“Fuck,” Mercer muttered under his breath.
He buckled his seat belt and started the engine. Ashlen could see a bunch of men with black ski masks funneling out of the vans. From what she could see, most of the men were armed.
“Get your head down,” he ordered.
She ducked her head and squeezed her eyes tight, her body trembling. Tears involuntarily started welling up in her eyes.
Ashlen felt the Tahoe lurch forward as he stepped on the accelerator. The tires spun for a moment, trying to find their grip, before the SUV took off. Ashlen realized that Mercer was going to attempt to smash through the line of vehicles and braced for impact with the vans as the V8 engine barreled down upon them.
She felt a smaller bang and thump before the much more violent smash. The Tahoe rocked fiercely but continued moving forward as Mercer fought for control. A volley of gunfire sounded as Mercer pulled onto the main road and hit the accelerator again. The sound became more distant and then finally faded.
For a few tense moments, Ashlen listened. There were no more gunfire sounds, but that didn’t mean that those thugs weren’t going to pursue them by car. She wished she could see what was going on, but she was too scared to lift her head. Sitting breathlessly, she waited.
“You can sit up now,” Mercer finally told her, his voice tense.
Ashlen cautiously lifted her head, her damp hair falling over her eyes. She pushed it away and peered behind them. There weren’t headlights of their attackers, but that didn’t mean anything. The thugs could be bearing down on them at any second.
Turning forward, the road ahead of them seemed to blur together through her tears. Mercer did not have his headlights on, but she could still see a small crack forming in the windshield from the collision. She had no idea how he was able to see to drive. The road was scarily dark. Suddenly, the beginning of her night when she had been complaining about her speed dating round seemed pitiful in comparison to what she was experiencing now.
“They’re coming after us, aren’t they?” She said, her voice barely a whisper.
“Most likely,” he replied, matter-of-factly. “But I have a few tricks up my sleeve.”
He pointed toward the wide stretch of road. Ashlen peered and saw the flicker of blue lights in the distance.
“Cops got called,” he said smugly.
Before she could say anything, Mercer braked and swung around into a residential driveway. He turned off the engine. Ashlen felt his hand press down on her head, forcing her to hunch down in her seat.
A few tense moments later, Ashlen heard the scream of a police siren coming closer and closer, then farther and farther away.
Thinking that they were okay, she tried to pull her head up. He firmly held it down.
“Wait,” Mercer ordered. “He probably has a buddy.”
As if on cue, Ashlen heard another siren come and go. It was only then that he took his hand off her head and allowed her to sit back up.
An uneasy sigh escaped her lips.
“They won’t be able to go this way with all of these cop cars,” he explained, turning back on the engine and kicking the car into reverse.
Once he got back out on the road, he flicked on the headlights and began moving down the road at a normal speed. They made it down the road and through two lights before another police vehicle sped past them, lights going. However, they must have looked to be too far away to pick up any notice, and so they continued uninterrupted.
Ashlen stared out the window and watched as the scenery blurred by her. The ache in the pit of her stomach had finally settled a little bit, though it didn’t go away entirely. The immediacy of being attacked had gone away, but she was still frightened out of her mind.
The realization that someone wanted to kill her made it difficult to relax. She was having a hard time with it. The only thing she could do was wrap her arms around herself and try not to freak out too much.
What the heck had her uncle gotten himself into that these guys were going after her?
“You might as well get comfortable,” Mercer said, breaking the silence, “because we’re going to be driving for a while.”
If it was far away from those men, then Ashlen was perfectly fine with that.
Chapter 4
The problem with Ashlen Cole was that she hadn’t been what Mercer had expected. She was disarmingly different from the picture he had in his head of her. When Bryant had given him the job, Mercer had spent some time digging into her life. He had then pieced together an initial judgment of her, which happened to be very wrong.
First, he had found out that Ashlen had been orphaned at age sixteen when her parents had been involved in a horrendous car accident. He knew that Bryant’s friend, Peter Cole, had helped her along through the rest of high school and college. Ashlen and her uncle were extremely close.
Of course, he had also assumed that they communicated and that she had an idea that Mercer was coming to pick her up. The last thing he had wanted was to scare her half to death when he had presented himself to her, although in hindsight, it was kind of amusing.
Second, the pictures that he had seen of her did not do her justice. She was gorgeous, a fact that was going to make his job a lot harder. Ashlen had a beautiful face and a perfect body. Her soft blue eyes were mesmerizing.
He found it increasingly hard to keep his eyes off her, especially after he had seen her coming right out of the shower in her underwear. That was something that he had not planned on, but it had been a nice perk with the job. He was still thinking about those sexy black panties and how that thin shirt clung to her breasts. It was certainly a pity that she had put a bra on.
However, she wasn’t the type of woman he went after; he preferred women who only wanted a night or two. Somehow, he couldn’t picture her being the type that anyone would want to fuck and forget. She was the type that you’d bring home to meet grandma, and that was unfortunately not on his plate.
