Guts & Glory: Mercy (In the Shadows Security Book 1)

by Jeanne St. James

  Then he realized he never asked how long this job was going to take.

  Fuck.

  Chapter Two

  “What do you mean, Michael? Why would I go away with some...”

  Her baby blues landed on Mercy, who sat in a corner where he could keep everyone in front of him. He could see and hear everything.

  “Stranger,” she finished, frowning at Mercy.

  Even wearing a fucking frown, she was downright smoking hot.

  But then, that was to be expected for some high-class, high-maintenance pussy.

  “Just until things settle down here, Parris, then you can come home.”

  Parris.

  Highfalutin name, too.

  He wondered if she was French. Or liked to French.

  Probably not. She was most likely a frigid bitch who loved money more than dick. Only dealt with dick to get money.

  Her hair, her makeup, her clothes, her manicure. All required a boatload of fucking cash.

  So, fuck yeah, she was hot, had curves that wouldn’t quit, but she was also too much trouble.

  However, he only had to deal with her for a short amount of time.

  For what this “Michael” was paying, he could suck it up.

  Her expression was curious as her gaze ran slowly over his face. No fear. No disgust. But he could see the questions. The wondering.

  Her eyes eventually continued on, taking in his jacket, which he was wearing in this fiery hell-hole of a city on meth. She didn’t ask why he was wearing it. Most likely because she already knew. If she was getting boned on the regular by Michael Paranzino, then she was used to his own men wearing shit to keep their weapons concealed.

  She paused briefly on his lap. Her expression remaining the same, but she was checking him closely. Most likely because she was a side-piece who kept her own side-piece. Or pieces. The ones she didn’t dick for money. Or maybe ones she dicked for even more money.

  The corner of Mercy’s lip curled as she continued with her visual journey, noticing how he sat low in the chair, his thighs wide, his booted feet outstretched but planted solid, his hands tucked close to his hidden weapons.

  He wasn’t surprised when she raised her gaze, and this time made it obvious that her eyes were tracing his scar. From the right corner of his hairline, down over his eye, his nose, his cheek, to where it ended, pulling up the corner of the left side of his lip just slightly.

  Again, no disgust. Just curiosity.

  She took a visible breath, which lifted her huge knockers from the snug deep V-neck dress she wore that hugged every one of her generous curves. Including those enormous tits.

  He noticed something he normally didn’t give a shit about. Her blue dress emphasized the color of her eyes.

  “He pass inspection, sweetheart?” While the tone should have been full of jealousy, it wasn’t. The man sounded amused.

  She blinked, then turned back to her man. Michael.

  “I don’t understand any of this.”

  “You know why this has to happen.”

  Mercy wished he knew why. He was still waiting for a better explanation. He figured Paranzino would give him more details now that he was in Vegas ready to take this package with him.

  And she certainly was a package.

  Her long, light brown hair brushed past her shoulders, curling into big waves at the ends. A section of it had fallen over one eye, which, of course, earlier he noticed were as blue as the sky on a clear day. Her deep red lips were full, her mouth tempting, perfect for wrapping around a man’s dick.

  She probably hated it but would most likely do it for some diamonds.

  Mercy wondered what she’d had to do to get the huge rock—which looked at least four carats—that hung on a gold chain nestled in the crease between those heavy knockers. Possibly anal. Maybe even double penetration.

  If that was true, then she probably did it often, since she had some big-ass diamonds hanging from her ears, too.

  Sometimes it paid to be a female.

  Not that he wanted diamonds. Or a dick up his ass.

  “How long is this going to be for, Michael?”

  Mercy wanted that answer, too.

  “As long as it takes, sweetheart.”

  Well, that just fucking blew. The man had no idea how long this job was going to last?

  Mercy cleared his throat, and both sets of eyes came to him. He pulled himself up in the chair. “You got men assigned to handle the reason why I’m taking care of your package?”

  Parris’s lips parted, and she breathed, “Package?”

