Chrome: With a Heart Forged in Steele (Carolina Bad #4)

by Rie Warren

  I made a sandwich, sat by the bed to eat it. I shed my clothes and slipped beside her, careful not to wake her. Hoping like hell the real nightmare was over once and for all.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Bad Medicine

  RAYCE MADE IT THROUGH the rest of the night in deep sleep and for that I was thankful. I, on the other hand, didn’t catch a single wink. She’d been so fucking close to danger all her life without even realizing how bad her situation truly was.

  I could’ve lost her in an instant.

  It took hours for me to calm down, to listen to the steady beat of her heart, to feel the gentle puffs of her breath on my neck.

  To latch onto the reality she was finally, truly safe.

  The following morning was quiet and grim, capped off by a trip to the police station. Rayce gave her statement unblinkingly, stoically. I waited for her emotions to flare to the surface, but they never did. Returning home midday, I made her eat something. She’d only had a cup of coffee for breakfast. She sipped the soup in mechanical motions, staring into the bowl. Afterward, I held her in my arms for a long time—she was stiff, almost wooden.

  She slipped back and excused herself, returning upstairs to bed.

  Feeling useless, increasingly worried, I watched her walk away.

  I needed something to do. I called the window company and arranged for them to arrive within the hour. I called Brodie to fill him in on all the details even though I was sure Ashe had already given him the lowdown. I checked in with Cat, reassuring her we were going to be fine.

  I wondered if that last one was a lie.

  By the time the glaziers had replaced the window two hours had elapsed. The house was chilly with the late February air that had swirled through the smashed-open pane so I was starting a fire in the living room when I heard Rayce.

  “Boomer?”

  Looking up, I saw her in the hallway. She had on that flannel shirt of mine she liked to wear, and she looked so damn tiny.

  “Hey, beautiful.” I stood and walked over to her, picking her up in my arms. “Thought you were asleep.”

  “I was for a little while, but I missed you.” She rested her head on my shoulder.

  A large whoosh of relief soared through me. She looked and sounded more like herself. Color in her cheeks, her hair soft and fluffy, and she met my eyes with none of the puffy redness of the night before or the half-empty stare of earlier.

  When I set her down, she made her way to the window, her fingertips gliding over it. “I didn’t hear the work crew. You got it fixed already?”

  I rubbed her shoulders lightly, bending to kiss her neck right across the buttercup tat. “Got it fixed. Gonna get you healed too.”

  “Can we just sit awhile?” She gave me a fragile smile.

  “’Course. Here with the fire?” I frowned. “Or do you wanna take this to another room?”

  She shook her head and looked at me with clear, firm eyes. “No. I won’t let him taint this place, our home. And he will never touch me or hurt me again.”

  Thatta girl.

  “So, right here is fine.” She relaxed onto the couch. “And a little drink?”

  My eyebrow arched.

  She rolled her eyes. “Okay. A fucking big drink.”

  I released a deep breath. With the fire roaring, we sat in front of it with tumblers of whiskey.

  “Tell me about this tattoo.” Passing my fingertips over the sweet little buttercup that daintily unfurled up the back of her neck, I kissed crest of her cheek. “Why this one? The only color?”

  “It’s for my . . . for my momma.”

  “You don’t have to tell me, princess.”

  She pressed her hand against my chest. “No. I want to. You told me about yours.” After caressing the sweet blossom, she joined her hand with mine. “For my momma because I always thought I remembered her holding a buttercup under my chin to see if the color reflected on my skin, you know, to tell if I liked butter?”

  She smiled wistfully. “Childish I know.”

  I skated my fingers against the flower. “I don’t think so.”

  “I don’t even know if the memory is real now.” Her lips curled down.

  With my hand clasped over the nape of her neck, warming her, I tugged her into my embrace. “I think it is.”

  Rayce toyed with my fingers, and as always her little touches sent heat through my body.

  Placing our glasses aside, I pressed my forehead to hers before finding her lips. She was plump and soft, wet with a little burn. Totally Rayce.