Lastly, he supposed that someone who spent her life writing a blog about being single and complaining about men should probably be a big bitch. He had worked himself up about meeting her, deciding that he should try to act as big an ass as possible to see if he could rattle Miss Single in Cincy’s cage. Her writing was so sarcastic that he wanted to throw a little of it back in her face just to see how she’d react.
However, at least with the little interaction that he had made with her, he had found her to be a lot different. She was just a sweet girl, scared out of her mind. It made him a little regretful that he had been a jerk to her, but what was he supposed to do?
Now, as Mercer was barreling down US 127, Ashlen sitting a few inches away from him in his now busted-up Tahoe, he was wondering what the hell he was supposed to say to her. He was a Marine, for Christ’s sake, though he had since been honorably discharged years ago.
That, of course, was a subject that made Mercer a little sour.
He had spent eleven years in the Marines, Force Recon, the top of the top. He had reached Sergeant and had led his team into numerous special operations in Iraq and Afghanistan. It had been a grim job. And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t stay up some nights because of the nightmares. Nevertheless, he had survived most of his time without too much of an issue. He had been shot a couple of times, but it hadn’t been anything too life-threatening.
However, it wasn’t until a fucking roadside bomb that had finally done him in (of all the things to go wrong after all the special ops he had been on). The shrapnel from it had not only cut up his face but had seriously screwed up his leg and knee. Plus, he had burn scars down the far-right side of him that would never heal properly. The doctors had said that his knee would never be quite right, even after three surgeries.
The Marines had quickly discharged him afterward, stating that his body wasn’t battle-ready anymore. That was not the most devastating news, though. He had lost two of his closest buddies during the explosion, something that haunted him to this day. When he slept,
he sometimes dreamed of their charred bodies in the wreckage.
Of course, there hadn’t been anything he could have done. He hadn’t been driving, yet he still felt responsible. Those were his men, and they were ultimately his responsibility.
After he was discharged from the Marines, Mercer had quickly fallen into a deep depression until Miles Bryant had called him up, offering Mercer a job at Gray Tower. He didn’t seem to mind Mercer’s health issues. For the most part, Mercer was able to get through the missions just fine, although his knee bothered him like crazy.
Still, he owed a lot to Bryant. The man had rescued him from himself, and Mercer would always be in his debt. Because of that, he wasn’t going to grumble too much on having to do this job. It wasn’t a long-term assignment, so he’d be fine in a few weeks, if not sooner. Then, he could go back to doing his real job.
Mercer glanced over at Ashlen who had curled up into a little ball on the seat next to him. She was staring out the window, facing completely away from him. He could hear muffled sobs breaking through the silence.
Oh hell, she was crying.
What was he supposed to do now? Comforting crying women was not exactly his specialty.
“You okay?” He asked, not knowing what else to say.
From the corner of his eye, he could see her trying to wipe her face. After a moment, it looked like she had given up, and she flung her hands down into her lap instead.
She sniffed and finally murmured, “No.”
“Look, you’ll be okay…” He began, trailing off when he noticed her eyeing him.
He didn’t particularly like the look she was giving him. It was the look that a lot of people gave him, which was why he didn’t like being out among a lot of people. It was the look of fear—or disgust in some cases.
Even before Mercer’s disfigurement, he had always been a hulking guy. He was six foot four and well-muscled. There had been many people who had been intimidated just by his size.
Now that he had all the scarring and burn marks, he was a bit of a social pariah anywhere except for his buddies at Gray Tower. He spent most of his time with his team, so he didn’t have to worry about it. However, any time he went out into public, people stared. He had tried to not let it bother him, but it was hard not to cringe when mothers would grab their children and pull them away when he walked by in public.
Sure, there was a certain type of woman who thought his scars were sexy. They were also the ones who expected rough and dirty sex, so that’s what he gave them. It was all a vain attempt to dull the disappointment and pain. He had realized a long time ago that he wasn’t ever going to be the type to settle down in a meaningful relationship, get married, or have kids. His life was with Gray Tower now, and he was completely fine with that—they were all the family that he needed.
Ashlen must have realized that she had been staring at the scars because she suddenly looked flustered and turned her gaze quickly.
“I’m sorry…” she tried to apologize.
Mercer had not meant to get angry with her, but he had been stewing for too long. There had been so much anger and frustration dwelling in him for so long. And maybe he was a little upset that a gorgeous young woman like Ashlen was staring like that, a woman that he might have wanted to date a long time ago.
“There’s no need to be sorry,” he snapped, his voice turning into a low growl. “I’m used to being a fucking sideshow, so look all you fucking want.”
Mercer had regretted saying it as soon as it left his lips, but he was too proud to apologize. Ashlen inhaled sharply, her eyes wide. More tears welled up in her eyes, and she promptly turned back toward the window.
Damn it, he thought to himself. Good going, jackass. Go ahead and show her all your charm at once.
He decided that concentrating on driving would probably be best. If he said anything else, he’d probably just piss her off even more. Giving his full attention to the road, he focused on the gentle rhythm of the road lines and billboards go by.
She did not say a word to him for the rest of that early morning.
