“Ma’am, you need to sit down and buckle up, please. We’re about to taxi to the runway.”
Fine, then. She’d just yank it off right there.
Parris glanced at the petite uniformed woman, who shot a patient smile at her before returning to the front of the jet. But not before running curious eyes over Mercy’s face and giving him a little suggestive smile. Hmm.
Gathering the fabric in her fingers, she turned away from the silver-gray eyes that were pinned on her and slowly pulled it up, careful not to take her dress along with it and give this Mercy a show.
Maybe it wasn’t a show he’d want to watch anyway. As she tugged the fabric higher until it was gathered at her waist, she took a quick glance over her shoulder.
Oh yes. He was still watching.
He was now sitting up straight and buckled in. Though, he no longer wore that jacket which was ridiculous to wear in the Vegas heat.
Parris now knew why he wore it.
He had a worn leather shoulder holster strapped on his torso, which of course, held a gun—not a very small one, either—secured to his left side.
And on his right hip was a sheathed knife. From what it looked like, that was pretty big, too.
She also wondered if he had a grenade tucked into the front of his jeans. Because if not, then...
Phew.
That was one weapon she wouldn’t be seeing anytime soon, thankfully.
Hmm. Maybe regretfully.
Now she was sweating and couldn’t blame it on the outfit. She finished tugging the fabric over her head and then tossed that onto the empty seat, too.
Good riddance.
She glanced down and noticed her boobs were stuck lopsided in her bra from that maneuver. Bending over, she shook them into place, then pushed both of them together to get them settled just right.
As she straightened, she sighed with relief. Now she could feel the air conditioning that was blowing through the vents.
“Sit your ass down and buckle up so we can take off.”
Parris rolled her eyes at the grumble. But she couldn’t tell if he was amused or annoyed.
Or maybe both.
“Rissa.” Funny how that sounded like an impatient warning.
“What’s with the ‘Rissa?’” she hissed.
“You think I’m gonna call you Parris for the next who-knows-how-many days?”
She narrowed her eyes on him. “Yes, since that’s my name.”
“How ‘bout no? And, for fuck’s sake, you’re keeping a low profile. Even in the Burgh. So I’m not calling you the name of a French city which is way too unique as a woman’s name and could catch someone’s attention.”
“It’s Parris with two R’s,” she corrected him.
“And now you’re Rissa with two S’s. Sit the fuck down and buckle up.”
She turned and plopped her ass down in the seat across from him. Which unfortunately, faced him directly. There had to be a way to adjust it. She leaned over and checked to see if it had buttons or levers, anything to pivot it. Of course not. She was stuck facing him.
Well, he wasn’t too bad to look at, even with that nasty scar. And she could always close her eyes and take a nap. Especially since she’d hardly slept a wink since witnessing what she did.
Which, unfortunately, was why she was in this very plane with this very man across from her at that very moment.
She sat back and grabbed the two sections of the seatbelt.
“Got great fucking tits.”
Her fingers fumbled with the seatbelt and before she could latch it, it fell to her lap. She raised her gaze to his. “Sorry?”
“Nothing to be sorry about.”
“I meant, sorry, I don’t think I heard you clearly.”
“You heard me.”
“I swore you said that I have great fucking tits. But I must have misheard you since I have a hard time believing that a man like yourself, who’s been hired to do a job, and I’m sure is being paid very handsomely, would say something so crude to a woman who has no choice but to be in your presence.”
“I said it. You heard it. Let’s move on.”
She grabbed the seatbelt again and latched it. “I do have nice tits, though.”
“Yeah,” he muttered, hit the button to recline his seat, then closed his eyes.
That was it?
“Great tits,” now I’m going to take a nap?
Oh no, that wasn’t happening. She studied his face, which was the most relaxed she’d seen it since meeting him only a couple hours ago. “Want to tell me about the scar?”
“Nope.”
She let her gaze roam over the long, narrow ridge, dying to know how he got it, then let her eyes travel farther south to where his fingers were laced over his broad chest. “Why not?”
