16. Colt
Chapter 16
Colt
L yric’s body is radiating fury next to me and for some reason it makes me want to smile. I knew my words would shock her, but I didn’t expect the silence while she sits angrily. For some reason, I prefer that to her brushing it off or flat-out refusing me. She even got jealous about the Ari situation, even though she denied it. I know her, and I know her question wasn’t out of concern. Her feelings are there and they’re strong if it’s any indication from the flush on her cheeks and neck, the way her hands are coiled in her lap, even while she refuses to give me any attention. I can work with anger over indifference, so I let her be the entire thirty minutes it takes to get to her house.
When we pull into the quiet neighborhood, Lyric sits up straighter, her eyes roaming over every house, car, and neighbor out walking their dog. A few people stop and glance at my truck, probably noticing Lyric in a vehicle that hasn’t been seen before.
“Great,” she mutters under her breath and I hear her sigh.
“At least your neighbors are nosey. It means they can tell when something isn’t right or out of place. That was helpful to the officers who responded to your house that night,” I tell her and watch as tension slowly eases out of her shoulders.
“How are we going to play this if anyone asks questions,” she asks.
My brow quirks up and a smile pulls at my lips. “The truth, baby. We’re old friends and I’m here to help you pack up until your house is fixed.”
“Don’t call me that, Colt.” Lyric rolls her eyes and I fight the urge to grin even bigger.
Lyric’s house looks normal when we pull into her drive, except for yellow tape on the front door and a written notice to stay off the property for the investigation. Her mouth tilts down and she looks like she could cry. I reach for her hand and take it in mine.
“It's going to be okay.”
Her glassy eyes meet mine and she nods her head. “I just thought I was safe here, you know? Why won’t he leave me alone?”
My hand squeezes hers and I pull her forward into my chest for the second time today. This time she sinks into my hold and takes a few shuddering breaths. While she’s somewhat distracted, I take the keys from her hand and unlock her front door. By the time she steps back and has regained what she can of her composure, I let the door swing open.
“Let me go first. I’ll scope it out,” I tell her, keeping her hand in mine while I lead her in behind me.
The kitchen has been somewhat cleaned up and major glass from the coffee table has been swept up in the living room. Her white wall is blotched in red where the angry message had been left. Light pours in from the sliding door and the windows where the coverings are open.
“Your room is upstairs?” I turn and glance at her over my shoulder.
Lyric’s face is pale and she nods her head, her teeth biting into her bottom lip. “Yeah. This feels so weird being back. I know I’m safe, but at the same time I feel like I’m right back there again, running up the stairs to hide from him. You know when the hairs on the back of your neck stand up…”
Keeping my eyes on everything around us, I pull her closer to me as we walk up the stairs. “I know the feeling. It's good to have awareness, although it's mostly just your brain reacting to the fight or flight sensors going off, while the other part is trying to release cortisol to battle that response and reassure you that you are okay.”
“You do remember I have a degree in psychology, right?” she snips back, and I can’t help the rumble of laughter at her response.
“Well then, come on, Doc, you should know what is causing that physical reaction,” I tease.
“Yup, you’re still a pain in the ass.”
We reach her bedroom door and I open it for her, scanning the room before I let her in. Lyric takes a hesitant step forward. Her eyes dart all over the place while she takes in a deep breath then moves farther inside. I follow behind her, standing between her and the door while she grabs a turquoise-colored suitcase from her closet and opens it on the bed. She starts putting clothes inside, and I take the opportunity to look around the room, and really take in who Lyric is now.
Back in high school, she had an entire corkboard dedicated to pictures of us and our friend group. Wolverine pendants and beaded necklaces with our school colors also adorned it. Her room used to be a cross between the teenage girl she was and the adult she was becoming. This room is completely different. There are no frills or lace. No pile of old porcelain dolls in the corner on shelves. Lyric’s room is light, in grays and purples. Sophisticated art pieces hang on the walls and candles are on every surface.
With a bundle of bright colors in her hands, she quickly shoves a pile in her bag, her cheeks bright red again while she avoids eye contact. My eyes land on the pieces of material and quickly realize it's her panties and bras. Clearing my throat, I quickly turn my back to the bed and glance at the far wall. And that's when I see them. Pictures of her and who I am now assuming is Jordan. Images of just the two of them when he was healthy and some when he looks like he’s lost weight and is lying on a couch. There are pictures of them with a group of who must be her other friends from college.
I’m thankful for Jordan and that he was able to help Lyric heal, and for what he did for her and Stella to help get them away from Lukas Deveroix. I’m also jealous of the man who got to spend that time with Lyric, to see her every day, to hold her. It's not fair to him or Lyric. It was my fault. I was stupid enough to let her go. While I’m happy she’s flourished into the beautiful woman she is, I can't help the searing pain in my gut knowing she loved him, that he had her. There’s no doubt in my mind that if he could have, if his life wasn’t cut short, he would have kept her. My jaw clenches and my determination becomes even stronger. I won’t let her go this time. I’m taking back what has always been mine.
