Chrome: With a Heart Forged in Steele (Carolina Bad #4)

by Rie Warren

  Later I’d find something to punch until it turned to dust.

  Not now.

  Just her.

  Just Rayce.

  She yawned softly.

  “I love you, princess. I’m here. I’ll always be here.” I cuddled her sleepy form closer. “Go to sleep. Nothing’s gonna hurt you now.”

  ****

  Rayce moved in. Back in. This time she was here to stay.

  For the next week, I was preoccupied with how to help her without getting in her face about counseling. How to make her whole and healthy, and show her she was worthy.

  Funny. Hunter was having the same issue with Bo, our latest MC member, the ex-Force Recon specialist.

  The other part of me was determined to find a way to bring the pain down on her cuntbag of a dad. Every damn time I thought about Leroy, and what he’d made her do, my vision went rage-red.

  It was amazing Rayce even functioned. More than functioned. Lived her life, loved on me in the very best ways.

  We didn’t dwell on it, openly. But it was there.

  We didn’t discuss the who, the where, the when her dad had literally whored her out, but I wasn’t done making plans for a very bloody, very violent, very slow end to Leroy Lafayette’s worthless life.

  In the meantime, I took care of Rayce like a good man should.

  I comforted her. Coaxed her. Fed her, since she couldn’t cook for shit. Made love to her in all the ways that mattered.

  I still needed to kill the dude who gave douche a bad name.

  ****

  When I wasn’t committing murder in my imagination, I was running through money figures in my head for Chrome and Steele . . . and a week and a half later still carting around the photo of Rayce’s mom.

  I planned to get the picture custom-framed so I could add it to the wall surrounding the staircase in the house. Rayce deserved a little history of her own and not in a cheap Walmart frame.

  I stopped into Retribution for a quick shoot-the-shit and pound-a-shot before heading home, the photograph sticking out on top of a bunch of files I needed to work on later.

  Tucker sat at the only two-top beside the bar reserved for the important shit.

  “You expecting someone?” I asked while Coletrane poured my shot.

  “Not sure. Just got a feeling.”

  “So you’re the new swami?” After Hunter—who made it his business to know everyone else’s biz.

  As well as being a preacher man and the original MC hippy, Tuck now sported a figurative crystal ball?

  I snorted.

  He leaned out of his chair. “Say. What’re you doing with a picture of Ginny Cooper?”

  Jesus Christ.

  I drank the shot and plunked down at the goddamn magic table. “You know her?” I placed the photo front and center on the table between us.

  “Oh yeah. Beautiful lady. She sure could sing too. We were together for a little while.” He looked wistfully at the picture he held for a closer look. “Sex, drugs, and rock n’ roll . . . even in the nineties, you know?”

  He stroked the portrait of her face, smiling. “Damn but she was young back then. Compared to me anyways. Prettiest thing you ever did see.

  “Did a lot of traveling together. Good times. Even when the VW bus shit the can. The woman knew her way around more than an engine, that was for sure. Lost track of her a long time back.”

  “When was this?” I rubbed my jaw, studying him while he focused on the photo.

  “Well, let me see now. I was thirty-three, so she was little more than twenty-two.” He ran his fingers through his whiskers. “So sweet in the sack. Bright spirit, too. The one that got away ’round about ’91, I guess it was.”

  “You stopped seeing her?”

  “She decided she was fixin’ to settle down.” He kicked out his feet, pulling a long swig from his beer bottle. “Curse of the road. I just wasn’t there yet and figured she’d gotten tired of the old man gig. No hard feelings, ’course. Would never think bad about such a fine woman.

  “Yep. Last thing I heard Ginny married a real nasty piece of work. That was in 1992, I do believe.”

  “Rayce’s dad,” I uttered.

  “What?” Tuck snapped to attention.

  “Ginny is Rayce’s mom.” I drained my shot. “Was her mom anyway, before she disappeared.”

  “How old is Rayce again?” Tuck asked, his head quirked.

  “Twenty-four.”

  His eyebrows scrolled together as he did the math, and I added it up, too.