  Fuck. She even made that one-word question sound hot as fuck.

  “He means you, sweetheart,” Paranzino said with more amusement, evident by his bright white, obviously bleached smile.

  Mercy was glad the man was entertained. However, it seemed to be pissing off his piece. Might be a while before the man got any of that again if he wasn’t careful.

  Paranzino’s eyes came to him. “Yes, that’s being handled.”

  Why didn’t that answer ease his discomfort? “They good?”

  “They’re good.”

  Right. Except... “They couldn’t watch her?”

  “I want her out of town, away from all of this until things settle. Right now, it’s all hands on deck, and I can’t spare anyone. Plus, I need someone good. Skilled. A professional. Not afraid to do what he needs to. Your boss’s ‘security business’ came highly recommended.”

  “Couldn’t find anyone closer just as ‘professional?’”

  “I don’t want to keep her close. She needs to get out of Nevada. No one will look for her in Pittsburgh.”

  “Pittsburgh?” Parris squeaked. It was sort of cute. Sort of. “Pittsburgh, Michael? Really?”

  “Nothing wrong with Pittsburgh,” Mercy muttered.

  “Yes, if you like steel, football and a lot of hills,” she answered with annoyance, hands planted on her round, grab-worthy hips.

  “Sounds like you’ve been there before.”

  “Sweetheart, I set up a house there for you. With all the comforts of home. It’s just temporary.” Paranzino flipped a hand in the direction where Mercy was sitting. “I’m sure Mr. Mercer—”

  “Mercy.”

  Both sets of eyes landed on him again.

  “I’m sure Mercy will be glad to show you all the best spots in the city.”

  Like he was a fucking tour guide. And that’s not what you did when you had a package to protect. You didn’t go sight-seeing and gallivanting all around a fucking city.

  Asshole.

  Paranzino came around his desk and slid an arm over her bare shoulders, leaning in to press his lips to her cheek.

  “But, Michael, I have a busy work schedule.”

  “Don’t worry about any of that.”

  “Will I be able to take my laptop?”

  “No.”

  “No?” she squeaked once more. Again, borderline cute. But could quickly become annoying if she did it too often.

  “You’re leaving your cell phone, tablet and laptop here. My communication with you will be through... Mercy here. I’ll keep him updated through his boss, Mr. Dougherty.”

  Mercy’s gaze slid to the floor as he tried not to choke.

  Mr. Dougherty.

  There was no “mister” about Diesel.

  Diesel was just that. Diesel, D or Boss. Hell, even “Beast,” which his woman called him. But then, Jewel was the only one that got away with that and lived to call him that another day.

  “What can I take with me?”

  “Clothes, magazines, books, shit like that. Anything that can’t be pinged or tied to you,” Mercy answered.

  “This is serious,” she whispered.

  “Sweetheart, you know it is. We’ve discussed this. It’ll be over soon enough, then you can come home and get back to work.”

  “If I can’t work, I’m going to climb the walls.”

  Paranzino smiled and gave her shoulders a familiar squeeze. �
��I know.” He released her and turned to Mercy, his expression now business-like. The man might be soft and sweet to his piece, but when it came down to business, Mercy just bet he was ruthless. “I have a private jet—not mine—fueled and on stand-by. I had a third party rent it, so won’t come back to me. You’ll be taking that back east. I sent someone to pack up her clothes. Her bags were handed off to another person, who will be delivering them to the airport. This way there’ll be no connection to her if the house was being watched.”

  Mercy gave the man a nod and pushed to his feet. He was tall and he should tower over her, but she wasn’t any petite female, either. She’d probably be five inches shorter than his six-foot-three if she wasn’t wearing those three-inch heels. “She got a disguise to get her out of the building undetected?”