“Colt!” Lyric says my name louder and I turn back to her. Her eyes are wide and she’s watching me. She must have been calling my name a few times.
“Sorry. My mind wandered off.”
“Uh huh,” she replies while closing up her suitcase. “I think I have everything I need for now.”
I nod and reach forward to take the bag from her. “Did you still want to stop by your office? Is there anything here for work you need?”
“No, I kept my most important things at the office. If we do have time, I’d like to stop.”
“We have plenty of time,” I reply, glancing once again at my watch. “Let's get moving.”
Lyric is quiet while she follows me back down stairs and we lock up her house. The neighbors are less speculatory as they watch us leave from the safety of their front windows while holding their cell phones.
Lyric chuckles. “Who knew my neighbors were such busybodies.”
We laugh as we head back into the little town she works in. I notice right away it's more similar to our hometown than where I live now in Braham. My eyes take in the row of businesses on the main street and the few churches that are sprinkled in between, with a few bars as well. We park in front of a light-blue building with a sign that states Blue Bird Behavioral Counseling. Underneath the sign in gold letters reads L. Taylor, LPCC, PhD. Heat flares in my chest. Lyric is accomplished and has built a reputation for herself. I’m proud of her and what she has done.
Whistling under my breath, I point at the sign. “You just about covered the whole alphabet.”
She shoves me slightly with her arm before getting out of the car. “Shut it, Street.”
The familiarity of her calling me by my last name makes my chest squeeze. I’m smiling ridiculously while I follow her to the front door and wait while she unlocks it. The first thing I notice is the constant humming noise that's coming from farther inside the building. Lyric runs through the entryway and unlocks another set of doors. Once she yanks it open, the noise is louder, more of a buzzing sound can be heard.
“Colt!” she yells, but I’m already right behind her, my arm sliding around her waist protectively while she stands right where there should be a security alarm. Only there's a hole in the wall and the alarm is smashed on the ground.
“Stay here. Call Prez and tell him we need Jester’s guys here.” I hand her my phone from my pocket, before stepping farther inside the building and drawing my weapon from behind my back. Moving around the building I check each room and then Lyric’s office. There’s no sign of anyone being here anymore, but the place is destroyed. Her file cabinets are ripped open and tipped over, her computer is smashed and has a gaping hole in the monitor screen. The front desk area looks much the same with papers everywhere and drawers wide open. The furniture is ripped, the tears resembling the same damage from her house. In her office, I quickly grab the only picture frame that wasn’t destroyed. Inside is a picture of Jordan, Lyric and Stella.
“Cops are here,” Lyric says when I get back out to her. I hand her the picture frame and she holds it to her chest, while tears fall down her cheeks. “He destroyed all my safe places.”
I turn her to me, and wrap my arms around her body, holding her tight. “No, he didn’t. You’re safe with me. I won’t let anything happen to you. This, your house, it can all be fixed, Lyric. You are more important.”
Her head nuzzles into my chest and her body shakes with her tears and grief. I simply just hold her, rocking us gently, while we answer questions for the police. Once again, the doors are being taped off when we finally get to leave. I help Lyric back into the truck before sliding into my own seat and driving away from the building and flashing lights. She’s silent on our drive back, but her tears have stopped. She doesn’t even resist when I take her hand in mine and hold it the whole way home. Just the radio plays while we sit, each of us in our own thoughts. Losing the comfort of her home and her business in a few short days has been a lot for her. My need for revenge, to hurt the man who likes to hurt women, is practically tearing apart my insides. I want to hunt him down, terrify him, make him experience the same pain of feeling alone and hurt.
When we pull onto the dirt road a few miles from the clubhouse, Lyric finally glances at me. I keep driving until we reach the lone driveway that leads to my house, currently hidden by full, green trees.
“Where are we?”
I glance at her, watching her face carefully. “This is my place.”
Her brow rises. “I thought we were going to talk about it more?”
“There isn’t anything to talk about Lyric. You saw what he did to your house, your work. I can protect you better here. I lived at the clubhouse when I was a prospect and when I first patched in.” I shrug. “Club life is busy and sometimes I just want my own place with space and privacy. I bought this home last year. It's nothing fancy and honestly it could use some work. Maybe now that we'll be here for a while, I can actually do some of the projects I have. But it's big enough and it’s secure.”
Lyric falls quiet again when she sees the other truck parked out front. The lights are on in the house and one bike is parked closer to the garage, along with a four-wheeler. I help Lyric from the truck and grab her suitcase before leading her up the front porch and to the front door. I try to picture this from her eyes, but I have no idea how she feels about it. About how this version of Lyric would feel. I like to believe the girl I knew at eighteen would think it’s rustic; she probably would have called it whimsical, a cabin in the woods. I watch her, desperate for her to comment on anything, like I need her approval. Lyric walks inside and once again falls silent while she looks around. I’m about to cave and just ask her what she thinks when Bullet comes around the corner from the living room and office area.