  “No fucking way.” He reared back.

  “You don’t really think?”

  “Hell, son. Yeah I do.”

  Goddamn.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Breaking Dad

  I STARED AT TUCKER, running my fingers through my hair. “Holy shit.”

  “I guess you could say that.” He rocked back in his chair and shouted over to Cole, “Hey, bring a bottle. A big one.”

  Coletrane arrived with tequila and two fresh shot glasses. “Something up?”

  “Oh yeah.” I did the honors, pouring out a couple more drinks. “That’s one way of putting it.” But I didn’t elaborate.

  No one else was finding out about this before Rayce.

  Cole was a smart man, and he knew when to make himself scarce. He scuttled back to the bar while Tuck and I clinked our glasses.

  I studied him for a moment. “She doesn’t really look like you though.”

  “Is that a bad thing?” He chuckled.

  Rubbing a hand across my growing grin, I answered, “Good point.”

  Tuck got that dreamy look on his face again. “Sure does look like her momma though. Can’t believe I never noticed before.”

  “That might have something to do with the blue streaks in her hair, the tattoos, and the nose ring.” All additions I was a huge fan of.

  A small frown formed between Tuck’s bushy gray eyebrows as he twisted both ends of his long mustache.

  The fiery liquid burning a path down my throat, I watched him. “But this is a good thing, right?”

  I was so fucking thrilled by the possibility Tucker might be Rayce’s real father I could hardly frickin’ sit still.

  “Depends. It could really fuck with her head.” He laid his elbows on the table. “Think about it. The guy she’s been taking care of for years—”

  “Who she’s been taking shit off of for years.”

  “Might not be her father? And she put up with it all and tried to love him anyway just because he was blood?” Tuck shrugged. “I don’t know, man.”

  “All the more reason to find out the truth. Get him out of her life for good.”

  “I can see that.”

  “Do you want to find out?” Because if he didn’t I was gonna make him anyway, but I thought I’d ask to be polite and all.

  “Do the DNA testing thing?” He swilled his drink and swallowed some of it down. “Absolutely. If Rayce wants to.”

  “I don’t see how she couldn’t.”

  “This Lafayette is the only father she’s known.” He crossed his arms over his belly.

  “And not even remotely a good one at all.” I scowled.

  He raked his wiry hair back and pulled it into a low ponytail. “All those years. Wasted. I can’t believe Ginny never told me.” He rubbed a finger across his lips. “I always wondered what happened to her.”

  “Rayce doesn’t seem to know much either.” I squinted across the room, faintly smiling as Tail did one of his stupid-ass baton twirling tricks with his pool cue. Then I dragged my gaze back to Tucker. “Then again dear old Dad isn’t the chattiest motherfucker on the planet. So who knows what really became of Ginny?”

  We drank in silence a while longer, but I was getting jittery. I checked my watch half a dozen times, knowing Rayce would be home soon.

  “You’re about ready to knock this table over with that leg-shaking you’ve got going on over there.” Tuck’s mustache spread with a slow grin. “Got somepla
ce you’d rather be?”

  I folded my hands on the table to keep from drumming my fingers. “I know maybe I should let you tell her, but—”

  “You’re dying to get home to your woman and let her know?”

  “If that’s okay with you.” I bared my teeth in what I hoped was a convincing smile.

  “Yeah. Yeah. Just don’t get her hopes up. We don’t know anything for sure.” Reaching over, he clasped my shoulder. “And just be patient with her. You don’t know how she’s gonna react.”

  I drained my glass and slammed it on the table. “I got all the patience in the world for her.”

  “You’re being awfully optimistic about this.” Tuck stood when I did, and we did the back slap/hug thing. “Looks good on you.”

  “Well, Rayce could use some good in her life.”

  “I’d say she’s already got that.” Tuck pounded my back one more time. “I ever tell you I’m proud of you?”

  “Yeah.” I winked and patted his face. “I’m proud of you too, Pops.”

  Tucker puffed up a little, beaming with pride. “We’ll see.”

