by Violet Blaze
“If you already know so much about the cartel, why hasn't the FBI done anything to stop them?”
Agent Shelley raises her perfectly manicured brow at me as she leans back into the pillows and crosses her arms over her chest.
“Did you come over here just to discuss information you could just as easily have found on the Internet, or do you have an ulterior motive, Lyric Rentz?”
“You asked me why I didn't go to Washington,” I start as I sit down on the edge of the chair, leaning forward to put my elbows on my knees. I'm dressed in another one of my usual skirt suits, but not by choice this time, but because of the press conference. Ugh. I'd be hard-pressed to think of anything else in this moment that sounds worse than that. What a nightmare. “And you know, I've been thinking about that all night. I graduated law school when I was twenty-five years old, passed the bar exam, and then sat around playing secretary to my father for years. I always told myself I wanted to excel in politics, become a senator, but … maybe there's something else there? A craving that I haven't identified yet. Why else would I sit around here for so long?”
“I see. So you want some insight into your own psyche?”
“You seem like an astute, observant sort of person,” I say as I look up at her face. This time, there's something else there besides mild disinterest, a probing look that drives straight down to my core. Something I've said has excited her. Good. Truthfully, I'm down here fishing for information or ways to help Royal and the club out, but if she can help me with this, too, then great. “What do you think?”
“What do I think …” she starts, trailing off and looking up at the pristine white tiles in the drop ceiling for a moment. “Well, Lyric, sometimes what we think we want and what we really want are two different things entirely. We all end up with these silly expectations for ourselves of who and what we should be, what constitutes success in our own minds, but there's always something deeper. Whether it's a desire for power or money or respect, there's usually a driving force.”
She looks straight at me, and then smiles, really smiles.
“Maybe that's what you need to do, dig deep and identify that force first because whatever it is, it's there and waiting. If you figure that out, everything else will fall into place.”
I smile back as I stand up and grab my purse.
“Where can I find you once you get out of this place?” I ask casually, hoping she'll tell me.
“You have my card. Give me a call if you want to talk. If I have my way, I won't be leaving town until the Saldaña Cartel is ground into dust.” Which means getting rid of those assholes is more important than ever.
“Will do,” I say as I start toward the door and stop at the sound of her voice.
“And Lyric?” I pause as I glance over my shoulder. “Thank you for the flowers.”
“Your old lady's on TV,” Glacier says as he turns up the set in the corner and leans back on a bar stool, gesturing with his chin in the direction of Lyric's beautiful face.
I pull my fag from my lips and pause, looking up at the screen as my little Pint-Sized and Pretty addresses a crowd of reporters, her parents at her side, a sea of police officers in the background. Fuck. This ought to lose me some points with the boys. But then I remind myself that Lyric proved herself … and that I don't give a fuck what anybody thinks about my woman. My house, my bed, my heart, and my bloody choice.
“While I'm not at liberty to discuss the details of the case,” she begins, her chin raised, her small form radiating confidence and power. Turns me the hell on. That's my alpha female up there, my mate. My lips curl into a smirking side smile as Glacier rolls his eyes and turns up the volume a few more notches. “I can tell you that I'm doing well and suffered no injuries during the incident. The city of Trinidad is no more dangerous today than it was yesterday; this was a freak act of random violence and not a pattern to be repeated. What happened in the parking lot of the Sea Salt grocery store was chance circumstance, a fateful meeting of outside influences attempting to get a leg up with the mayor's office.” She smiles, but the expression is tight—not as tight as mine though when Russ Hawkins appears by my side and crosses his arms over his chest.
Fuck.
I might be the president of the mother chapter, but I feel like a goddamn kid next to all these old-timers. Thank God Portland is the only one who sent their pres down to join the party. The other chapters sent reinforcements, but kept most of their officers at home—as it should be. Hell, I should be keeping my nose clean, be keeping the blood off of my own hands. A president's job is to lead, not to dig into the trenches. Still, old habits die hard and there's no way in hell I'm sending my club to get slaughtered on Tuesday by themselves. A captain always goes down with his ship, yeah?
“But the city of Trinidad is stronger than that, stronger together, stronger locally, than the outside world can possibly understand. Most of us who live here year round have grown up here; this is our home and we won't be so easily manipulated or influenced. While I understand that the things I did last night are certainly unconventional, not a part of a Deputy Mayor's duties on a normal day or any other, I did what I had to do to protect myself … and to protect this city.” A slightly wider smile. “Any further questions or press inquiries can be directed to the mayor's office—”
The crowd starts to explode with chatter as Lyric finishes and moves away from the microphone, standing aside for her father to make a small speech.
“Jesus,” Glacier says as he turns the volume down again, glancing over at me with wide blue eyes. “Your old lady sure knows how to make a moving speech, huh?”
“She's got presence, I'll give you that,” Hawkins says as he shakes his head and gives me a look, his gray hair thinning and his face rugged from wind and sun. The old codger makes me wonder how beat up and old I'll look when I'm in my early fifties. The life really takes it out of a man, ages him twice as fast as it should. God. Will Lyric still want me when I look like this motherfucker here? Like I've been skinned and laid out to tan in the sun? For fuck's sake … “She going to show up to the party tonight?”
