Have Mercy

by N. E. Henderson

  She is mine though. My type that is. Back at the bar, that spur of the moment, where we both lost all control and I fucked her back in some storage room against a wall was by far the best lay I’ve had in years. Not that I’m surprised. She was always the one.

  “So, where is she?” Seth asks, my gaze snapping to his as he walks inside, Trey following behind.

  Danny’s jaw locks, walking away, leaving the front door wide open. My eyes follow him, unable to look away. I’m intrigued and terrified at the same time. It’s obvious he doesn’t like me, and I have to admit that stings. That stings a lot. He doesn’t even know me. He wasn’t given that chance, and neither was I.

  What did his mom tell him about me? I wonder for a brief second.

  Does he think I never wanted to be a part of his life?

  Does he know I wasn’t given the option? An option I would have taken without hesitation. He’s my son dammit. I should have known. She should have told me. So, why didn’t she? And how convenient that she isn’t here to answer that question.

  He stops when he nears the open kitchen, turns and then places his shoulder into the wall. He looks at everyone except me, taking in the strangers in his home, then finally stopping on Brandon. Glancing between them, it’s as if they are having a silent conversation between each other. I’m an only child, but that doesn’t mean I don’t recognize what they’re doing. Cole and I do the same thing. We’ve known each other so long we usually know what the other is thinking.

  “Apparently, work was more important than being here. Instead, she left the children home alone,” I say, watching as Danny’s eyes change to lethal, his eyes slowing roaming until they land on mine. In a split second, he’s off the wall, stomping toward me with purpose.

  “Whoa!” Cole rushes forward, placing his palm on Danny’s chest, halting his stride. Cole’s head swings around, his eyes boring into mine, though I haven’t taken mine off the kid that’s highly ticked off right now and looking to tear my head off. “Maybe you shouldn’t question Jen’s parenting skills in front of this one,” he grits out.

  I raise an eyebrow. A part of me likes that he isn’t afraid to come to her defense. A feeling of pride courses through me at the thought.

  “He’s a little more protective than most kids, brother.” That comment seems to make Danny relax. Stepping back, he rolls his eyes, showing his young age.

  “Fine. We’ll come back to that later.” I roll my head until I find Brandon. “You and I are having a conversation about what you said tonight.” I stare Brandon down from where I stand next to the fireplace where the television screen is hanging above the mantel, playing a basketball game that no one is paying any mind to. I’m still having a hard time processing the confession that came out of my boy’s mouth. Never in a million years would I have expected my son to be a drug user.

  “Can we not?” he asks, backing away and taking a seat at one end of the plush couch across from me. There are two full-size couches and an oversized matching chair and ottoman that make up the furniture in Jenna’s living room. “Besides, it’s a moot point now. It’s over. It’s done. It’s not even a big deal anymore.”

  “It’s a very big deal, son,” I say, floored by how he wants to ghost over this. “You overdosed on cocaine, Brandon. Not only did that happen, but I don’t know a thing about it? Jesus, son, if you need help, I’m your dad. Why didn’t you come to me? We’ll find the best rehab center. Whatever it takes.”

  “He’s not a fucking drug addict,” Danny barks, his eyes darkening when I glance over. We have one thing in common, that’s obvious. He’s as quick to anger as I am.

  “Language,” I seethe, even if I don’t exactly have the right to scold him. The thought of Jenna being okay with his easy use of foul words rubs me the wrong way. Sure, she and I talked like that when we were their age, still do, but never would we have dared to speak like that in front of our parents.

  A snicker of a laugh rolls out of the boy that I haven’t officially been introduced to—my son. Most likely my oldest son too. Julia had Brandon five weeks early, but even without doing the math, Danny should still be older than his brother.

  “Dad,” Brandon calls out. “I’m not addicted to drugs. I swear.” He laughs, but it comes out more nervous than not. Brandon doesn’t have the confidence Danny seems to be built with. “And I don’t need rehab. I’m fine, like I said.”