“Back just in time,” he says and glances at his watch. “Nice to see you again, Doc.”
“You too, Bullet.” Lyric nods and smiles.
“There are two bedrooms upstairs. Pick one you want to put your stuff in, then come back down to my office so I can tell you the plan,” I say to her, pointing toward the stairs.
“Which room is yours? I’ll just take the other.” She looks at me quizzically.
“I don’t really stay here that often. And when I do, I mostly fall asleep in the office where my work is or on the couch. Just pick where you’ll be comfortable, baby,” I urge her again and start to walk away, following Bullet.
“Not your baby,” she calls to me, while she heads up the stairs. I wave her off with a stupid grin plastered on my face.
“It's weird when you smile,” Bullet states, standing there and blinking at me.
“Shut up.” I shove him forward and follow him to my office.
He takes a seat in one of the chairs and I take the other. Dodger is sitting in front of the large computer screen where there are squares of camera angles and footage of my property already being collected.
“Right there,” Zane says from behind him, pointing at the screen. “Camera sixteen has a twenty-second lag.” I watch as Dodger opens up tabs and punches in numbers on the keyboard.
“How was the pick up?” Zane asks me without taking his eyes off the screen.
“Her place was mostly cleaned up, but shit hit the fan at her work. The prick broke in there and messed up all her shit,” I tell them, running my hands over my face.
“Did law enforcement get involved?” he asks, finally turning to me.
“Yeah,” I sigh, leaning back in my chair. “I called Jester and told him we needed assistance. Deveroix smashed the alarm system and disabled it so they never got a call. The place was destroyed. He’s clearly looking for something.”
“Probably answers as to where the wife and child are,” Bullet says. “Doc was pretty vague about that. All she said was that they would never be found.”
“Prez hasn’t said anything about it either,” I add. “I know that she had access to a lot of money so the possibilities are endless.”
“Okay.” Dodger hits a few more keys on the keyboard and then the light turns green on the larger screen on the wall. “You’re live.”
Standing from the chair, I move over to the screen and scrutinize each and every angle. I can’t see any blind spots on camera, but after a day or two of surveillance, all the kinks will be worked out. “Looks good, Dodge.”
“Of course it does.” He smirks like the cocky asshole he is.
I narrow my eyes on him. “You do realize if anything happens or he gets past your monitors, I’ll be coming after you. Brother or not.”
He holds up his hands. “Man! I swear we worked for hours on the positions every few yards like you asked. Your whole lot is fucking huge.”
Zane snickers. “It’s not personal, Dodge. He’s just worried about his woman.”
Dodger groans and Bullet laughs. I glare at all three of them. Speaking of Lyric, she hasn’t come back down yet. I don’t want her to feel uncomfortable here or like she can’t move around freely. Having the extra audience probably isn’t helping. I turn and clap Zane on the shoulder. “Okay, time for you all to go.”
There’s a chorus of each of them griping and Dodger begging for food for all his hard work, but I manage to usher them out the door before locking it and turning my security system on. The house is quiet and I hold my breath, trying to see if there is any commotion from upstairs. Maybe she decided to take a shower or a bath? I did give her permission to make herself at home. Fuck, I want her to feel at home here, to love the space as much as I do, so it’s harder for her to leave. There’s no denying, as much as I want to, that I didn’t pick out furniture, colors, and the design of the home with Lyric in mind. Even when I didn’t know if I’d ever see her again, even though I had no hope for us after the way I destroyed us, she was still on my mind when I pictured wanting her to be comfortable here.
Deciding to give her some time, I head into the kitchen and start taking things out of the fridge and pantry. I do not work miracles in the kitchen, but I know how to make a pretty mean Cajun Alfredo pasta. By the time I’m done making the chicken and cutting up the peppers and sausage, Lyric still hasn’t come down. Once I mix everything with the sauce and noodles, I decide to go and make sure she’s alright.
My heart is pounding as I reach the door to the spare bedroom and open it. The room is bare and then my heart is beating furiously for an entirely different reason. Moving to the door farthest away, the main bedroom, I open it slowly. Nothing could have prepared me for this moment and the emotion that lodges in my chest. Lyric is curled up in the middle of the bed, her chocolatey hair fanned out on the pillow behind her. Her hands are folded under her cheek while she sleeps deeply. My whole body aches to move to the bed and hold her, to curl around her and tell her that she’s safe here. I don’t have the heart to wake her, knowing she needs the sleep after what she’s been through and the extra shock today of seeing her office that way. Instead, I quietly move into the room, my room, the room I always wanted her to be in, and grab the throw blanket from the end of the bed. She doesn’t move or even stir as I place it over her, being sure to cover her feet, before I step out of the door and close it behind me. Even though I’m eating dinner alone, I’ve never felt more at home.