I nod and take a drag on my cig before putting it out in an ashtray on the bar, smiling tightly at Serenity as she comes into the common room from the kitchen and slips behind the bar, helping to pick up the slack while her mother's gone. I notice Glacier's eyes tracking her presence, lingering on the round curve of her hips and ass. That stupid son of a bitch … A moment later when Jack follows in behind her, my enforcer snaps his eyes back to my face and meets my gaze with a slight raise of his brows.
Jesus, I don't have time for this.
“She'll be here,” I say, wondering when the hell I'm going to get a second to get out of here so I can go and see Lyric. My whole courthouse proposal is floating in front of my fucking face, a constant nagging that I can't forget.
“Good. St. Louis boys will be in by six. Can we get some hang-arounds to pick up more beer? I don't see hardly any in the back.”
“I'm on it,” Glacier says as he slides off the stool and stretches his arms over his head. “I'm on a break right now.” He grins and winks, making me curl my lip at him. “And there's nothing better than screaming at a bunch of wannabes to get their asses in gear. Have you seen those coward motherfuckers run?”
“Can you blame 'em? They're scared shitless of you. Gave that one guy such a fright, he left the compound on foot and forgot to take his bike.”
Glacier chuckles and gives me a faux punch to the shoulder before threading his hands together behind his halo of blond hair, eyes catching on Serenity as he moves past. Don't think I miss the way her eyes catch on him.
“I've never understood how you work with that man,” Hawkins mumbles under his breath, looking me up and down like he's trying to guess how big a pair I've got. He shakes his head as he moves away, his boots loud against the polished wood floors as I steal another glance at the screen.
There's a cutaway from the press conference and then a blurry video
, captured by a bystander's cellphone.
I feel my entire body go still as I watch the whole scene from the side, rain sleeting against the camera as Lyric pulls the trigger in a flash of gunpowder. Once. Twice. Three times. Mia crumples to the ground a few seconds before a man—Clayton Moore—appears from around a pickup truck, leveling his weapon at Janae.
The person wielding the phone stumbles back and falls, turning and running from the scene before I can watch the rest of it, but … holy hell, Pint-Size. Watching her standing there with her spine straight and her arms extended, her short hair plastered to her skin in the rain … if I wasn't already in love with the woman, I would be now.
I suppose all I can do at this point is wait and see if she feels the same about me.
Lyric shows up at the clubhouse in the early afternoon, looking tired and conflicted. Not a good sign. She doesn't see me at first, pausing in the sea of prospects and hang-arounds as they hang lights and set up kegs and coolers around the deck and parking lot for the party tonight. She leans against a picnic table and puts her fingers to her temples.
“Well, hello, love,” I say, making her jump as I sneak around the side of a pickup truck parked in the lot and surprise her. “Thought I might have to come and get you.” I cross my arms over my chest and grin as she glances at me and gives a tight smile. Well, shit. That doesn't look good, now does it? “I was about to head home and grab a quick shower. Care to join me?”
“I need to talk to you,” Lyric says, and I know then how this is going to go. My lips purse tight, and she notices. “It's not … can we just find somewhere to talk?” I gesture with my chin toward the deck and start up the steps with her in tow, heading down the hallway and pausing in the common room as we run into Dober.
My vice president pauses, looking over at Lyric for several long, tense moments as I turn to face them, cocking a brow and watching as whatever this is starts to play out.
“Janae called from the hospital earlier, said you stopped by again,” Dober chokes out, voice low and rough and entirely unreadable.
Lyric tucks some brunette hair behind her ear as she looks up at him, her makeup thick and dark, most likely because of the press conference. Still, I think I prefer her fresh-faced and open.
“About the other night,” he starts, but she just shakes her head.
“I was actually going to ask Royal if he might find you for me. I need to ask you something.” Dober lifts a shaggy brow and glances my way. I give a loose shrug and step back, crossing my arms over my chest, the leather of my cut rustling with the movement. “I was hoping that you and Janae could do something for me—for me and Royal actually.”
“Well,” Dober starts as he sucks in a deep breath and runs his hand down his beard with his tattooed hand. “We both owe you one. Hell, I owe you my life.” Dober's dark gaze hardens as he squares his shoulders and lifts his chin. To an outsider, it might look like he's about to break some poor bloke's face, but to me, he looks … almost apologetically. Well, as apologetic as Dober ever looks. “You saved my old lady, and for that, I owe you my respect. Granted, I still think you're a terrible fit for the club”—he pauses and glances over at me as I grit my teeth in anger—“but I'm willing to put aside our differences and give you a chance.”
Lyric nods sharply and takes a deep breath of her own, meeting my VP's stare with an even, level look on her face, despite the fact that nearly a foot separates their heights.
“I understand that it's hard to trust someone who doesn't even know what it is that they really want.” My brows shoot up and I drop my arms to my sides, cocking my head as I look at her. What's your angle here, bird? Because if she calls me out in front of my VP, I swear to Christ, I'll never be able to live that shit down. “That's why I've been putting a lot of thought into this …” Another deep breath. Not sure that I like that, those deep breaths of hers. Feels ominous somehow. “Would you and Janae meet Royal and me at the courthouse on Monday morning?”
