Have Mercy

by N. E. Henderson

  Have Mercy

  N. E. Henderson

  Copyright © 2019 by Nancy Henderson

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, character, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used as fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you wish to share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Publisher © N. E. Henderson Books

  Editor: Charisse Hankins

  Editor: Ellie McLove

  Proofreader: Tesha Cupak

  Cover Art: Jay Aheer

  Cover Model / Photographer: Darren Birks

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-948539-09-8

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Epilogue

  Also by N. E. Henderson

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  1

  — Jamie —

  Until death do us part. It’s supposed to be that simple.

  Marriages are supposed to last. Couples are supposed to be able to get through the toughest of times and have each other’s back—until one of them takes their last breath.

  Problem is, that’s not reality. That was my parents’, even my grandparents’, but not mine.

  My marriage was a sham from the beginning. I never loved her. I didn’t grow to love her. Not even as the mother of my son.

  That probably makes me the shittiest man on the face of the Earth. So be it. I’ve come to terms with that.

  Sighing, I breathe out a long, tiring breath as the documents between my fingers—two pages that outline my divorce—fall, landing on the wooden coffee table in front of me.

  It says, I’ve been divorced for three days now.

  I didn’t contest much of anything. Julia wanted the house, she got it. She wanted the souped-up cars in the garage, she got those too. The condo in New York, whatever. It’s not like I cared for that place anyway. It was all just things, items that can be replaced.

  The only thing in my marriage that has ever mattered to me is my son. He’s the single reason I married her in the first place. He’s the only reason it lasted as long as it did.

  As much as I want to regret the last eighteen years of Julia Montgomery in my life, in my bed, I can’t—because of him. I have many regrets, but my son isn’t one of them. I wish things had turned out differently. Hell, I wish he had been birthed by a different woman, but he wasn’t, and there isn’t a damn thing I can do to change the past.

  Lies. Betrayal. A broken fucking heart is what got me into this mess to begin with. Problem is, I would have thought I’d have gotten past all that by now.

  I haven’t.

  I never will.

  I pick up the longneck bottle, the condensation slipping down the amber glass and around my fingers as I lift it to my lips. Downing the contents, I swallow the beer, guzzling every bit of the liquid inside the bottle.

  The alcohol isn’t strong enough, but then again, nothing is. Not even the strongest whiskey could make me forget those deep brown eyes, long auburn hair, or fingers that could strum a guitar and make me hard just watching her play. It’s her voice that always did me in. I’ll never get those sounds out of my head as long as I still breathe. I’ve never heard anything like it. So perfect, so beautiful, so haunting.

  Eighteen years have gone by and Elise Thomas still owns me like no other woman ever has—or ever will.

  Eighteen years later, I still hate her with every fiber in my body the same as I did the day she returned.

  “For a man that should be celebrating freedom from the bitch, you sure do have a look of doom and gloom written all over that ugly face, brother.” I glance up, seeing Trey, my drummer, holding a beer at his side, a dark brown eyebrow arched up one side of his forehead. “What do we need to do to cheer you up?” His lips tip, already knowing my answer.

  “Pussy. I want to drown in that shit all night long.”

  His lips spread, widening into a grin so big it could put the Cheshire Cat to shame. Seth—the guitarist in our band—walks up, drapes his arm across Trey’s back then jerks him closer. Trey is taller and leaner than Seth, so when his body leans over, his wavy brown hair falls into his line of sight.

  “Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go find us some honeys,” Seth adds.

  It’s not like it’ll matter. By the time I’m balls deep inside a girl, I’ll be too drunk to feel an ounce of pain or guilt, and definitely not pleasure.

  My guilt is the one thing I’ve never understood. Doesn’t matter who the chick is, I always regret fucking them, yet I still do it. I wasn’t the one that left though. She was. So why is it I’m the one that’s always felt like I was betraying her, when she’s the one that screwed me over?

  It’s a question to an answer I’ll never get.

  The last person on earth I ever want to see again is Elise Thomas. She’s worse than the woman I married, and that’s saying a lot, because Julia Montgomery takes the cake on being the biggest bitch I’ve ever met.

  “Text Cole,” I order, knowing one of them will do it. Cole Masters is the other member of our band, our bassist and my best friend. All four of us have been friends since we were in daycare together at the age of three. It’s always been the four of us. Cole and I are best friends, Seth and Trey the same. They are my brothers even though none of us are related. They’ve always had my back and I theirs. They’ve never betrayed me, or the band, and I know they never will. “Tell him to meet us.”