  “Yes, we have a very high-profile patron being comped in the Presidential Suite. He’s from the UAE. The women with him—family, I’m assuming—wear niqabs. One of my men has obtained one. Parris will be covered from head to foot, except for her eyes.” His voice softened again. “Please, Parris, just be careful. Wear your sunglasses or keep your eyes downcast until you’re safely inside the limo, yes? A blue-eyed Arab woman may catch some attention.” His tone became cold and serious once more. “Mr. Mercer... I’m sorry, Mercy... you will take a taxi. Parris will go in the limo with the Sheikh and his wife. Or wives.” He flipped a hand in the air. “Or whoever they are.”

  “Does this Sheikh know why Rissa is being disguised?”

  Once again two sets of eyes landed on him. One very plush, lipsticked mouth hung open. She better shut it before she choked on a suicidal fly.

  “Rissa?” Paranzino asked. He blinked, then visibly gathered himself. “Uh, I simply explained to him that she was escaping an abusive husband.”

  “Why would a Sheikh care about that?”

  “He wouldn’t. What he cares about is how he’ll benefit greatly from providing his assistance.”

  Mercy studied Paranzino. The man’s dark hair was turning grey at the temples, he wore a very expensive suit, his fingernails were clean and perfectly groomed. The man oozed money. And a lot of it.

  Mercy had to assume Rissa wasn’t his only side-piece. He probably had them scattered across the globe.

  When Paranzino had raised his hand earlier, Mercy couldn’t miss the expensive Pierre Arpels watch on his wrist and also his wedding ring, which was a wide gold band embedded with a center circle of diamonds. His eyes dropped to Rissa’s left hand which was pressed to her chest right above her very large tits.

  No wedding band or even a tell-tale diamond on her ring finger.

  Yeah. Side-piece.

  “That’ll be the perfect cover,” Mercy finally muttered.

  Paranzino smiled, then returned to stand behind his desk. A fancy desk in an opulent office in a fifty-story-high casino on the Strip. He reached for his desk phone, pressed a button and put the receiver to his ear, only saying, “It’s time,” before hanging up the phone.

  It’s time.

  That simple.

  Before the man could even make it around the desk again, there was a single knock at the office door before it opened and a huge, bald man lumbered through. Hired muscle.

  That was quick. He had to have been stationed outside the door.

  “Sweetheart, Manny will escort you back to your room to get changed, then take you to meet the Sheikh.”

  “Michael,” she whispered, taking in Manny’s bulk.

  Paranzino came back around to her, grabbed her bare shoulders in his hands and gave her a kiss on one cheek, then the other. “You’ll be fine and in good hands.”

  Sending your woman off with a Sheikh and no bodyguards was not placing her in “good hands,” but Mercy bit his tongue. Until she was solely under his protection, he wasn’t in charge.

  He knew when to keep his mouth shut.

  Paranzino pressed his lips lightly to hers. He didn’t linger, it wasn’t passionate, and Mercy found that curious. “Now go. I’ll be in touch.” He nodded to Manny. “You know what to do.”

  The goon nodded back and swept a hand in the direction of the door. With an annoyed look, Rissa moved toward it.

  The room remained silent until the door closed behind her.

  Then the real talk began.

  “Need to know the shit I’m up against. Need to know I can do whatever’s necessary to keep her safe. Need to know everything you know. No bullshit. No lies. Nothing. You want me to keep her safe, then I need full disclosure.”

  Paranzino nodded his head, leaned against the front of his wide desk and began to tell Mercy what he wanted him to know.

  But Mercy knew it wasn’t everything.

  The man was charming and genuinely concerned with his woman’s safety. But just like Mercy thought, the man was ruthless.

  It made him wonder if Rissa knew just how ruthless her lover was.

  Parris stared up the steps to the Cessna Citation jet. A tall, dark figure stood just within the door.

  What the hell happened to her life?

  She glanced over her shoulder at the retreating limo. She had just exited a vehicle that had included a freaking Sheikh and three women, who she had no idea what they looked like because she could only see their dark brown eyes due to their niqabs.

  She didn’t envy them wearing what they did every day. She felt like she was suffocating.

  “Gonna just stand there or bring that ass of yours up the steps?”