My vice president's face splits with shock for a moment—not an easy thing to accomplish.
“The courthouse?”
“To be our witnesses,” Lyric says as she looks over at me, trying to communicate a million different things with her eyes. “So we can get married.”
“Holy bleeding hell, Pint-Size,” I say as I plant my hands on my hips and stare down the Deputy Mayor of Trinidad, California. “I thought Dober might burst an artery there for a second.”
Lyric smiles back at me, but her mouth is tight and she looks like she's got something else to say—something I'm not going to like.
“Out with it then,” I say as I gesture with my fingers for her to spill whatever it is she's holding back. “You didn't run over here bursting with joy, so there must be something else on your mind?”
“Are you angry?” she asks as she scoots onto the top of the picnic table and her ugly black wool skirt rides up those pale, creamy thighs. As if she can feel my eyes grazing her bare skin, Lyric tugs the fabric back into place and raises an eyebrow at me. Me, I just run my tongue across my lower lip and toss her a wink.
“Angry? About what? Because you changed our wedding date? Nah, Pint-Size. I've got a long bloody fuse.”
“I didn't mean to just surprise you like that in front of your officer, but when I saw him, I just suddenly got up the nerve. I felt like it needed to be said.” I nod and watch her carefully, raindrops splattering the hunter green umbrella above her head. Hopefully the weather gives us a little break or the clubhouse will be packed tonight with all the out of town boys.
Lyric watches me carefully with her big green eyes, studying me, churning something else around inside that pretty little head of hers. I start to walk in a circle, making my way around the picnic table until I'm standing back in front of her.
“Don't do that,” she says, but she looks like she likes it. “It feels like you're on the prowl.”
“Just checking out the talent, love.”
“Cute. Real cute.” She sucks in a deep breath as I pause and reach a thumb up to touch the scar on her cheek, rubbing the makeup away so that it's clearly visible. Lyric looks at me for a long moment. “What was her last name?”
“Who?”
“Mia,” she says, the syllables sliding off her tongue in a strange whisper. Christ. This is the absolute last thing I ever wanted for Lyric, to get her all wrapped up in my shit. Why can't I just love her enough to leave well enough alone? “What was her last name?” she repeats.
“Clarke,” I say and Lyric nods.
“Family?”
“Not really. An estranged grandmother or something that she talked to once a year. Other than that, no.”
“Great,” Lyric says bitterly, rubbing a hand over her face. “And I took the one thing in her life that she actually gave a shit about. If you and I hadn't … then she might still be alive.”
“You didn't put that gun in her hand,” I say but Lyric just shakes her head, staring at the wet pavement beneath my leather riding boots. “And Mia … I was never going to get serious with her. Never. Whether you came along or not didn't matter. If she could turn on the club that easily, then she wasn't old lady material anyway. Sooner or later, something else would've happened. I hate that it had to be this, but don't let it destroy you.”
“No,” Lyric says slowly, flicking her gaze up to mine. “But that doesn't mean I can't pretend it didn't affect me at all.” She kicks the heels of her ugly shoes against the wooden bench like a little girl. Makes me wonder what'd be like to have kids with this woman, and I almost smile. Dumb shit. That's me. I'm so in love with this girl, so blind to anything else at the moment that I might as well have my head shoved up my arse. “Anyway, that's not what I came over here to talk to you about.”
“I didn't figure,” I say as I resist the urge to run my hands up her thighs, grip those round hips and pull her close. The height of this picnic table is nice—big and tall, made for large men—so Lyric's at just about the right height for me to fu
ck her here. “Spill it then. I'm on pins and needles over here.”
“Royal … what happened the other night, it made me think. I mean, not in the moment. There wasn't any time to think then, but after, when I got to my parents' place. All day yesterday. Today. I thought I knew myself, but over the last few weeks, I've been starting to realize that I really don't know myself at all.”
Her eyes flick up to me as I stand there with my heart beating like a war drum inside my chest. I'd do anything for this woman—fight for her, kill for her, die for her. But if she decides she doesn't want me, I can't force her. I wouldn't want to even if I could. The power I feel in what we have depends on a mutual agreement and respect between us, just like the alpha male and female of a wolf pack. They work together to make their world great.
“The reason I decided to ask Dober down to the courthouse is because I wanted my harshest critic there to see me.” I start to smile, but she's not done and the rest of her words … they almost knock me flat on my ass. “Or not. Because … I have to make a choice now. I thought I needed time, needed to take our engagement slow and easy, but that's not it at all. I've had years to think about what to do and all I've done is sit around here. Sure, I tried a little to make things better for myself—like the agreement I drafted for the club and the city. But … really, I've been biding my time.”
“I'm not following, Pint-Size. More specific please?” I hate that my voice has dropped to a low, rough sort of a growl. Scares the shit out of me. I sound like I'm about to go ballistic. Lyric hears it, too, but she doesn't look like she's afraid of me. Not at all.
“On Monday, I'll either show up at the courthouse or … I'll be gone.”