  “Then why didn’t your mother tell me about this?”

  Now Brandon’s brows furrow, a sudden mood change turning dark. “If by mother, you mean your ex-wife, then that’s because she doesn’t know,” Brandon admits.

  “What the fuck?” falls out of my mouth before I can get control over my words. “My ex-wife? That ex-wife is and will always be your mom. What do you even mean by that, Brandon, and what’s with the tone?”

  Danny walks over to the other end of the couch, removing his phone from inside his front pocket, then sits down. Not paying attention to our conversation as he plays on his phone.

  I’ve lost over seventeen years with this kid and it’s just now sinking in.

  Brandon shrugs as if it isn’t a big deal. It’s one thing for me to hate his mother, it’s another for him to say something negative about her. That’s unacceptable in my eyes. She isn’t perfect. None of us are, but from everything I’ve seen, she has always tried to be the best mother she can be. It’s one of the reasons going through with the divorce was so hard. Brandon deserved parents that loved each other, but that wasn’t something he was rewarded with. I know that showed, and I hate that fact. The more I tried to love Julia, the more I loathed her over time.

  For now, I’ll leave his remark alone. We’ll come back to it at a later time. I won’t have him disrespecting her now that I don’t live in the same house as he does with his mom.

  “Happy birthday, Brandon. I’m sorry I forgot.” I sigh, hating to admit that to my son.

  He shrugs again like it’s not a big deal. “It’s after midnight, Dad. It isn’t my birthday anymore.” He gives me a tight smile, and I know without words that it was a big deal. I screwed up, and I don’t think there is any type of damage control that can fix it. I’m so disappointed in myself right now that I don’t have the least idea what to say or do.

  “Why do you keep checking your phone?” Cole’s brows pinch together, and my thoughts are disrupted when I take a glimpse at my other son. “What’s going on, Danny?” he demands in such an authoritative tone that it both catches me off guard and pisses me off at the same time. Cole doesn’t have kids. He doesn’t even have blood-related nieces or nephews. Brandon is his godson and has always called my bandmates “uncle,” yet the way he speaks to Danny is like he actually has some type of say when it comes to the kid—and that ticks me off.

  I’m not the only band member that has children. Seth has two kids—a ten-year-old and an eight-year-old, both girls. His long-time girlfriend, along with his daughters live in Arizona, away from the glitz and glamour of Hollywood. They make it work, even though he’s on tour a large portion of the year and in LA with us as often as possible.

  In some aspects, I get it, not wanting to expose your family to everything our lives bring with it. And now that I remember Brandon’s confession, I think Seth made the wiser choice, keeping them at a distance.

  “It shows Mom is here.” Danny holds his cell phone up, waving it in our direction, showing some kind of map application. “But she isn’t. And she’d never . . .” he pauses, his eyes dropping to the ground. He’s thinking. I can physically see the wheels turning in his head.

  “Never what?” I hear fall from my lips.

  “Leaves and forgets her necklace. She always wears it or has it on her no matter what. There’s only been one other time she’s taken it off, and she would have told me if she was going dark.”

  Going dark? What the hell does that mean?

  I reach into my jeans pocket, remembering that I still have the piece of jewelry I gave her when we were teenagers.r />
  “This necklace?” I lift my hand, releasing the cross to dangle from my fingers.

  Unmistakable panic sets in the kid’s indigo eyes, making my chest heavy with anxiety. What is it about this hunk of junk that had him so worried about his mother not wearing it?

  He pulled up a map on his phone. Does he have his mom tracked? I could understand Jenna doing that to him, but not the roles reversed. It’s a parents’ job to know where their child is at all hours of the day, and I’ve been known to pull up Brandon’s whereabouts a time or two, but never in my wildest dreams would I imagine him doing that to me or his mother. Not that he could. He doesn’t have access to my password, and frankly, why would he want to? Children don’t worry about their parents the same as we worry about them.

