“He didn't give specifics, he just … he said that he and Sully were taking care of things with the club.”
“Bullshit,” I say, moving towards her again, running my fingers up the side of her face. She doesn't lean into my touch this time, doesn't react at all. “He told you something.”
“I don't know anything, Royal. Just … whatever they do, don't hurt them. They're too stupid for their own good.”
“I'm going to ask you one more time, and you better tell me the fucking truth. This goes way beyond you and me, Lyric. The club's involved now. Your brother and his friend, they made a big mistake today, one that even I can't erase, so if you know something you have to tell me now. If you don't, then I can't help you.”
She stares up at me with those big green eyes of hers, lips parted softly and face ashen. I've already lost the chance to protect one woman that I care about today; I won't lose another. Lyric might be a stranger, might be the mayor's daughter, might even be just a hot fuck that I'm making a big mistake with, but I want to help her out here, I do. If she doesn't confide in me now though, I'm powerless.
The Wolves will have justice. If she's tangled up in this, she'll go down with her brother and Brent. It won't be by my hand, but I'm not a lone wolf. I have a pack, and the pack demands blood for wrongs committed.
“Take a risk, Pint-Size. Bet it all on me, right here and now. I might be a dangerous man, but I'm a dangerous man with options. Don't take that choice away from me. Tell me what Brent said to you.”
“He … you killed your vice president,” she whispers and I feel the blood drain from my own face, the moments of that painful night flickering in front of my eyes like they're superimposed across Lyric's frightened face. Landon's gritted teeth, the blood seeping through his white T-shirt, the gun clutched tight in his hand. Muzzle pointed towards me, another shot and he stumbles, my own gun in the air and the kickback in the web of my hand.
I swallow hard and close my eyes, trying to banish it all from my mind. This isn't a moment for weakness. If anything, I have to be stronger now than I've ever been before—and I have to fight twice as hard on a fucking chance.
“Pint-Size,” I begin, opening my eyes and looking down at her, but she's already turning around and fleeing to the other side of the counter.
“That's not it,” she whispers, starting to pant, her breath coming in small flutters as she lays her fingers on the countertop and looks across at me. “I mean, it's not just that. Royal, I … if someone has to pay for this, it should be me. This is my fault.” The shock of her own words is written across her face, like she can't believe she's saying what she's saying.
“What's your fault?” I ask, gritting my teeth, emotions writhing violently inside my chest. I should turn them off, push forward like I always do, but this girl. Goddamn this fucking girl! “What?!” I scream the word and she flinches.
“I called Brent,” she says, voice trembling as she backs up against the cabinets. “I knew him from college, so I called in the favor. All I wanted was for him to make you nervous enough to sign the papers. I just want to be seen, Royal. I want to be in politics, and I … needed my dad to look at me like I was worth something.”
I just stare at her for a long moment, too long, the silence stretching thin and sticky between us.
“You did what?” I ask, my brain rushing to process the information.
“I called Brent. He wasn't supposed to do anything. I didn't think he'd find an informant or try to make a case or any of that, and I … I don't know how my brother's involved. I just, if you're going to punish someone, make it me. I started all of this.” She pauses, licking her lower lip and lifting her chin. “Your vice president, if he really is dead then it's my fault. His blood is on my hands.”
No words.
I take a step back. Another. Lyric just keeps staring at me, steel in her gaze, lips in a flat line. I should … there are so many things I should do right now.
“I'm taking responsibility, Royal,” she says, closing her eyes and nodding like she's accepted the kind of terrible fate that the club would exact on her under most circumstances. That I would order them to exact on her in most circumstances. “But you, this, I didn't expect any of it.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I say and her eyes snap open, pleading with me, begging me to be anyone but who I am. “Stay here and keep your mouth shut. Don't admit this to anyone, ever again, do you understand me?”
“Royal—”
“No.” I shake my head, running my fingers through my hair. Shouldn't be surprised, should I? I let myself get caught up in a complete stranger, broke all my own rules, and fucked the fuck up. What was I thinking? This girl's not any different than the rest of them. Just a hot fuck with her own agenda, like they always are.