“Because that story will haunt your dreams.”
She adjusted her invisible therapist hat. Her fingers itched for a pad and pen. Or her tablet. “Like it does yours?”
“I don’t dream.”
“No, you probably never sleep. It’s one way of avoiding nightmares.”
“You’re quickly becoming one of those nightmares. Now shut the fuck up, otherwise this is going to be a longer trip than I’d like. And I’m not a big fan of flying as it is.”
“Why?”
He lifted his head up enough to open one eye and use it to glare at her with that icy gray stare.
Whatever.
With a huff, she hit the button on the side of the seat and let it recline until it couldn’t go any further. As the seat back had slid lower, the front kicked out to support her legs, almost like a bed.
Now all she needed was a pillow and blanket and maybe she could catch up on some well-needed Zzz’s.
“Ma’am, would you like a pillow and a blanket?”
Well, look at that, her silent prayer had been answered. Now someone just needed to wake her up when this whole nightmare was over.
Chapter Three
“Holy crap,” came the whisper next to him.
He didn’t slow his roll to figure out why she was shocked.
He knew.
As soon as he reached the passenger-side door of his RPV, he dropped their bags and pulled open the door, ordering, “Get in.”
“Uh...”
He glanced over his shoulder and saw her gaze lift from her stiletto-heeled pumps to his Terradyne. “Take them off and get in. Got no time to waste. This ain’t a fashion show. No one cares what the fuck you look like. This is only about keeping you breathing. Get. The. Fuck. In.”
He swore he heard a little growl before she bent over—once again giving him an unobstructed view of her amazing tits—yanked off her probably eight-hundred-dollar pair of shoes and then threw them into the RPV before stepping forward.
He heard her deep inhale of breath as she tried to figure out what to grab to haul her ass into his vehicle.
His growl was louder than hers when he grabbed her waist and helped her into the seat.
“I could’ve done it myself,” she griped as she turned to him.
As her mouth opened once more, he slammed the door shut before she could say anything else.
He yanked open the rear passenger side door, threw his overnight bag and her one-too-many bags onto the back seat and slammed that door, too, ignoring whatever bullshit was spewing from her mouth.
He might have heard: rude, fuck, bastard, and some other accurate words.
His lips actually curled at the ends as he rounded the back of the oversized, testosterone-heavy vehicle and yanked open the driver’s side door. He slid into the interior and was surprised to find it quiet.
Thank fuck.
He slipped the key into the ignition and, with a turn of his wrist, heard—and felt—the 6.7 L V8 turbo diesel roar to life. The only thing that sounded better was the rumble of his Harley. Or a woman having rapid, multiple orgasms.
Not the fake kind.
He twisted his head to see if Rissa was pouting, or fuming
, but became distracted by her tits again.
Jesus. The woman needed to wear turtlenecks and an ugly sweater vest. Or a goddamn burqa. Didn’t she know that no tight dress with a deep V would contain those puppies?
Maybe she did. Maybe that’s how she snagged filthy-rich fuckers to buy her diamonds the size of Heinz Field and shoes that could feed the homeless for a month.
He yanked his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and texted D that “the package has landed and is out for delivery,” before pulling up his boss’s text string that included the address to this so-called “safe house.”
Luckily, it turned out that D had a say in the location, so it wasn’t in the city. Again, the press of bodies, the crowds, the traffic and the noise were not his scene. He hated it all. Instead, it was a house that had just finished being built inside the Dirty Angels MC compound.
Mercy was told it was supposed to be one of the brothers, he had no idea whose, but whatever this Paranzino paid them was enough to delay their moving in without complaint. The club’s compound was not only secure with a high concrete wall surrounding the neighborhood, but it had an electric remote-operated gate and a bunch of badass bikers living in it, as well as a cop, who was the MC’s president’s brother.
So, for the most part, the location would be safe. There’d also be plenty of extra eyes. Including his boss’s, who could thump anyone into the ground with a gentle tap of his fist.