  Danny jumps up from where he was seated on the couch.

  I’m starting to think he does though, and that’s unsettling.

  “Why do you have it?” He reaches forward, snatching it from my grasp, taking the necklace from me before it registers it’s gone.

  “It’s a long story,” I say.

  “Danny,” Cole says in a chastising tone. “Stop freaking out. Your mom is fine. I’m sure she’ll be back soon from whatever it was she had to do.”

  “If you’re that worried, why not just call her,” I point out.

  “She’s an FBI agent,” he grits out like that’s all the explanation it needs.

  “And I’m a singer in a band,” I quip. “If my son calls me, I’m going to answer.” His jaw locks right before he turns his face away from me. It’s then I realize I said ‘son’ as in single, not plural.

  Fuuuuck.

  There’s no way to fix that. Maybe I’ve only just found out about him in the last few hours, but it doesn’t negate that he is my son too. I wish Jenna would have told me before now, like when she first returned home eighteen years ago.

  She better be ready to talk when she gets home, because believe me, that’s exactly what we’re going to do.

  FBI agent. Like that trumps our current situation. Nothing can be more important than explaining why she failed to tell me she was pregnant.

  I’m suddenly assaulted with an unpleasant memory from my past.

  Eighteen years ago

  I’m not supposed to leave without her. I don’t even know how to leave from here, knowing I’ll never see her again. I’m not even sure I can go through with all the threats I’ve issued.

  I’ve never had this problem before. My bites have always been worse than my bark. If I say I’m doing something, you bet your ass I’ll follow through. This is different though. She was mine for nine years. We made plans, we had our future laid out. There was no mistaking what I wanted and what she wanted. We’ve always been on the same page—until she ran away.

  I never saw it coming. I was blindsided, and it still doesn’t make sense. Maybe if I’d allow her to explain, let her get one word in, then I would know why she did what she did. The thing is, I don’t think I can handle that knowledge.

  I know if I let her back in, even for a minute, I’ll never let go. I’d forgive her like the sap I really am, and then I’d open myself up to letting it happen all over again. I can’t, and I won’t go through that torture again.

  I won’t—not even for her.

  “I’m all packed up.” Julia’s sugary voice coats my eardrum, making my stomach rumble with unease.

  I’m trading one hell for another. I’m at least able to recognize that.

  “Then get in the damn truck already,” I bark.

  “We need to get a few things straight, James,” she says, calling me by my given name rather than the nickname I go by. Her tone is as if she’s asserting some type of dominance or authority over me. This bitch better learn real quick that isn’t the way to earn my respect or my loyalty. I shouldn’t have any sort of loyalty to her in the first place, but somewhere along the way, I stupidly fucked her without a condom. I don’t remember it, but it’s not like I’ve been that sober in the last few months. I’ve spent more hours wasted or passed out than I have awake and functioning.

  And that’s all Elise’s fucking fault.

  “What?” I say through clenched teeth, my patience wearing thin.

  “I love you. We’re having a baby, and although I realize you don’t love me yet, I also know you will.” She smiles as if she actually believes the crock of shit coming out of her mouth. “Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But once you see our baby”—her eyes glance down to her flat stomach where her hands rest on her abdomen—”you’ll love me then, Jamie. I just know you will.”

  “Not likely, now get in the goddamn truck.” She doesn’t budge. “Let’s. Go.”

  Her head suddenly snaps up, her light blue eyes that I once thought appeared sad, concerned, and innocent all in one, pin me with a look that’s eerie as fuck. A bat-shit crazy, I’m fucking psycho, look to be exact. “You will love me, Jamie. And you’ll love our baby almost as much.” She steps closer, and it takes everything in me not to retreat. “But if you so much as talk to her ever again, even through one of your friends, you’ll lose this baby. You’ll never see him or her again. I suggest you not test me on this. You won’t like what I’ll do. Am I making myself clear?”