✽ ✽ ✽
Ashlen woke up in a fog. The first thing that she realized was that her neck hurt. She opened her eyes and remembered where she was: driving God-knew-where with Mercer Cade, her jackass of a bodyguard.
She must have fallen asleep and had laid her head against the window. There was a kink in her neck that hurt like crazy. She rubbed it for a moment but got nowhere. It wasn’t pitch-black outside, so she looked at the digital clock on the center console. It read 5:03. Then, she slowly turned her head to look at Mercer.
After his outburst several hours ago, she was frightened to even glance at his face. Okay, she might have been staring just a tad bit, but that didn’t give him the right to treat her like that. She was afraid of what would happen if she made him any angrier, so she decided to not look at him as much as possible.
There. Problem solved.
Well, there were a lot of other problems that she had to deal with, like running from bad guys. She had so many questions about what was going on, and she had a feeling that Mercer knew the details.
She wanted desperately to ask him, but she didn’t want to get her head bitten off again. Instead of saying anything to him, she looked for road signs to see where they were. They were on a highway in what looked to be the mountains. It took only a few moments for her to figure out where they were.
West Virginia? The Turnpike?
Holy cow, he had made good time.
He had noticed that she was now awake because he turned on his blinker to exit on a ramp. Of course, he didn’t seem like he was going to say anything to her either, which was just fine with her. She preferred as little conversation with him as possible.
As thankful as she was that he had saved her life last night, he made her unnerved. His moods seemed to switch from hero to jerk to frightening and then back to jerk very quickly. Boy, she’d have a lot to write about in her blog when this whole thing blew over. That was, of course, assuming that it would blow over any time soon.
The Tahoe pulled into a small town. It was a little shanty town tucked in the mountains. The buildings looked a little worse for wear. The people seemed to be interesting, to say the least. Modern technology didn’t seem to have visited this place—well, except for the satellite dishes that were attached to every building. At least the locals enjoyed their television.
Mercer’s SUV pulled into a gas station that had seen better days. Ashlen hoped that he would at least allow her a bathroom break; she was about to burst.
When he pulled the Tahoe up to a pump, he turned to her and said, “You have five minutes. Come right back to the SUV when you are done.”
She quickly averted his gaze to avoid looking into his eyes or at his scars and mumbled, “Yeah, sure.”
It felt good to get out of the SUV and stand up straight. The mountain air was cool but felt amazing on her face. She quickly stole a glance at Mercer and saw that he was in the process of filling up his vehicle. Turning back to the task at hand, she found the ladies’ restroom at the back of the station.
Disgusting did not even describe what she saw in this one-stall restroom. The place was lit by one bulb hanging from a string. Ashlen probably should have been glad about this because any more lighting would have shown just how bad things were.
The floor looked like it had never been cleaned. Ever. The toilet itself may have seen a splash of bleach on occasion, but the toilet paper that littered the floor made it look gross. Ashlen suspected that just about every woman’s telephone number in the town was written on the stall door. She spent more time laying toilet paper around the seat than going, and she felt the need to wash her hands twice before leaving. But at least she had some relief.
When she got out of the restroom, she looked around to where the truck was but did not see Mercer. Figuring that he was inside paying for the gas or braving the men’s side of the restroom, she began walking back.
Mid
way to the truck, she felt a large body plow right into her. She stumbled but was able to regain her balance. When she looked up at what or whom she had just smacked into, she saw it was a large, balding man with a very noticeable beer-gut that protruded from behind a dirty white shirt. The smell of booze assaulted her nose immediately. This guy was drunk.
“Heyyyy yooou,” the drunk man stuttered. “Waaaatch it.”
It must have taken a few moments for the man to process that he had run into a female because he suddenly grabbed her by the wrist with surprising strength and said, “Wannna come with meee? Weee’ll have fuuun.”
“You’re hurting me,” Ashlen gasped as his greasy hand crushed around her wrist. The pain was so intense that her knees buckled and tears welled up in her eyes.
“Stop, please,” she begged.
Suddenly, his grip went slack from her wrist, and before she knew it, the drunk was on the ground, groaning. She looked up in surprise to see Mercer hovering over the drunken man. She had no idea what kind of moves he had done to drop a man of that size, but they certainly were effective.
Temporarily forgetting her moratorium on looking at Mercer, she glanced at him and whispered, “Thank you.”
“Are you hurt?” He demanded, looking pissed.
She wasn’t quite sure if he was mad at the drunk for touching her or at her for getting herself into trouble.
“I don’t think so,” she mumbled, not knowing what else to say.
Lately, she was good at getting herself into trouble.
They were interrupted by movement coming from the station.
“Oh my God!” was the exclamation from behind them.
Ashlen looked up to see a young male gas station attendant running over to them.
“I saw the whole thing. I hope she isn’t hurt. And, hey…those were some moves. Look, I am so sorry about him. He comes around every morning, piss drunk. I call the sheriff to cart him off. He sobers up just in time to get out of jail, and the cycle starts all over again. Maybe if you stick around, the sheriff can get a statement.”
Perilous Games (Gray Tower Book 3) Page 4