Better yet, it was close enough to the warehouse, which was the base for In the Shadows Security, so if he needed back-up, he’d have it.
After hearing the grisly details Paranzino spewed, he might just need it. Diesel was now caught up on those specifics, too. Mercy thought his boss might now be regretting setting up the safe house in the same neighborhood as his family after learning everything they did.
Mercy didn’t blame him.
But until something changed, that’s where he pointed his RPV as he drove off the Pittsburgh International Airport short-term lot and headed toward the highway.
D said Paranzino had even paid to furnish the house and stock it with necessities, so whoever was moving into it after this mission was over, was getting a nice windfall. Especially since the shit didn’t come from a Rent-A-Center. It all came from Three Rivers Furniture Emporium, which was upscale, expensive as fuck and not the typical place a biker would shop.
Kiki and Brooke, yes. Their ol’ men, no. Hawk or Dex would be perfectly satisfied kicking their feet up on an empty beer keg or reclining in an old, well-used Lazy-Boy.
The only problem Mercy saw moving into the compound, even just temporarily, was he might see Crow and Jazz. Here his boss sent him to Vegas to get him out of town and away from Jazz, but he ended up right back in their backyard.
Well, it wasn’t like he was planning on taking leisurely evening strolls around the fucking neighborhood or visiting the neighbors to borrow a cup of sugar. Once they were in the house, they were hunkering down. He just needed to keep his package breathing until her wealthy lover took care of the “problem.”
Once that was done, he was sticking her ass back on a plane—he didn’t care if it was a fancy jet or a fucking hang glider—and shipping her back home to Vegas.
Out of sight, out of mind, with a big wad of scratch in his pocket left behind. And the bonus, if she remained alive, would be all his. He wouldn’t have to give a cut of that bonus to Diesel.
Even so, most likely this assignment was going to be boring as fuck. Days of eating bon-bons and watching Nicholas Sparks movies. Nothing like hunting down the nomad motherfuckers of the Shadow Warriors MC. Now, that assignment had been the shit. D had let the whole team loose on that one.
Unfortunately, between him and the rest of D’s crew—Hunter, Walker, Brick, Steel and Ryder—they’d pretty much wiped out all of the members of that outlaw MC. If any stragglers remained, they were laying so low they’d gone underground.
Normally he couldn’t give a fuck about carnival games, but playing Whack-A-Mole with the Shadow Warriors was one of his favorites. As long as it was he, or one of D’s team, doing the whacking. Taking out those Warriors had become personal not only for Diesel, but for his Shadows.
A half hour later, which remained silent, thank fuck, he pulled into a parking lot not far from their destination. “You hungry?”
“No,” came the quiet answer.
“I am.” He steered his beautiful beast through the drive-through of Bangin’ Burgers, the best fucking burgers he’d ever had in his life. He’d eaten a lot of ground meat in a lot of different countries and nothing compared.
When he pulled up to the speaker, he placed his order, a few minutes later paid for it at the next window, then he continued south. The vehicle smelled damned delicious between whatever scent Rissa wore and the piping hot food in the bag. Ten minutes later, they were driving through the DAMC compound’s gate and Mercy kept an eye on his rearview mirror to make sure no one slipped in behind him before it closed securely.
Two minutes later, he was pulling into a newly paved driveway in an undeveloped part of the neighborhood where D was sitting on his sled, waiting.
Knowing him, probably impatiently.
He shoved the shifter into park, set the e-brake, and turned to Rissa. “Stay in the vehicle.”
“Why?” she asked without bothering to even look at him. She was too busy staring at Diesel through the windshield.
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Just do as I say.”
He climbed out so he could grab the house keys and the garage door remote from his boss.
“Boss,” Mercy grunted in greeting.
D jerked his chin up and grunted back. “Fucker stocked the whole house. When Nash moves in, gonna be set for a fuckin’ year. ‘Specially if this job only lasts a couple days.”