  We formed Bleeding Hart, our rock band, when we were in junior high, none of us knowing how to play any instrument or even how to sing a note. That wasn’t the original name of the band, but it’s what I later changed it to when I was going through a rough time in my life. We all loved music more than we loved to eat. We knew even back then we wanted to make it big no matter what it took.r />
  And we did.

  We bled sweat and tears, but we made it to the big league: record deals, world tours, money, fame, girls. We’ve even dabbled in drugs here and there, but we also learned that was a dead end and a fast track to losing the career we’ve worked too damn hard to achieve.

  At least I can say I’ve gotten and kept one of the two things I’ve always wanted.

  “Says he can’t, and he’ll catch up with us tomorrow,” Trey relays. “Says to come over around noon and we’ll work on laying that track for the new album in his studio.”

  “What’s more important than getting smashed with your boys and finding pussy?” Seth asks.

  Trey and I both look at each other, a dry laugh coming out of my mouth. “Pussy he already has,” I answer. “Let’s hit it.”

  2

  — Jenna —

  My stomach growls, hungry, and angry that I haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday.

  I grit my teeth, blowing out my frustration. Fucking Cole. He left forty-five minutes ago, walking down the block to the bakery to get us something quick to eat. He should have been back by eight ten. It doesn’t take that long to buy donuts, but knowing him as well as I do, he’s balls deep inside the baker as we speak.

  Horny bastard.

  He’s no different than any other man. Thinks with the piece of meat dangling between his legs well before he uses his brain for something useful—like remembering that I’m starving. I whined exactly that half a dozen times before he crawled out of his bed to go get us some substance.

  I slept here last night after having a ‘bad night’ and now I’m late for work. Luckily, being a senior special agent for the Los Angeles, California field office of the FBI, I’m not required to punch in every workday morning like clockwork. Most days I’m working out in the field with my team.

  My eyes cut to the top of the toilet tank as my phone chimes with an incoming text message when my arms are mid-air, securing my long, red locks into a sleek, tight ponytail high on my head. My hair isn’t nearly the length it once was, but I still prefer to keep it on the longer side. It normally extends to the center of my back, but while I’m working, I have to have it out of my face.

  Letting the strands fall, covering the back of my neck, I lean to my left, away from the mirror, grabbing my cell.

  Josh: Where are you?

  Joshua Beckett—my boss, longtime friend, and my team’s Special Agent in Charge.

  Josh: You were supposed to be here half an hour ago. The fuck, Cat?

  I’ve gone by Jenna, my first name, since I was seventeen. Only Josh calls me ‘Cat,’ preferring it over my real name. There was a time, long ago, when I hated that he’d call me that, or even worse, ‘Wild Cat,’ but over time I got over my issues with him. We got through them together, and now he’s one of my best friends. He’s my boss first and foremost, but friend nonetheless. I hate how he came into my life, but also love that he was the one, because had it been anyone else, I wouldn’t have the freedom I do today—or perhaps I wouldn’t even be alive.

  My head snaps to the open bathroom door that leads into Cole’s bedroom when I hear the front door from downstairs slam closed.

  Finally. Much longer and I might’ve passed out from lack of nourishment.

  I write a quick text, shooting it back to the boss.

  Me: Headed your way now.

  I’ll never make excuses. I’m late and there is nothing that’s going to stop the ass chewing he’s going to give me when I arrive. It’s deserved. I have a job to do, and as one of the two senior agents on the team, I shouldn’t be late for any reason.

  I didn’t bring a change of clothes and I knew that before I decided to shower at Cole’s this morning. I’ll have to wear the same clothes I showed up here in last night, the same ones I wore to work yesterday. In my case, every outfit I wear to work is the same. The only thing that ever changes depends on whether I wear a jacket due to changes in the weather, or if I have to be present for court proceedings.

  I slip my cell down the deep pocket of my black, tactical pants as I step back in Cole’s master bedroom. After snagging my bra off his four-poster bed, I head out of the spacious room.

  Sliding an arm through one of the straps of my black racerback bra, I wrap it around my back and push my other arm through, pulling the cups under my boobs and snapping the hook closed around the front as I take the first step down the stairs. Chills rush down my spine, stopping me dead in my tracks when I hear a voice I haven’t heard in years.

