Raw and Dirty(53)

A man is dead. My brother and Brent are up to something. And I think … I think I'm falling in love with a motorcycle club president.

“Brent, don't mess with these people. Go home. This wasn't supposed to turn into anything serious. It's gotten out of control, and I don't want to see anyone else get hurt.” Brent pushes my hand away, the same way I did his.

“Don't worry about it, Lyric. Things are under control. You asked me out here to put pressure on the club, and I did. But things have changed. This isn't just your game anymore.” He smiles once more at me and turns away, even as I reach out for his suit jacket, my fingers sliding along the fabric and my heart shattering in my chest.

Somebody's going to get hurt in all of this.

Brent, Sully, me. Maybe even Royal.

Somehow, it's that last one that seems to hurt the most.





My blood is boiling and my fingers are clenched tight around the handlebars of my bike.

The bloody fucking fuck is that blond douche bitch doing in front of Lyric's place? I watch their exchange with a mounting rage that I can't explain or control, the frenzied need I felt to get over here amplifying as I watch her reach out and cling to his suit jacket. I know we've only known each other a few days, but how can she not feel this stupid fucking burning need that's making me clench my teeth and do stupid shit like drive all the way out here to see her.

I watch as Brent turns and walks away while Lyric slams her front door like she's upset. My eyes track the man's movements as he heads to his car and unlocks the doors. Part of me wants to get this whole thing over with and go bash his head in with my hammer, but I know that's not necessary. Lyric and whatever relationship he has with her aside, Brent is already scheduled to disappear.

You're acting like a crazy person, Royal, I tell myself, closing my eyes and taking several deep breaths. I've never been the jealous type, never cared enough about a girl to give a shit about what she did with other men. I shouldn't care now. Royal and me, we're strangers from two different worlds.

But I want her anyway.

All of this bullshit I'm feeling, it's gotta be just a side effect of all the crap that's going down with the club, right? I tap my fingers against the handlebars and try to make myself leave, go home, cool off a bit.

Screw that.

I start my bike up and ease into Lyric's driveway, tossing my helmet on the grass as I climb off and stalk up to the front door. I don't even bother to knock, turning the handle and stepping inside with a million things on my lips that I want to say to her.

When she spins to face me in her white bathrobe, tears streaming down her face, all of those words disappear in a rush of feeling, in a desperate need to scoop her into my arms and hold her tight, soothe away her pain and destroy whoever the fuck it was that caused it.

“What the bloody hell did he do to you?” I ask her, my voice edgy and broken, my hands clenched into fists by my sides. “Tell me, Lyric, but I swear to God if he hurt you, I'll fucking kill him.”

“He didn't hurt me,” she says, swiping her arm across her eyes. “I don't give a shit about him.” She sniffles, sucking in a sharp breath as she tries to gather herself together. I stay rooted to the spot, afraid to find out what I'll do if I walk over there, if I touch her, hold her. “In fact, I think I just realized today that I hate him.”

I smile, but it only lasts for a second, fading away as she looks over at me like she's never seen me before. Was I too rough in the chapel? Did I scare her away?

“Look, Pint-Size,” I begin, but she's already shaking her head.

“No,” she says, glancing away. “No, no, this is my fault. I just … things between us have been happening so fast that I … it's crazy, I know.” Lyric stands up straight and runs her fingers through her wet hair.

“What's crazy?” I ask, wanting her to say it first, to put this strange connection between us into words. I want to … try this thing out, take her on a proper date or something. I know that ultimately I'm just setting myself up for heartbreak, but at this moment I don't give a shit.

“Brent and my brother,” she says with a small sniffle, surprising me by changing the subject. “They're up to something. I don't know what it is, but I'm … please. They're idiots. They don't know what they're doing.”

My heart stutters and my hands clench tighter. The look in her eyes, the reason I didn't recognize it at first is because I didn't want to see it.

She's scared of me. Lyric is scared of me.

“What did that blond douche say to you?” I ask, taking a step towards her. She backs up and shakes her head, the tears already drying on her cheeks as she tries to stand up to me for the sake of two dumb fucks that think they can shakedown a one-percenter and walk away unscathed. “What did he tell you?” My voice is low and dangerous. If Lyric knows … shit. If she knows, then she becomes another loose end that the club will have to take care of. I refuse to let that happen. “What did he say to you?” I ask again, my voice gravelly and rough.