Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

Lyric

Once the meeting with the Russians was over, Reaper announced we were allowed to leave the compound if we wanted. Highway left not long after the Russians, so I decided to go home and collect a few more things.

The door to my home swings open with a groan, the familiar creak giving me a false sense of security. Which soon gives way to apprehension.

Everything is wrong.

"Son of a bitch," I mutter, stepping inside.

The place is trashed. Cushions are slashed, drawers are emptied, and pictures are smashed on the floor. Memories are spilled out all over the carpet This was my sanctuary, and now it's a war zone.

"Dammit." My voice echoes through the wreckage. "Is anyone here? I've called the police." No answer. Just the sound of my shoes crunching over shattered glass.

I move deeper, every room telling the same violent story. Whoever did this was looking for something or sending a message.

Who would do this?

Diablos? Russians? Revenge or a warning?

But who? Why now? The questions claw at my mind as I sift through the debris.

My cell phone rings, and I jump at the noise. Clutching my chest, I pull it out of my back pocket.

"Hello?"

"Where are you?" Highway asks.

"I went home to get a few things." My voice is a little too high.

"What's wrong?"

"Someone broke in, and they've smashed everything."

"Stay there, lock the doors. I'll come as soon as I can. I'm not far away."

I nod, even though he can't see it. "I'm not scared."

"You should be," he says, half-joking. But we both know it's true. "Lock yourself in the bathroom until I get there. Do not open the door for anyone but me. Understood?"

"Will do."

I end the call and walk to my bedroom, feeling a knot of anxiety tightening in my stomach. The sight that greets me is one of utter chaos. The mattress has been violently slashed, its stuffing spilling out like entrails. My personal belongings are scattered haphazardly across the floor, creating a landscape of disarray and violation.

I crouch down and reach under the bed, feeling for the familiar coolness of the metal suitcase I keep there. My fingers close around it, and I pull it out. Quickly, I start gathering a few clothes and personal items, shoving them into the suitcase with hurried, jerky movements.

Suddenly, the sound of something crashing to the floor in another room pierces the silence, sending a jolt of fear through me. With my heart pounding, I abandon the suitcase and dash into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind me. I lock it with trembling hands and press my back against it, breathing heavily as I try to calm my racing thoughts.

My heart hammers against my chest like it's trying to break free. Every creak and whisper of movement beyond the bathroom door sends a fresh wave of ice coursing through my veins. I'm crouched behind the shower curtain, barely breathing, my eyes fixed on the sliver of light under the door. It feels like I've been in here for hours.

"Lyric!" His voice, rough and urgent, cuts through the suffocating silence.

Highway.

"Here! I'm in here!" My voice is a strangled whisper, muscles tensed for flight.

The door bursts open, and there he stands, his presence filling the space with raw power and an undercurrent of danger.

"Jesus, Lyric." Relief colors his tone as he strides in. His eyes scan me from head to toe, assessing, always protecting. "You okay?"

"Scared out of my mind," I admit, pushing past the fear to stand. He wraps an arm around me, pulling me close for a moment before we step back into the chaos.

The living room is a disaster, a storm of broken memories and violated spaces—glass glittering like diamonds scattered across the floor and drawers upended, their contents strewn throughout my home.

"Who would do this?" Anger laces my words with venom.

My gaze darts around, searching for answers in the wreckage.

"Could be anyone. Past grudges or new threats." Highway's eyes are hard, scanning the destruction with tactical precision. He moves through the room, boots crunching on debris, touching nothing but seeing everything.

"Someone's sending a message," I say, my mind racing as I try to piece together the puzzle. The air feels heavy with menace, the silence louder than any scream.

Highway's jaw clenches. "Maybe, but they just signed up for a war."

We stand amidst the remnants of a life interrupted, our hearts beating to the rhythm of impending retribution.

"How could you be so stupid to put yourself in danger? What were you thinking?"

Surprised at his outburst, I turn to face him. "Reaper said we could leave the compound, and I wanted a few more clothes. Honestly, I

didn't think it would be a problem."

Highway throws his arm out in an arc and shakes his head. "That's the problem, Lyric, you don't think. If whoever did this was still here, you could have been hurt. And…" He takes a deep breath and lowers his voice. "I'm not sure I could deal with that."

Moving closer to him, I put an arm around his waist. "You like me," I tease. His mouth goes into a hard line. "I'm so sorry. I won't do it again."

He quirks an eyebrow up at me and kisses me lightly. "Something tells me you will."