  She sighed against my lips, her hands on my back pressing me closer.

  I pulled back. “I hope I didn’t scare you last night.”

  “Not you. You never do.” Her fingertips moved over my face, along the small scars, across my mouth.

  “Good.”

  “I love you, Boomer.”

  Grabbing her by the waist, I sat her in the center of my lap. “You should say that about fifty more times a day.”

  “Oh really?”

  “Mm hmm,” I hummed against her neck. “At least.” My palms skimmed up her bare thighs, roaming higher.

  She angled her neck and bit her lip. “What do I get if I do?”

  “A really big present.” Bucking my hips, I made her aware of the hard heat of my groin. “About fifty times a day.”

  She threw herself against me, laughing.

  The best fucking sound on earth.

  I hoped she could really be free of her dad.

  Rayce had me down on the couch, and she was slowly kissing and licking and biting my lips when there was a solid knock on the front door.

  She glanced over her shoulder, whisking the hair from her face, the bright blue streaks even more highlighted by the blaze of the fire. “Who’s that?”

  I disentangled myself. “I’ll go check. You stay here.”

  I tried to do some quick adjustments before I answered the door. A good thing my T-shirt was on the longer side and my stiff dick was trapped inside briefs and jeans.

  Tucker stood on the porch, and his curly gray hair looked like he’d Albert Einstein’d it.

  Swinging the door open, I invited him inside. “You heard everything?”

  “Yeah. News travels fast on the MC highway.” He swiped his boots on the welcome mat before stepping in.

  “Sorry I didn’t call you. Rayce had me pretty scared.” I shut the door, turned the lock. “You know about Ginny too?”

  “Afraid so.” His eyes were sad and somber.

  “So, you wanna talk to Rayce now?”

  “You didn’t get a chance to—”

  “Nah. Shit was already going down when I got home last night.” In all the craziness, I’d forgotten about Tucker’s potential paternity.

  “But she’s okay?”

  “Yeah, Pops. Well, I think so. Really rough night, and a fucking bad morning. But, you just interrupted us making out.”

  “Oh. OH. I should just go.” He reached for the door handle, his face suddenly pink above the full beard.

  “Holy shit. You’re nervous?”

  Scratching his chin, he admitted, “Just a bit?”

  “Listen, I’ll just make sure she’s presentable first, yeah?”

  I hustled upstairs, found a pair of Rayce’s leggings, and walked into the living room. “Hey, Princess. We got a visitor. Think you can handle it?”

  “It’s nothing bad is it?” She started pulling on the pants.

  My smile shined at her as I cupped her cheek. “Lord, no. I don’t think so.”

  “Okay.”

  Returning to Tucker who’d waited in the hall, I slung an arm over his shoulder. “This could be just the news she needs today.”

  “Tucker?” Rayce half-stood when we entered. “What are you doing here?”

  After pouring a drink for Tuck, I motioned him to a chair. I sat beside Rayce and tucked my hand around hers.

  “I know you’ve had a hell of a shock, princess, but Tucker and I have somethi
ng to tell you.”

  She laughed shakily. “Not sure how much more I can handle.”

  “This could be a good thing. A very good thing.” I squeezed her hand.

  “Okay. Give me my whiskey and lay it on me.”

  So we did, slowly, easing her into it. About Tucker seeing the photo. His history with her mom. Their relationship. When it ended.

  And when she was born.

  Her eyes grew rounder and rounder. She clenched my hand until her fingernails bit into my skin.

  “Wait. What? It’s too much. I don’t . . . I don’t understand.” Her gaze swung to me. “What?”

  “We think Tuck might be your father.”

  “No.” Her mood shifted in an instant, and I felt like an asshole for even bringing this up right now.

  She rose from the couch and stomped into the middle of the room. “No. He’s not my father because my dad hates me. My dad used me. My dad murdered my mom!” She pointed her finger at Tuck. “You are not my dad because my dad is in jail!”

  “Rayce.” I approached her.

