’s no surprise to realize how wet I am.
Somewhere between watching all the videos of the two of us while I was in the bathtub and seeing the man himself ride down Main Street like an avenging angel to throw the men out of the bar my mother informed me is owned by Ember Deeks, I’ve become ridiculously turned on.
And despite his snarl, I know all he would have to do is press two fingers over my clit and circle hard, and I’d come.
The admission is embarrassing.
Which is a breakneck speed of change in mood from the boring dinner I just had. The most exciting thing that happened was that the restaurant forgot to put my mom’s dressing on the side.
Douglas and Helena were mundane company. Conversations were anchored around the next election and the impact of trade wars, peppered with updates about random individuals I neither know nor care about.
I embrace the shift in pace between the stuffy and proper interior of the restaurant and the crisp and wild night air. My chest expands as I take a deep breath.
“Go to the car, Mom.” I fish the keys out of my purse and hand them to her before gesturing down the street to the lot where I parked.
“I’d rather not go off on my own late at night.” Her eyes flit to where Grudge is standing, hands on his hips, looking at us with fury. “Dangerous men roam the street.”
“Oh, get the fuck over yourself, Vanessa,” Grudge says. “None of my men will lay a finger on you, although, keep looking at me like shit, and I’ll be tempted to kill you myself.”
I bite down the smirk. The day Grudge first came to my parents’ home as my boyfriend, he was so nervous that his hands were clammy. He wanted to make a good impression on them, even though I told him it would be impossible.
Even though I had told him all the different ways my father had tried to convince me to put an end to our association.
He bought some new jeans, polished his boots, and wore a black shirt from his father’s closet that fit him to perfection. When he knocked at the door, he was holding two bunches of grocery store flowers. One for me, one for my mom.
His eyes had traced the outline of my body in my dress, and then, he noticed the circular table in the middle of the entrance hall with a large, oversized vase stuffed full of intensely perfumed flowers.
“They’re beautiful,” I say, taking the bunch he offered me.
I press my nose into them. Their scent is less overpowering.
“They cost five dollars,” Zach says hopelessly. “Take ‘em and hide them, Luce. Throw them out, if you have to.”
“No. Because I won’t ever be embarrassed by anything you ever give me.”
He points to the floral display. “You should be, given you’ve got a whole florist sitting on a table in an entry hall bigger than my whole apartment.”
My parents looked down at him with the kind of contempt they save for unhoused people.
My mom, who has never worked a day in her life, seems to think that there are thousands of jobs available.
And she’s one of the few who still believe that “pulling yourself up by the bootstraps” is more about noble workers going from rags to riches than being steeped in racist and privileged ideology.
“Come with me, Lucy.” The urgency in Mom’s voice brings me back to the present.
“I’ll be right there. I just need a minute.”
My mother looks between the two of us, then walks down Main Street in a cloud of expensive perfume and judgment.
The moment she’s gone, the silence thickens between us.
“You want to tell me why that Rebel was all up in your space?” Grudge says.
“You were never the jealous type,” I blurt. Blurting is unusual for me. As a lawyer, I’m quick to filter through words to come up with the right ones. It can make the difference in the verdict going your way or not.
But with this man, all bets are off.
“You think this is jealousy?” he spits. “It’s a fucking warning, Luce. One of those bastards walked into Wraith’s home and murdered his wife and kid. You think they’ll blink coming after you?”
The words have teeth, biting into me. But I can’t relent. I can’t crumble at the reality of what he says. At the fear they bring.
After all, how did they know I was the lawyer’s daughter, without my father, the lawyer, even being here?
Could they be who my father has been involved with? And if so, why?
Instead of giving in to the wave of panic, I cross my arms. “Pretty certain the same could be said of you too. You and I both know you didn’t get that president’s patch for running a weekend bake sale.”
Grudge steps right up into my space, and I’m forced to lift my head to meet his eyes. “You want to talk about earning shit?” He slaps the patch on his chest, his voice low and lethal. “I earned it. Same way I earned that prison sentence. By doing the right fucking thing.”
The air between us snaps tight.
“I went to prison for you, Luce. And you didn’t visit like you promised. You didn’t write every day like you said you would. In fact, you didn’t even wait until the ink was dry on my sentence before signing the divorce papers.”
That hits.
Because it’s true.
My stomach flips, and the cheesecake I ate sits like lead in my stomach.
But I saw those pictures in court. The evidence presented that showed the extent of my attacker’s injuries. I bore witness to just how violent Grudge could become because of me, and for the first time ever, I wished for a different life and outcome for both of us.