With a shrug, I step away from him. "I'll try my best."

Bending down, I turn over a picture frame, and my fingers stumble upon a jagged edge, an anomaly in the sea of debris. A photograph. I snatch it up, a Polaroid from a time when innocence wasn't a memory. My breath catches. It's Lucy, her smile frozen in a happier yesterday, but where there should be two, there's only one. The other half is torn away.

"Highway, look at this."

He bends down and holds out a hand. "What is it?"

"An old picture of Lucy and Dom." The name tastes like bile. "But someone ripped him out."

"Dom?" Highway's brow furrows, a storm brewing in his eyes. "The Loco's Dom?"

"Exactly." My heart hammers.

A message? A threat?

"Shit." He curses under his breath. "Pack a bag, Lyric. We're heading to the clubhouse."

No arguments there. I walk back into my bedroom and shove clothes into my discarded suitcase with trembling hands.

Outside, the night's cool embrace does nothing to calm my nerves. Highway mounts his Harley. I place my suitcase on the truck's seat, taking one last look at the home, now scarred by violence.

"Let's go. I'll follow you."

Not needing to be told twice, I start the engine and speed through the streets, with the clubhouse as our destination.

It promises safety. Maybe answers.

When I pull into the compound, I park the truck in its usual spot. Highway pulls alongside me, and I wind down the window.

"Find your dad and Lucy. I'll get Reaper."

"Got it." My head is on a swivel as I push through the doors.

Lucy is sitting at a table with Dad. They're talking, and he's smiling at her. It feels like forever since I've seen him smile. Dad is dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. Not his usual clothes, but he blends in better in the clubhouse. He sees me and waves.

"I need to speak to you both outside."

They follow without question, and I lead them toward the bonfire burning at the back of the clubhouse. Only a handful of people are near it, and when Reaper appears, they leave us alone.

"What's going on?" asks Reaper.

"Someone's broken into our home, Dad," I start, the torn Polaroid clenched in my fist like a verdict. "It could have something to do with this."

"Might be the Locos," Highway adds.

I glance at him, then back at Lucy, and hold out the photograph. "I had this in my bedroom. It was an old photo of you and Dom."

Lucy takes the torn image and says, "Why would you have a picture of me and Dom?"

"I took it a long time ago. And it wasn't kept because of Dom but you. When you disappeared from us, I kept lots of your stuff. I missed you," I confess.

Lucy's lips turn down, and she looks upset.

"Too close," Reaper growls, the bonfire reflecting in his eyes.

The fire crackles and pops, sending a shower of sparks and embers into the night sky. The warm glow flickers shadows across his face.

I draw in a sharp breath, the torn Polaroid gripped tight in Lucy's hand.

Reaper's hand clenches into a fist, his knuckles white as bone. "Damn Locos," he spits out, fury radiating off him like exhaust heat.

Lucy edges closer to him, her eyes wide and fearful. "I thought we were done with them."

"Hey," Reaper's voice softens as he cradles her face, his thumb brushing her cheek. "Me too. I'll fix this."

"How?" Dad asks.

"We'll figure it out. If this is the Locos or someone close to them, we will find them," Reaper vows.

"Nothing will touch either of you," Highway declares, and damn if I don't believe every word.

"Good." I nod, and Lucy throws the torn photograph into the fire.

"I'll have Fingers work his magic and see if there are any loose ends with the Locos. Until we know who it is, you should all stay close to the clubhouse," advises Reaper.

Dad puts a hand on Lucy's shoulder. "So long as my girls are here, I'm happy to stay, but I need to be getting back to work."

Reaper nods. "We'll work it out. It could be a simple robbery."

Highway frowns. "It didn't look like anything was missing."

"Maybe it was kids messing about," I offer.

Reaper and Highway exchange a glance.

"Yeah, could be," replies Reaper, but he doesn't sound confident.

Dad yawns. "I've got a big day tomorrow. I'm hitting the hay."

"Come on," Highway growls, a command that rumbles through me.

I nod, the lingering heat from the bonfire at our backs as we walk back through the clubhouse. We go up to our room, and he shuts the door, sealing us away from the chaos of the outside world.

He doesn't speak, but his eyes say everything. It's just us now, Highway and me.

"Safe," I murmur against his chest, the word muffled by the fabric of his cut.

"Yeah."

His hands are on me then, urgent and demanding, peeling away layers of clothing. I meet him with equal passion, pulling at buckles and zippers.

"Lyric," he breathes out as his lips crash against mine in a heated collision.