“Doubt it’s going to last a couple days after hearing what I heard. Paranzino sounds like a ruthless fuck and so do the people he’s had to deal with.”
“She fuckin’ cryin’ an’ fussin’ ‘bout what she witnessed?”
“No, surprisingly. Maybe it hasn’t hit her yet.”
D grunted again. “Keep ‘er breathin’ an’...” His dark brown eyes lifted to something over Mercy’s shoulder. “Shouldn’t hafta say it, but keep your dick outta her, too. Got me?”
Mercy’s jaw clenched. He knew what—or who—D was looking at. He didn’t even have to turn around because he heard the tell-tale slam of the RPV’s door. “Told her to stay in the fucking vehicle.”
D’s gaze met his and his lips twitched just slightly, but enough for Mercy to catch it. “Since when do women fuckin’ listen?” He lowered his voice. “For fuck’s sake, keep your dick outta her. Don’t need to be makin’ an enemy outta someone who can afford to launch a fuckin’ missile an’ take out Shadow Valley ‘cause he’s pissed you went there. Don’t fuckin’ go there no matter how temptin’ that snatch is. Got me?”
Mercy sensed her presence and caught her scent before he even bothered to look. His eyes dropped to the hand she extended.
To Diesel.
Mercy didn’t know whether to laugh or curse.
“Hello, I’m—”
“Know who you fuckin’ are. Did you not fuckin’ listen?” Of course, D ignored her hand, which, with a frown, she dropped.
Her “Sorry?” sounded surprised but held an edge.
Diesel shook his head, a scowl wrinkling his forehead. “No lip, woman. Gotta fuckin’ listen.” Without waiting for a response, he mounted his bike and hit the starter.
As D twisted the throttle and headed down the street, Mercy let his gaze land on Rissa.
She was still watching D ride away. “Well, isn’t he rude?”
“He’s not rude, he’s Diesel.”
Her light blue eyes slid to him. “Whatever that means.”
“Let me clear something up about my boss, ‘cause you might have to deal with him again in the near future. One, he’s a biker. Two, he’s the Sergeant at Arms of a club he was born i
nto, which means he’s their enforcer and does their heavy work. Which means he can be a target for the club’s enemies. Three, he’s particular about people, especially women, paying attention. He’d never forgive himself if anything happened to his girls. When I say girls, I not only mean his babies, but his woman. And believe me, he could never find another woman to deal with his ass like Jewel can. She deserves a medal, a brass plaque, the key to Shadow Valley from the mayor, and a statue in the town square in her honor. She might be petite, but that woman has tamed that beast. Just don’t tell him I fucking said that.”
Her gaping mouth snapped shut. “He has kids?”
“Two. Now, let’s get inside so we can have a little discussion I didn’t think we needed to have.”
“About what?”
“If you’re asking that, we definitely need to get a couple things clear.”
“I need my bags,” she murmured, turning to head back toward the RPV.
Mercy snagged her arm and yanked her to a stop. “Going to get you in the house first. Going to pull my vehicle into the garage where it isn’t sitting out there like a fucking beacon. Then we’re going to discuss the rules.”
“Rules,” she repeated with narrowed baby blues.
“Rules,” he confirmed, ignoring her glare.
Without releasing her arm, he tugged her up the steps of the porch and to the front door. He unlocked and opened it, shoved her inside, went to the alarm keypad to punch in the code D texted to him earlier, then pointed at her. “Stay inside. That’s not only an order, it’s a requirement. Your life isn’t your own right now. I own it as long as you’re in my protection. That means you listen to everything I say. No exceptions. When this is all over, you can have your life back, but not until then. Until then, your ass is mine.”
“I—”
Mercy turned and went out the door, slamming it shut.
Women.
If he thought he could scare her, he couldn’t.
Okay, maybe he could. But she refused to let him.
None of the rules Mercy was so rudely listing right now could rattle her like what she had witnessed back in Vegas.
Guts & Glory: Mercy (In the Shadows Security Book 1) Page 3