“Lyric got jumped,” he mumbles, and I damn near crush that fucking phone in my fist.
“What?” I sound like I'm going to kill someone. Starting with Mug. And then moving on to whoever … “Where is she? Is she okay?”
“She's fine, at her place now. Looks like a couple of cuts is all, but she won't talk about it. I dunno who did it. She won't say.”
“And how in the fuck did that happen if you were watching her?” I roar, not caring that my voice is catching on the wind, twirling through the empty graveyard like a monster. Mug starts to mumble something about a groupie, and I hang up, dialing Lyric and lifting my eyes to meet Smoky's green ones. He has this grimace on his face like he knows his brother's a complete wanker. “Lyric got jumped,” I say and his red brows skyrocket.
When Lyric doesn't answer, I jam my helmet on my head, swing my leg over my cruiser and throttle the engine on my bike.
With a roar and a rush of gravel, I take off down the driveway and burst onto the pavement with a squeal of tires.
“Where is she?” I ask again when I pull up beside Mug and tear my helmet off, tossing it on the grass and standing up with the breath rushing in and out of my lungs in painful bursts, chest heaving, rage curling my hands into tight fists.
“She's inside—” Mug starts as I shove past him, heading towards the front door at a jog. If I try to talk to him now … I might do something I'll regret later.
I don't knock, pushing my way into Lyric's tidy little bungalow with a slam of the front door and the pounding of my boots against the wood floor.
“Hello?” she calls confused from the direction of her bedroom. “Royal?”
I don't answer, swinging around the doorjamb and finding her sitting on the edge of her bed with a glass of wine and a pair of matching pink bandages on either cheek. Her green eyes go wide as I move towards her and crouch down at the edge of the bed, putting my fingers on her knees as I try to control the wild flurry of emotions inside of me. What the hell am I getting so worked up for? I wonder, but I already know. Inside, I know.
This woman right here, she's more than just the mayor's daughter … she's my old lady.
Even if she hasn't exactly accepted that yet.
“What the fuck happened?” I ask, my voice a rough, wild growl as I reach a hand up and play with the sharp, jagged ends of Lyric's hair. “Bloody hell, Pint-Size.” Where before there was a tumbling fall of brunette waves down to her breasts, Lyric's now sporting a ragged bob that falls just below her ears.
I move my hand from her hair to her face, thumb lightly tracing the first of the two bandages.
“It's not that bad, really,” she says, adjusting herself and wincing, a hand settling on her tummy in an unconscious motion. Without waiting for permission, I lift up the hem and catch sight of a pale pink ace bandage wrapped around her midsection.
My stomach twists into knots and my heart plummets to the floor.
“What the …” I start again as Lyric jerks her red tank top back into place with flushed cheeks and a clenched jaw. She's fucking livid, hands shaking and sloshing around the pale color of the wine in her glass as she turns those emerald eyes down to me.
“Mug is a pretty awful bodyguard,” she starts, trying to smile through the rage. Doesn't work on either of us. I feel my own jaw tighten, the fingers of my left hand curling around her knee, digging into the soft flesh of her upper thigh. “It was so awful, Royal,” she exhales, lids fluttering closed for a moment in memory. “I couldn't … I couldn't do anything. I thought I knew how to defend myself …”
“Did you have your gun?” I ask, heart thumping as I try to figure out how to ask the question that's making my throat tight and my stomach twist. Did they … did they do something besides cut you, love? Oh God. Did they rape you?
Lyric gives me a tight smile.
“I did, but I wasn't about to use it outside my father's office. The shot would echo and …” She shrugs her small shoulders like this isn't important; it is. “It doesn't matter. I just … I have a lot to process right now.”
“Love,” I whisper, trying to contain the wild anger and the violent tenderness I'm feeling right now. The emotions war with each other inside my chest as I crouch there, waiting for the answers I need. “Who was it? Tell me, and I'll deal with it.”
“You want me to snitch?” she asks, and I raise my brows, the leather of my jacket crinkling as I sit back, wishing I could pull her shirt up and examine her further. But first, answers. I need fucking answers.
“Snitch? The hell are you going on about, Pint-Size? Just tell me it was Mile Wide and let's be done with it. You're not a rat if you're telling your ol' man about some fucking punks. Now, let's have it, so I can go outside and give Mug a bloody bollocking and an ass beating.”