"Highway," I gasp, giving as good as I get.

Our movements are frantic, a dance of need and assurance.

He hoists me up, and I wrap around him, a tangle of limbs. The bed is there, a soft landing in a hard world, but we barely notice, too caught up in the urgency of now.

"Show me," I dare between kisses, challenging the protector in him, the beast always ready to defend and claim.

"Mine." He growls.

The hard planes of his body crush against the soft curves of mine.

"Yours," I affirm, surrendering to the waves of passion and power that crash over us.

His eyes meet mine, and the world around us blurs into insignificance. I can feel my heart pounding, the anticipation building like a tidal wave. He crushes me against his skin, the electric intensity between us seems almost painful. My breath catches in my throat as his hand gently cradles my cheek, his touch sending shivers down my spine.

Highway's lips hover over mine, and I feel the warmth of his breath mingling with my own.

A surge of emotion crashes over me as his mouth moves against mine, soft yet insistent. His kiss is tender and fervent, a perfect blend of desire and affection. My hands find their way to his shoulders, pulling him closer, wanting to melt into him completely. His fingers tangle in my hair, and I revel in the sensation, every nerve ending alive.

We lose ourselves in the kiss, a dance of lips and tongues that leaves me breathless and wanting more. It's a kiss that speaks volumes, conveying a depth of feeling words could never capture. When we finally pull apart, our foreheads resting against each other, I open my eyes to see the same passion reflected in his. The world slowly comes back into focus, but I'm forever changed, marked by the intensity of our connection.

Highway grins and claims my lips once more, our tongues exploring and tasting each other with hunger and desperation. The essence of him, a mixture of spice and heat, ignites my senses and urges me to give more. My skin is alive with sensation, every touch sending sparks of electricity through me, igniting a fire that can only be quenched by more of him. My hands roam freely, exploring every inch of skin, claiming and possessing with each caress. I can see the sweat glistening on Highway's tattooed skin, the lines of his muscles taut with exertion. Our bodies are pressed tightly together, my skin tingling with the friction of our movements. His grip on me is strong, protective, and possessive as if he never wants to let me go.

Highway's cock is poised at my entrance, and he slowly eases himself inside me. A gasp escapes me as he rocks back, only to push his way back in. My body is on fire. Highway puts a hand on either side of my head, and I wrap my legs around his waist. He bucks into me again and again, hitting me just right.

"Harder," I plead.

Highway grins and increases his speed, but it's not enough. I plant my foot on the bed, and he lets me flip us, and I ride his cock. His hands go to my hips, and he moves me faster as though he is also on the precipice. His teeth are bared, and his hair is a slick mess as we move in unison, chasing our release.

Highway's mouth falls open, his eyes closed, and his fingernails bite into my hips, pushing me over the edge. A moan escapes me as I ride him, my whole body pulsing with the orgasm that washes through me.

"Fuuck!" His curse signaling he has also found his release.

With a hand on his chest, I keep moving until every last wave of passion is extinguished. Highway's eyes open, and he smiles.

"You're so fucking beautiful." He reaches up and cups one of my breasts, his calloused thumb brushing over my nipple. "Mine."

"Yours."

Highway knifes up and kisses me, a low growl emanating from him while his hands hold me close.

I feel cherished and, dare I say it, loved.

***

The vibration against the bar's sticky surface jars me. A text from an unknown number glares up from my phone.

Unknown: Warehouse off route 22. Midnight. Come alone.

"Damn," I mutter, thumbing over the keys.

No name. No explanation. Just a command wrapped in mystery and the hint of danger. My gut twists into knots, but this could be a story.

"Meet who?" I whisper to myself.

Curiosity claws at me. It could be a trap, a setup, a deadly game with me as the pawn. But it could also be information. I scan the clubhouse, and no one is paying me much attention. Highway is in a meeting with the MC's senior members, and the door to their meeting room is shut.

"Lyric, you're a damned fool," I chide, shoving the phone into my jacket's pocket.

"Going somewhere?" asks a voice behind me.

Turning, it's Justice. "Maybe I am," I shoot back with a grin.

Justices shakes his head, but his eyes are already on Jet, who has emerged from the infirmary. Seeing he's distracted, I stride toward the door. This could be information on the break-in or, better yet, a story to sell to the highest bidder.

As I push through the door, the night air hits me like a slap—cold and crisp, filled with the scent of impending rain. I climb into Winchester's truck, and the metal beast rumbles to life with the turning of the key. According to Google, it shouldn't take me more than twenty minutes to reach my destination, leaving me at least five minutes before the allotted time.