  This bitch just threatened me with my unborn child.

  What the hell have I gotten myself into?

  I’m trading one hell for another. No truer words have ever enter my head.

  16

  — Jenna —

  Present

  There is something I’m missing and have been missing since we took this case on seven months ago. Even Josh is on edge lately because we haven’t gotten one damn break. He’s the level headed one of all of us, but when you go month after month and every lead is a dead end, well, then even the leader is bound to start showing signs of cracks in his hard exterior.

  I won’t give up; none of us will. It’s why the case was turned over to our team after one of the federal agents disappeared and the other requested a transfer, scared that the same thing would happen to him.

  This job isn’t for pussies, the weak-minded, or cowards. It takes balls to go after the type of criminals we do—heartless, evil bastards that would sell their own grandmother to the highest bidder if it put more money in their pockets.

  This isn’t how I dreamed my life would turn out, but if I’m honest, I’m not so sure now that I would go back and change much of it, if any. Sure, I wish some things had turned out differently. I wish my son had a relationship with his father from day one. I wish Brandon didn’t have to keep secrets from his parents so that I can keep Danny safe.

  At the end of the day, I do this job for two reasons, and neither of them has to do with why I should be in this role. Sure, I’m glad I’m one of the people that gets to help those that have suffered the same and even a worse fate than I did. But that isn’t why I get up every morning, why I work late, or why I drop everything when “the job” requires my presence.

  I’m here because of Daniel and Brandon. And that’s it.

  I will not chance something happening to either of them. Those thoughts keep me up at night. Those thoughts make me feel helpless, like I can’t breathe.

  I never imagined I’d fall in love with my ex’s other son, but I did. I never stood a chance with Brandon. With Danny I knew from the moment I read the pregnancy test—I loved him and would do anything for my unborn baby. The day I met Brandon, he was three years old. Still to this day he makes me laugh. Of course, he pisses me off just as much as he purposely does things to make me happy.

  He’s a good kid. Both of them are, and I know I’m lucky to a large degree.

  “You gotta break at some point, Jen.” Malachi’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts. Lifting my head from the computer monitor, I take in his wrinkled brow as he sips coffee from the mug in his hand. Finally he sighs. “We’ve been at this for hours, hell, weeks at this point, and still aren’t any closer to a breakthrough.”

  Lifting his oth
er hand, he reaches out, handing me my own steaming cup of coffee. Taking it, I bring it to my lips, taking a small sip and then another.

  “They haven’t struck in six months . . .” I place the cup on the desk next to my keyboard. My ass has been planted in the same spot since he and I arrived close to eleven last night.

  “That we know of,” he says, finishing my silent thought.

  Glancing at the clock behind his left shoulder, I see it’s after seven in the morning.

  Damn.

  I’ve been up for twenty-four hours. Not that I’m surprised. Not that it’s unlike me, because it’s not.

  “There’s something that we’re missing.” I give him a pointed look. “And I don’t plan on stopping until I figure out what the hell it is.”

  I twist back around, my eyes falling to the computer screen and the script before me. With my right hand on the mouse, I scroll down and go back to reading the context of the chat we have pulled on a weekly basis from the pit of Hell that is the internet’s dark secret—the dark web. The place where seedy people do seedy shit every day.

  “It’s Sunday morning, Jen. It’s time to call it a night. You need sleep, hell, I need fucking sleep.”

  “So go to sleep,” I offer, not glancing back to him. There are several vacant beds if he’s that tired. If not, his condo isn’t far from where we are. He could leave and be home within a couple of minutes.

  Movement from the open doorway catches my attention. Snapping my eyes over, I find Jess, Josh’s wife, standing there studying Mal and me, her eyebrows pinched together.

  I realize a second too late what it is my overprotective and too in-my-shit partner is doing, the sting from my skin being pricked happening before my brain has time to react.