  The low rumble of his voice skittered through her. Those steps would take her from the frying pan right into the fiery depths of hell.

  “Are my bags on board?” she asked this Mercy. Could he even hear her through the stifling fabric covering her mouth?

  Apparently that answer was yes, since he replied, “Loaded. Just waiting on your ass.”

  Parris pinned her lips together.

  Her life had flipped upside down since witnessing what she did a few days ago. Since then, she’d been holed up in Michael’s casino, had bodyguards stationed outside her suite and now she was headed to Pennsylvania.

  Pittsburgh to be exact. And from what she remembered—from the one and only time she was there as a child to visit a distant family member—it was home to pierogis and Pirates baseball.

  Steelers and steel mills.

  The Duquesne Incline and Point State Park.

  Just. Freaking. Great.

  Before her cell phone had been confiscated, Parris had called her assistant, instructing her to cancel all her appointments for the next two weeks. And now that she had no phone, her patients had no way to contact her in case of emergency.

  Although, those cases were rare. And weren’t life or death. For the most part.

  “What the fuck, woman? You’re standing out on the tarmac exposed. If you don’t get your ass up those steps double-time, this job may be over before it even fucking begins.”

  Good, since she didn’t like being a “job.” Or a “package.”

  Or even getting into an expensive private jet with a stranger who seemed to be a real dick.

  She gritted her teeth as she grabbed the handrail—which was so hot from the searing Vegas sun, it burned her hand—and carefully hoofed it up the metal steps in her Christian Louboutin pumps with three-inch heels. At least once she was inside, she could take off the black polyester “outfit” that was making her sweat like a glass of iced tea sitting out in the desert heat.

  She didn’t know how women wore this crap.

  Or why.

  However, it wasn’t up for her to judge somebody else’s idea of modesty.

  A curse slipped from her lips as she stumbled on the top step. A long arm snaked out of the doorway, snagged her and, with a violent jerk, pulled her into the cooler interior of the plane.

  “Shut the door. Let’s get this bus in the air,” he ordered the flight crew.

  The man sounded like he was used to giving orders. He probably was. He seemed bossy as hell.

  He was probab
ly just as bossy in the bedroom. “On the bed. On your back. Spread your legs. Say my name. Now, come.”

  Parris stifled a snort.

  As a sex therapist for the past fifteen-plus years, she’d dealt with men like him as patients. Some women wanted and needed those direct instructions. Most did not.

  The ones who didn’t, and ended up with someone like this Mercy, also ended up in her office as patients.

  Asking how to change their man.

  Unfortunately, they couldn’t.

  Unless he wanted to.

  Which he normally didn’t.

  Because usually they were selfish pricks.

  Regrettably, those couples generally ended up in a divorce attorney’s office in the end.

  Most men like that didn’t want to change, even to save their marriage or relationship. They’d just move on to the next woman, until that one got sick of their demanding bullshit, too.

  Her eyes slid to the tall man still holding onto her. His long fingers dug into her arm covered in black unbreathable polyester.

  He was probably one of those for sure.

  With a tug, he “encouraged” her to move deeper into the small plane. When he got far enough to be out of the crew’s way, who were busy preparing for take-off, his firm grip released and he fell into a nearby seat.

  Then he slouched, stretched out his obscenely long legs and put his boots on the seat across from him before crossing his ankles.

  Like he owned the joint.

  He jerked his chin up at her.

  What did that mean?

  “You get off the fucking plane in the Burgh wearing that shit, you’re gonna attract more attention than we want. Take it off.”

  Gladly. She wanted it off, but not because he ordered her to remove it.

  With a loud sigh, that she made sure he heard, she yanked the niqab off her head and threw it on an empty seat to her left. She smoothed a hand over her hair since she was sure it was standing on end from static created by the shittiest fabric man ever made.

  She glanced down at the rest of the outfit. The nondescript black garment that covered her from neck to ankles. Did he just expect her to pull that off, too? Right there while he watched?