***

The rusted chain on the warehouse door screeches a protest as I nudge it open, and my boots echo in the cavernous space. The smell of decay hits me hard. I venture farther in and see a dead rat on the concrete floor, while dim lights flicker overhead, casting long, dancing shadows.

"Hello?" My voice seems to bounce off the walls, coming back to me twisted and unfamiliar.

A figure steps out of the darkness, heels clicking sharply, deliberate and slow. She stands there, bathed in the sickly yellow glow from a single hanging bulb, her features obscured.

"Been waiting long?" I ask, my hand inching toward the knife hidden inside my jacket at the back.

"Long enough," she replies.

Her silhouette moves closer, the light revealing the sharp angles of her face, eyes glinting with something feral.

"Who are you?" I keep my tone even and calm, but inside, my pulse hammers.

"Someone with answers." Her lips curve, not quite a smile.

"Answers to what?" I shift from foot to foot.

"Questions you haven't even thought to ask." She takes a step. I frown at her, and she says, "We'll get there, Lyric. We'll get there soon enough."

The woman leans in, close enough that I can see the color of her eyes and her blown pupils. She's on something.

"I got dirt on the Diablos," she whispers through gritted teeth. "It's the kind that could burn it all down."

I frown, instinctively taking a half step back. "And you just had to share this with me?" My voice is steady, but inside, my thoughts race.

"Damn straight." She spits the words out like they burn her tongue. "But it ain't charity, girl. This is business."

"Business? So why not take this up with our prez? Why the cloak and dagger with me?"

She smirks, an ugly twist of her lips. "Because, sweetheart, sometimes it's the one who doesn't bark who bites the hardest."

"If you think cozying up to me will get you anywhere—"

"Cozy ain't in my vocabulary," she cuts in. "But leverage is. And right now, you're it."

The stale air in the warehouse grows thick with tension.

The woman's face contorts, a snarl pulling at her lips. "You think you're smart, don't ya?" Her voice is a low growl.

I hold my ground though every instinct screams to bolt. "Smart enough not to trust easily," I shoot back, gripping the knife behind me tighter.

"Too smart," she spits, her eyes narrowing into slits. "You're playing a dangerous game." A bitter chuckle escapes her as she takes another menacing step forward. "I was Venom's Ol' Lady, girl. President of the Crimson Wheelers."

Chills race down my spine, and I inch away, my boots scraping against the concrete.

Jesus Christ! I'm in deep, way over my head.

"Venom…" I hiss under my breath.

"Got it in one," she sneers, prowling closer like a predator circling its prey.

I swallow hard, retreating until my back meets cold metal. Nowhere left to run.

Movement flickers in the periphery, a shadow detaching from darkness. Highway. My pulse spikes, a cocktail of fear and relief flooding my veins. Reaper slinks beside him, ghost-like. They move with lethal grace, unnoticed by the woman whose focus is locked on me.

Backup has arrived, but the danger isn't over. Not by a long shot.

"Tell me," I demand, sidestepping away from her. "Why come after me?"

She paces like a caged animal. "Followed Highway, didn't I? To your cozy little home." Her lips curl back, exposing yellowed, rotting teeth. "Tore it apart, looking for something, anything, to hit the Bastards where it hurts."

My heart pounds. This woman invaded my home.

A cold laugh tumbles from her, echoing in the warehouse. "Killing you?" She shakes her head, a twisted amusement in her eyes. "Not as sweet as taking down one of them. One of them Bastards, but it'll do."

Her confession hangs heavy in the air. My gaze flickers to the shadows to where Highway and Reaper stay hidden.

Electric silence crackles between us. I swallow hard, every muscle taut, ready to spring, to flee. But where? This is a trap, and I walked straight into it.

"Then come on," I taunt, my voice low, eyes locked on hers. "Do what you came for."

She lurches—a sudden blur of motion, all rage and recklessness. My breath hitches, and adrenaline surges as the distance closes between us.

In that heartbeat, the shadow becomes a savior. Highway steps out. A ghost turned guardian. His presence, a silent promise—I am not alone in this dance with death.

"Lyric, watch out!" His voice shatters the tension.

The woman's hand whips forward, steel glinting in the dim light, a knife aimed with deadly precision. Time slows, and my body coils, ready to twist away.

"Highway…" A whisper, a prayer, as metal approaches.

Her arm descends, fury etched into every line of her being, the knife plunging down.

Darkness swallows my scream, and the world freezes.