Even if my father hadn’t made me the offer he had, I would still have had concerns.
And yet, it’s an unfair world where the man who assaulted me got away scot free and yet, the man who defended me did hard time on my behalf.
Plus, there has always been a whisper of reputational damage that has followed me around for even accusing the man who assaulted me, rather than on him for thinking my pretty minidress that sparkled was an invitation to shove his hand beneath its hem.
History binds us, and my heart wants to believe that Grudge has always done the right thing. That the boy I once knew is somewhere buried in the man standing in front of me.
My throat tightens, but I can’t let him see he’s getting to me. “Don’t rewrite history. You put him in the hospital. Nearly killed him.”
“Should have killed the fucker, but I didn’t. And you obviously picked a side to believe.” The muscle in his jaw twitches. “A man shouldn’t go to prison for protecting what’s his.”
I flinch, because the way he looks at me…it’s as if I still am.
His nose wrinkles in disgust at the silk blouse I’m sweating through and the heels that pinch. It’s as if he can see right through the reputation I’ve carefully polished for a decade, and in that moment, I hate him for knowing just how much of it is armor.
“You were a coward, Luce. You fucking bailed.”
“You think you know me?” I snap.
His eyes drag down my body, slow and scorching. “No. But I remember who you were. And I see flashes of her still, no matter how hard you try to bury her beneath your fancy law degree and six-figure salary.”
I hate the way his words land.
Worse, I hate that everything he’s saying is true.
“Fuck off, Grudge,” I say childishly. But I notice some of his brothers standing outside Whiskey Fever, looking in our direction.
“Oh, she’s angry.” He takes a step back, hands up in mock surrender, like I might bite, but I don’t scare him in the least.
I need to get my head back on straight before I do something soul-destroying…like close the gap between us and taste that mouth again, just to spite myself.
“You think this is a game?” I ask. “Riding in on your bike, picking fights, and starting gang wars? You don’t get to play alpha and expect me to heel.”
His smile is slow to flourish, and mean. “Good. I never liked it when you heeled.”
“That’s not true,” I say, falling off my own script.
It knocks Grudge off his too. His smile slips. We both remember.
Taunting is not usually my style.
Never was. I never poked this man without reason. You hear about these girls who brat in relationships with dominant men, but I never had to. I could just be who I was, and he loved me for it.
Our disagreements were limited, and I won as many as I lost.
I want to slap him for making me remember. Instead, I inhale sharply and lift my chin. “Are you done growling at me for the night?”
“Depends. Are you done talking?”
“You’re disgusting.”
“And you’re turned on. Could always tell when you were.”
I snort. “Wow. Prison really polished your manners.” A piece of me dies inside. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for and not who I am.”
His smile fades. “Prison taught me a lot of things, Luce. Taught me what was important when everything you own is stripped back to basics. Taught me how to look out for myself. Taught me how fast people disappear when you’re not useful anymore. Taught me who to bleed for. What to fight for.”
I swallow hard and notice he doesn’t say anything about who to love.
But the implication is there. And it burns.
A country song about second chances drifts across the street from Whiskey Fever.
“Yo. Grudge. We should go,” Smoke shouts. I remember him, from when we were all younger. I wonder if the road name I can see on his cut means he became the smoke jumper he wanted to be.
Grudge looks over at him and raises a hand. “Be ready to go in a minute.”
Sixty seconds.
I can last sixty seconds in front of him. Even as my pulse races.
“I don’t want a medal for going to prison for you, for protecting you. But it would be a start if you stopped pretending that you didn’t want me to make sure he never touched you again,” Grudge says.
“That’s not true. I didn’t want—”
“Just stop, Luce.”
“You need something from me?” I ask. My voice is far from steady. After rewatching the videos of the way he used to adore and treasure me, it’s hard to be confronted with the cold and callousness of his tone. “Do you need clarity? Closure? The last word?”
His gaze drops to my lips as I speak, and I swear I can see the hunger in his eyes. “I want you to be smart. Stay away from the Rebels. You’re not bulletproof.”
“I don’t have any plans to associate with them. But…I also don’t need you looking out for me.”
He scoffs at that. “I’m not looking out for you, Luce. I just don’t want you creating another mess in this fucking town that I have to clean up.”
With that, he spins on the heel of his boot and walks back to the men.
And I’m left standing on the sidewalk, long after the sound of their motorcycles has disappeared.