  Tears slid down her cheeks. “He’s not my dad. He’s good and kind and generous, and he’s not my dad. I know he’s not.”

  I drew her to me, feeling her crumple against me. “I’m sorry we sprang this on you. We didn’t know . . .”

  Tucker looked on helplessly while I tried to calm her. “Maybe I should go.”

  “No.” Her voice was stern and she wiped her eyes before facing him. “You stay.”

  With a pale face but hope in her big hazel gaze, she turned to me. “I have family? Real family?”

  I inhaled quickly, fighting down emotions I couldn’t control.

  “And I have you?” Her lips quivered.

  “Yeah, princess. You have me. You know that.” I took her back against me, relief spilling over. “We won’t know for sure about Tucker until you both get tested.”

  “Unless we get tested, Rayce.” Tucker sank bank in his chair. “No pressure.”

  “Do you want to find out?” she asked softly.

  “I do. I loved your mom.” He walked over to us and hesitated for a moment before gently patting Rayce’s back. “I can’t take back any years we lost, but I’m sorry, darlin’. You have no idea. I never knew a thing about you.”

  “Okay. We’ll do it.” She never stopped staring at me, like she was afraid to acknowledge the possibility of something absolutely good in her life.

  Her eyes welled up again, tears quickly tumbling out. “I’m sorry. I’m really overwhelmed.”

  “Of course you are. No need to apologize.” I kissed her cheek. “Just let me see Tuck out?”

  I watched while they exchanged an awkward handshake with shy smiles and wary glances before showing Tucker to the door.

  “Well, that went well?” His big boots shuffled on the floor.

  “I think you got a few more gray hairs.”

  “In places you don’t even wanna know about.” He winked.

  “Fuckin’ A, really?” I groaned.

  “Just wait until you’re staring at sixty, old man.” He chuckled.

  “That shit’s only funny when Rayce says it.”

  His expression sobered. “You’ve got her?”

  “Never letting go.”

  I watched him ride off on his hog before shutting the door and locking up for the final time that night.

  Upstairs, it didn’t take us long to get ready for bed. Wiped was the understatement of the year.

  I turned off all but the lowest light and pulled Rayce to me.

  My hands almost encompassed her perfect face. “How are you so strong?”

  “Because of you.”

  “Bullshit. You were already a ballbuster when I met you.”

  She smiled sadly, sighed softly. “I miss my mom. Isn’t that weird? She’s been gone so long, but it was never this final.”

  I drew her against my chest. “Not weird. And I’ll be here for you. Anything you need.”

  “Because you’re the strong one.”

  “Not at all. I had some dark times too, Rayce. Things I didn’t think I’d survive.”

  “I wish I’d been here for you when your parents died.” Kissing my chin, my lips, my scars, she stared at me with stark emotion.

  “I have you now. That’s all that matters.”

  Truth. I wouldn’t have wanted her to see me at my worst.

  Flipping around, she burrowed her back against me.

  “I know we kind of started something earlier, but can we just—” She broke off with a yawn.

  “I’d be content to just hold you every night for the rest of my life.”

  She peered back at me, wiggling her ass against my very interested cock. “You don’t really mean that.”

  “No.” I swooped down, kissing her. “But I might survive a day or two.”

  “Mmm.” She draped her arms around mine. “’Night, Boom.”

  “Goodnight, Racy Rayce.” I whispered against the back of her neck. “I love you.”

  “You should say that a hundred times a day,” she murmured.

  Yeah. I can totally do that.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Shifting Gears

  THE GOOD, THE BAD, and the ugly had happened to Rayce within the space of twenty-four hours. The woman had every right and every reason to lose her shit completely. Her dad attacked her. He confessed to murdering her mom. Threatened to kill her, too. She found out he was never really her father, and Tucker might be.

  Unbelievably, she held it together. In fact, her game face rarely faltered. The problem was she was too strong for her own damn good sometimes.

  A few days later, when Ashe alerted us Ginny’s remains had been found and identified by DNA, Rayce sat at the kitchen bartop, silent and stony-eyed.

