Page 37 of Warrior

Her brow rises. “I thought we were going to talk about it more?”

“There isn’t anything to talk about Lyric. You saw what he did to your house, your work. I can protect you better here. I lived at the clubhouse when I was a prospect and when I first patched in.” I shrug. “Club life is busy and sometimes I just want my own place with space and privacy. I bought this home last year. It's nothing fancy and honestly it could use some work. Maybe now that we'll be here for a while, I can actually do some of the projects I have. But it's big enough and it’s secure.”

Lyric falls quiet again when she sees the other truck parked out front. The lights are on in the house and one bike is parked closer to the garage, along with a four-wheeler. I help Lyric from the truck and grab her suitcase before leading her up the front porch and to the front door. I try to picture this from her eyes, but I have no idea how she feels about it. About howthisversion of Lyric would feel. I like to believe the girl I knew at eighteen would think it’s rustic; she probably would have called it whimsical, a cabin in the woods. I watch her, desperate for her to comment on anything, like I need her approval. Lyric walks inside and once again falls silent while she looks around. I’m about to cave and just ask her what she thinks when Bullet comes around the corner from the living room and office area.

“Back just in time,” he says and glances at his watch. “Nice to see you again, Doc.”

“You too, Bullet.” Lyric nods and smiles.

“There are two bedrooms upstairs. Pick one you want to put your stuff in, then come back down to my office so I can tell you the plan,” I say to her, pointing toward the stairs.

“Which room is yours? I’ll just take the other.” She looks at me quizzically.

“I don’t really stay here that often. And when I do, I mostly fall asleep in the office where my work is or on the couch. Just pick where you’ll be comfortable, baby,” I urge her again and start to walk away, following Bullet.

“Not your baby,” she calls to me, while she heads up the stairs. I wave her off with a stupid grin plastered on my face.

“It's weird when you smile,” Bullet states, standing there and blinking at me.

“Shut up.” I shove him forward and follow him to my office.

He takes a seat in one of the chairs and I take the other. Dodger is sitting in front of the large computer screen where there are squares of camera angles and footage of my property already being collected.

“Right there,” Zane says from behind him, pointing at the screen. “Camera sixteen has a twenty-second lag.” I watch as Dodger opens up tabs and punches in numbers on the keyboard.

“How was the pick up?” Zane asks me without taking his eyes off the screen.

“Her place was mostly cleaned up, but shit hit the fan at her work. The prick broke in there and messed up all her shit,” I tell them, running my hands over my face.

“Did law enforcement get involved?” he asks, finally turning to me.

“Yeah,” I sigh, leaning back in my chair. “I called Jester and told him we needed assistance. Deveroix smashed the alarmsystem and disabled it so they never got a call. The place was destroyed. He’s clearly looking for something.”

“Probably answers as to where the wife and child are,” Bullet says. “Doc was pretty vague about that. All she said was that they would never be found.”

“Prez hasn’t said anything about it either,” I add. “I know that she had access to a lot of money so the possibilities are endless.”

“Okay.” Dodger hits a few more keys on the keyboard and then the light turns green on the larger screen on the wall. “You’re live.”

Standing from the chair, I move over to the screen and scrutinize each and every angle. I can’t see any blind spots on camera, but after a day or two of surveillance, all the kinks will be worked out. “Looks good, Dodge.”

“Of course it does.” He smirks like the cocky asshole he is.

I narrow my eyes on him. “You do realize if anything happens or he gets past your monitors, I’ll be coming after you. Brother or not.”

He holds up his hands. “Man! I swear we worked for hours on the positions every few yards like you asked. Your whole lot is fucking huge.”

Zane snickers. “It’s not personal, Dodge. He’s just worried about his woman.”

Dodger groans and Bullet laughs. I glare at all three of them. Speaking of Lyric, she hasn’t come back down yet. I don’t want her to feel uncomfortable here or like she can’t move around freely. Having the extra audience probably isn’t helping. I turn and clap Zane on the shoulder. “Okay, time for you all to go.”

There’s a chorus of each of them griping and Dodger begging for food for all his hard work, but I manage to usher them out the door before locking it and turning my security system on. The house is quiet and I hold my breath, trying to see if there is any commotion from upstairs. Maybe she decided to take a showeror a bath? I did give her permission to make herself at home. Fuck, I want her to feel at home here, to love the space as much as I do, so it’s harder for her to leave. There’s no denying, as much as I want to, that I didn’t pick out furniture, colors, and the design of the home with Lyric in mind. Even when I didn’t know if I’d ever see her again, even though I had no hope for us after the way I destroyed us, she was still on my mind when I pictured wanting her to be comfortable here.

Deciding to give her some time, I head into the kitchen and start taking things out of the fridge and pantry. I do not work miracles in the kitchen, but I know how to make a pretty mean Cajun Alfredo pasta. By the time I’m done making the chicken and cutting up the peppers and sausage, Lyric still hasn’t come down. Once I mix everything with the sauce and noodles, I decide to go and make sure she’s alright.

My heart is pounding as I reach the door to the spare bedroom and open it. The room is bare and then my heart is beating furiously for an entirely different reason. Moving to the door farthest away, the main bedroom, I open it slowly. Nothing could have prepared me for this moment and the emotion that lodges in my chest. Lyric is curled up in the middle of the bed, her chocolatey hair fanned out on the pillow behind her. Her hands are folded under her cheek while she sleeps deeply. My whole body aches to move to the bed and hold her, to curl around her and tell her that she’s safe here. I don’t have the heart to wake her, knowing she needs the sleep after what she’s been through and the extra shock today of seeing her office that way. Instead, I quietly move into the room, my room, the room I always wanted her to be in, and grab the throw blanket from the end of the bed. She doesn’t move or even stir as I place it over her, being sure to cover her feet, before I step out of the door and close it behind me. Even though I’m eating dinner alone, I’ve never felt more at home.

Chapter 17

---