  I grabbed my jacket and leaned over to whisper, “By the way, her real name is Phoebe, but don’t let her know I told you or she’ll hand me my ass on a platter.”

  His laughter followed me out of the clubhouse.

  ****

  I paid minimal attention to the speed limits on the way home. Fuck, I hoped this all worked out. I wanted to give something to Rayce no one could ever take away from her.

  And Tuck?

  He was one of the best men I’d ever met. Nothing like her slob loser of a fake father.

  Hopefully fake.

  On the last bend before reaching our house, I almost took the corner on two wheels. My fingers tapping on the steering wheel, I turned into the driveway.

  That was when I noticed the beat-up, POS car parked out front.

  Foreboding prickled all over my skin.

  I killed the engine and slipped out of my truck, easing the door shut behind me.

  Walking around to the front of the house, I scoped through the windows.

  My body went ice cold when I saw the scene inside the living room. One of the end tables was flipped over, and in the middle of the destruction?

  Leroy Lafayette.

  His voice was muffled, but he shouted so loudly I could easily make out what he said.

  What I heard turned the ice cold to white-hot rage.

  “I don’t give a good goddamn what you want, girly! Think this is the life for you?”

  My heart flipped in my chest. Adrenaline rushed through my system.

  Rayce cowered on the couch, her hands raised in front of her face.

  He snatched a handful of hair and whipped her head up.

  Tears traced down her face.

  “You’re a whore. And I need my cash cow cunt to come home.”

  She jerked back and spat at him. “I’m not going anywhere with you! This is my home!”

  Fuck.

  I had precisely two guns—one at Chrome, because you never knew what the Retribution dudes would get up to, and one upstairs in my bedroom. No time to get that one.

  Leroy raised a heavy clawed hammer in his hand.

  Holy Christ.

  My fists would have to do.

  I snuck silently around the back of the house and into the door by the kitchen. Shitlock darted past me and outside.

  “After what I just told you, you really think I won’t kill you too?” Leroy kept berating Rayce, his ugly voice snarling through the entire house. “Should’ve breeded you too, just like your nasty mom. But I wouldn’t stick my dick in that hole o’ yours when you give it up so easy.”

  I bolted down the hallway, no longer going for stealth. The man was insane.

  “Fuckin’ little high-falutin’ bitch.”

  I skidded into the room with a steel edge to my voice. “Get the fuck away from her.”

  Leroy ripped Rayce from the couch and pulled her up in front of him. The wicked claw hammer poised to do some heavy damage to her skull.

  “You gonna try to stop me again? You wanna know what I told precious Phoebe here? What really happened to her mom?” Even from this distance his eyes looked gruesomely bloodshot, and he stank like days’ old filth and stale booze.

  Rayce stood, shaking her head. Every single muscle in her body looked strained tight, and I was locked in place until I could find an opening without her getting hurt.

  He yanked her head back hard, and she wailed. “The apple don’t fall far from the tree, ain’t that what they say? Only thing this one here is good for is spreadin’ her legs.” Practically foaming at the mouth, he turned that delirious pinpoint gaze on me. He was utterly fucking cracked up. “I beat her so hard. That whore—Ginny, that is—I crushed her skull. Fobbing me off with another dude’s brat.” He spat on the floor. “Gave Ginny exactly what she deserved.”

  One second I was across the room. The next I was on him.

  He had no time to react as I pushed Rayce out of the way. Wrenching the heavy hammer from his grasp, I flung it in the opposite direction. It crashed through one of the windowpanes with a huge shower of glass.

  But that shattering sound was nothing compared to the growls rolling out of me. Like a wild animal, I dropped Leroy to the floor with one hard shove.

  I attacked.

  Inhuman blows slammed like cement against his face, pounded mercilessly into his midsection, and then I punished his kidneys.

  I didn’t stop until he slobbered blood from his mouth, his begging cries coming from an obscenely swollen face.

  Still it wasn’t enough.

  Not for what he’d done to Rayce. Her mom. What he’d threatened to do again.