  We heard all about Leroy. It was in the news. We didn’t even need the insider intel from Hunter or Ashe. He no longer loudmouth bragged about the killing but gave a statement the death was accidental.

  Rayce’s reaction? Nothing but a blip on her radar.

  Thankfully, due to her and my double corroboration of his confession, and with the remains exhumed—thank you to the wonders of forensics—he remained in custody, awaiting trial for manslaughter.

  I tried to keep Rayce in the dark on certain matters, giving her as few details as possible. Some things she just didn’t need to know—specifics she’d been too young to remember. The extent of the ongoing physical abuse Ginny had survived that had culminated in the last fight for her life.

  With Ginny’s remains finally released, I asked Rayce if she wanted a proper funeral.

  She’d looked at me with glassy eyes. “Just something small. A nice plot? Someplace I can bring her flowers. I think I remember she always liked flowers. Maybe they were just weeds growing in the yard.” She’d touched the buttercup tat on her neck.

  Every part of the upcoming murder trial and ongoing mourning process just about cut my heart out, but I stayed strong for my woman.

  I respected her wishes.

  There was no big send off for Virginia Cooper Lafayette who’d died twenty years ago. We buried her remains in the same cemetery as Nick’s grandmother and Kinkaid’s grandfather. Very few people were included in the somber affair. Tucker, who said a few teary words with his eyes on Rayce the entire time. Brodie and Ashe. Hunter, JB, Nick, Cat, and Josh and Leelee.

  The Retribution and Redemption clubs rolled out the honor guard down 17 North just beside the graveyard, and still Rayce didn’t shed a tear.

  The nights were a totally different story. When Rayce broke, she broke hard. Every wall she built up around herself during the day tumbled down when we were alone. Those nights were cruel and hard and sad. The only good thing was Rayce didn’t lock herself away from me. I witnessed all of it. The railing out. The crying. The what-ifs. The wreckage of her life and what she’d thought to be her family.

  I did the only thing I could. Held her. Soothed her. Took her anger and tried to talk her dow
n.

  Let her know how much she was loved.

  She scoffed at the idea of counseling. She’d managed just fine so far, she said.

  I made an appointment.

  She canceled it.

  I lectured her when all else failed.

  She tuned me out.

  Spring arrived—a month later it was the end of March—but it felt more barren than winter.

  Rayce only relented when I sicced Ashe on her ass. The two of them had a heart-to-heart, and Ashe reached her where I couldn’t because they had that common link. They’d both been victims of crimes they couldn’t control.

  Finally, Rayce went to see the psychologist. She began living again.

  When she started going out to MX events with Sadie, Kinkaid and me in tow like dicks on a leash—happy ones at that—I figured we’d turned a corner.

  When she contacted Tucker to set up the DNA testing I stopped worrying so much, stopped staying awake at night to watch over her, wishing I could do something to make her better.

  She had steely strength inside her, and my girl was a force to be reckoned with even if she’d forgotten for a while.

  The first Saturday in April, Rayce, Tuck, and I sat around the dining room table with three glasses, a full bottle of whiskey between us, and their results spread before us.

  “Drink first.” Rayce poured a healthy dose into each glass. “Down the hatch!”

  I swallowed that burn, eager for them to get to the goods. “Who looks first?”

  Tucker sipped more slowly, nodding at Rayce. “Phoebe, of course.”

  She smiled nervously, tucking her fingertip along the edge of the envelope. Pulling out the sheath of papers, she scanned them, her hands trembling.

  Shuffling the pages back together, she lifted soft eyes to Tucker. “I think you should check.”

  “All right, darlin’,” he said, his voice gruff.

  He stared at the papers, his mustache twitching.

  I was about to shoot through the friggin’ roof. “And?”

  “Yeah.” Tucker’s eyes brimmed over.

  Rayce squeezed my hand.

  I’d only ever seen the big man cry at my folks’ funeral. This time it was for a happy occasion.

  Jesus.

  “Well? Fucking hug already or something,” I prodded.