  “Looks like our boy had some kind of night.” Trey laughs and it guts me, stealing the air from my lungs, and at the same time pulls my eyes down the stairs and into the large, open living room below.

  My gaze flicks over when I hear a snicker come from Seth’s mouth. “I don’t think I wanna meet whatever chick he’s banging,” he remarks, leaning over the glass coffee table, picking up my leg holster and weapon. I cringe, hating someone putting their hands on my shit. It’s the FBI agent in me. When I’m at Cole’s, I tend to let my guard down when I know I shouldn’t. I sure as shit should not have left my weapon out of reaching distance. I know better.

  There’s a third person in the room with them, and it’s taking everything inside me not to fixate my eyes on him. It physically hurts me not to look at Jamie. I know as soon as I do, it’ll hurt ten times worse.

  “No way!” My eyes snap down to Trey’s. At some point, he turned around and is now looking up the staircase at me with the same hard, hateful sneer on his pretty face that matches the one he was wearing the last time I saw him. “No fucking way is he fucking you!” he snarls.

  If I had any doubt as to if he still hated me, that just proved he does.

  I hear his quick intake of breath, the shock rolling out of his mouth, knowing Jamie’s finally noticed me. Still, I force my eyes to remain locked with Trey’s angry brown ones. He’s always worn his wavy locks short, but with long strands on top. The front always finds its way into his eyes. It’s his signature look, and it still looks good on him. Even with the hatred rolling off him, he’s still as good-looking as he was at eighteen-years-old. All four of them are.

  “I don’t know.” I shrug, continuing down the steps, taking them slower than I normally would, not wanting to lose my balance. He’s here. Jamie Hart is within breathing distance. Everything inside of me is screaming to run. But I won’t. Not this time. “You’d have to ask Cole. I’m not one to kiss and tell.” I force a smile, my brown eyes still locked on Trey.

  Cole and I aren’t an ‘item’ and never will be. Other than my partner, Malachi Hayes, he ranks up there as one of my best friends. My second best friend to be exact. It wasn’t always that way. There was a time when Cole was my worst enemy. Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined we’d be friendly with one another, let alone someone I’d confide in, lean on, and love for the man he is today, for the things he’s done and been there for.

  “Elise.” His whispered voice sends a sharp pain shooting across my back, conjuring up memories I’d rather never think about again. I haven’t been called by my middle name in such a long time, I’d almost forgotten what it sounded like on his tongue.

  My eyes finally pull in his direction, giving in to the need to see him and hating myself for still feeling the way I do about him all these years later. After everything he’s done and said, I still haven’t gotten over him. And I still love him. I shouldn’t, but I do.

  He isn’t staring at me. Those indigo eyes that I remember so clearly are looking at something he’s holding in the center of his palm. I know what it is without seeing it. It’s the silver cross pendant with a single black diamond in the center that he gave me for my fifteenth birthday with the inscription on the back: J and E.

  I’ve never been a religious person, but there is something about crosses that I love. They’re comforting in a way I can’t explain. Jamie knew I liked them and to this day, it’s my favorite treasure.

  Jamie and the guys were a year older
than me and a grade ahead of me in school, but I had known them since we were little kids. Growing up in a small southern town in Mississippi, we attended the same Sunday school class. I was infatuated with Jamie from the first day I met him at age nine after my parents moved one town over, buying a new house and enrolling me in a new school.

  He knew I liked him, because for him it was love at first sight too. That’s the one thing I always knew was true with us. We were meant for each other from the very beginning. Only when push came to shove, he wasn’t in it forever like I had been.

  He believed her over me. And that sealed our tragic fate.

  “Cole wouldn’t come within touching distance of you,” Trey spits, pulling my attention away from Jamie and back to him.

  “Yet, I’m in his house.” I step off the last step, four feet from William ‘Trey’ Thompson. He hates me. All three of them do.

  Seth is silent, but the same disgust on his bandmate’s face is the same one he has trained on me now. Jamie is still in shock, but the anger is coming. I know that because I know him. His emotions are slow, but when they hit, it’s like a Mack truck coming at you at a hundred miles per hour.

  “Why are you?” Seth finally speaks up at the same time the door of the one-car garage bangs shut. Cole’s back, and I’m going to kill him for them being here. For having to deal with this shit when it’s the last thing I ever wanted to come face to face with.