  The only reason I granted him mercy instead of a slow mutilated death was Rayce. I glanced at her, my fist raised for another blow. She huddled near the couch, watching me with big hazel eyes, rocking back and forth, whispering to herself.

  Turning to Leroy, I cold-cocked him on the head, and he became nothing more than a beaten-the-hell-up ball of motionless flesh on the floor.

  Slowly coming to my senses, I stood up. Breathing in and out, I realized I was covered in his blood. I tore off my jacket, followed by my shirt I used to clean my hands and face as quickly as I could.

  Rayce needed me, and not looking like a maniac who’d just been on a killing spree.

  With a few deep inhales, I approached her. I crouched in front of her.

  “He killed her. He killed her. He killed her.” That was what she was whispering.

  Swallowing roughly, I pulled her to me. I sat against the couch with her stiff body in my lap.

  I took over the rocking.

  “He killed her! HE KILLED HER, BOOMER!” She broke apart in my arms. Screaming and crying and clawing at me.

  There was nothing I could say. Nothing I could do.

  I just held her as the sobs rushed through her until she curled, spent in my embrace.

  “I wish Momma had run away because of me, like he always said.” Her cries slowed.

  “I know.” I wiped her face with a tissue. “I know, princess.”

  “That would’ve been better.” Her voice broke.

  “I know,” I whispered.

  Wrapping my arms around her, I held her as close as possible.

  ****

  Ten minutes later, blue, red, and white lights flashed inside the house from the street. I’d gotten Rayce a little bit settled upstairs, away from the bloody aftermath, and called Hunter and Ashe.

  They’d arrived with a whole horde of men and women in blue, plus the requisite fire engines and ambulance.

  I gave a quick statement to Hunter, including what Leroy had said about Ginny’s death.

  He looked on as the paramedics did a fast patch up on the geezer who was still unconscious before wheeling him out.

  “Got into a skirmish, huh?”

  “You could say that.” I flexed my knuckles, which were definite
ly worse for wear.

  “He didn’t get a hit in?”

  “Nope.”

  “Huh.” Hunter rasped a hand across his stubble.

  “Yep.”

  “We’ll need a statement from Rayce. And she’ll have to corroborate what he told her about her mother.”

  “Tomorrow.” I shook his hand.

  “I can do that.”

  “God, Boomer.” Ashe approached. “You want me to talk to Rayce?”

  “No. I’ve got her.”

  She gave me a hug. “Let me know about the counseling thing. I think it could help her.”

  “Will do.” I nodded.

  They cleared out of the scene, leaving me in a silent, war-torn house.

  Remembering Shitlock, I went to the back door and called for him. He slinked inside suspiciously but started purring when he saw new food in his dish.

  I cleaned up the living room and was boarding the broken window for the night after a quick shower when a piercing scream erupted from upstairs. I was on the second floor landing, shuttling into the bedroom before Rayce made it halfway through the second wailing shriek.

  Fighting with the blankets, she shouted, “Get off! Get off me!”

  “Rayce.” Yanking the covers down, I took her sweaty, wet cheeks in my hands.

  She slapped at me blindly. “No! No! NO MORE!”

  “Rayce!” I gently shook her by the shoulders. “Baby, princess. Wake up. Wake up! It’s me. Just me. Boomer.”

  Her eyes blinked open. A sob cut through her sigh of relief as she flung her arms around me, clutching me tightly. “They were here.” She gulped for breath. “They were here. I could feel them. Smell them.”

  “C’mere, darlin’.” My voice grated out as I eased us down on the rumpled bed.

  I staved off my own fucking tears while I held her through the shaking and crying, the total collapse that swept her under.

  Crooning nonsensically, rubbing her back, I soothed her. When she finally calmed, I tried to convince her to have a bite to eat. She refused.

  “I just want to sleep, Boomer. Sleep and”—her face crumpled—“not dream. Not remember.”

  Rest and peace was what she needed. I nodded, slipped downstairs, and returned with a small glass of whiskey and a couple ibuprofens. That did the trick. She fell asleep again shortly after that.