by Mercy Hollow
FORGIVENESS. Copyright © 2018 by Mercy Hollow.
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be
reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express
written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations
in a book review.
This is a book of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Dark Daydreams Books
San Francisco, CA
www.mercyhollow.com
Two Years Ago
Late June in Chicago and even the dashboard of Diablo’s restored 66’ Lincoln wanted to sweat. But like him, and all the Claimed in the Legions, the release of perspiration had been stolen the day their ruler plunged a dagger in their heart.
His day had come, twenty-three years ago, but the sting still felt like yesterday.
Smoke made every day as his Sovereign Shield feel like yesterday.
And now, with new lies and added secrecy, Diablo feared Smoke would bring fewer tomorrows for the people he loved.
Underneath his T-shirt, Diablo rubbed his hard gut and the symbol the Legions’ antigen burned in his skin – an ornate shield with a sword at its center and below it the name Diablo. The antigen that flowed through him slowed his physical decline, but it had aged his soul to the point of the grave.
Whatever Smoke’s up to, I have to stop him.
A block from his destination he hit the brakes and stopped. He admired the work he’d done on his car – new upholstery, gauge kit, instrument panel, custom steering wheel: black with red stitching. The car was his. That and the new club he’d opened in the warehouse district were the only things, including himself, that didn’t belong to Smoke.
Outside the gate of his best friend Vince’s home, disquiet stirred inside him. Vince had managed to make a life outside the Legion. A good life. But Diablo needed to talk to his friend about their ruler. Vince despised everything about the man that ruined their lives, but asking Vince to risk himself weighed on Diablo, more than the other dilemmas of his position.
The front gate, usually sealed tight, was open. Vince liked to remind everyone loyalty was earned, every day, with everything they did.
Diablo rolled up the long drive, and parked in his spot beside the four car garage. Vince’s place was his home away from home. His refuge. Being forced to live in Smoke’s penthouse as his Sovereign Shield took a toll on Diablo’s ability to see goodness, especially in himself.
Time and again he tried to convince himself he could handle Smoke alone. And time and again his ruler proved him wrong.
With his high-security, electronic key he unlocked the front door. The bolt clicked and the large, iron-clad, double-doors swung open. Soft music lulled in the overhead speakers, and the scent of fresh bread and roses filled the air.
Fair must be home.
Heightened senses – the one gift of becoming a Shield Diablo appreciated. He also treasured that Vince’s wife Fair always made friends feel welcome.
He pulled in a deeper breath to gather the scents underneath. Burnt paper, exhaust, oil, and sandalwood. Vince. His friend had owned his own motorcycle shop for twenty years but still made it a point to get his hands dirty.
Down the main entry, two voices spoke hushed.
Diablo poked his head into the living room.
Near the pool table, in front of a set of armor, Vince cuddled Fair in his arms. “What would I do without you?”
She glanced up at him and a sly grin spread on her thin, red lips. “Make terrible decisions.”
He chuckled. “Wretched. Horrible decisions.” He kissed her long and deep. The leather of his vest creaked. Light from the burnished chandelier shone off the skin on his shaved head.
Diablo turned, allowing them privacy and cleared his throat.
Vince grumbled. “You’re early.”
On his phone, Diablo checked the time. “You said five. It’s quarter after.”
Vince touched his wife’s face. Her image bold and permanent on Vince’s hand, her wild hair tattooed down to his fingertips. The reminder he got inked on years ago to do the right thing.
“I wasn’t talking about your time. I was talking about the invasion of mine.” He stared into Fair’s sharp, sapphire eyes. “Diablo, why don’t you go get some whiskey. I’m running short.”
Diablo glanced at the crystal decanter on the liquor chart. The amber liquid touched the glass topper. He watched his friend’s unbreakable gaze on his wife. Whenever the unknown wormed into Vince’s life Fair grounded him. Like oxygen and water, she allowed him to be Vince, the one man in the Legion Diablo trusted and loved like a brother.
“You’re right. The booze is terribly low. I’ll go get some.”
“Take your time.” Vince nuzzled Fair’s lips.
Diablo’s phone buzzed. Grim, his new ally in Slice’s Legion, texted, ‘Almost there.’
Having an added guest would make the conversation worse. But Diablo feared Smoke’s rising secrecy was stretching beyond his Legion’s boundaries, and Slice’s new Sovereign Shield could help.
Diablo hesitated. “Ah…a heads up…”
Vince slumped. “What now?”
“I invited that Grim guy here tonight. Thought he might have some insight.”
“Making nice with Slice’s Sovereign Shield is not going to work out for you.”
“It’s working just fine. The guy is nothing like Slice, hates him even more than we hate Smoke. He just doesn’t have anyone to drink with about it. Besides, he tells me everything.”
“Everything?”
“Well, more than any of Slice’s other Shields have been willing to share. I think the guy has a death wish.”
Vince chuckled. “Don’t we all.” He released Fair and spun around. “Getting cozy with him is not a good idea. If Smoke found out…if Slice found out…. There are three brothers. Three Legions. We don’t mix for a reason.”
“Yeah, because our rulers tell us not to. But that’s not the code of the Shields. We’re loyal to each other.”
Vince raised his eyebrow.
“We used to be. I’m just…” He forced a breath; even Shields had to work for every lung full like the rest of the Claimed. “I’m sick of all the secrets. The lies. The brothers pulling us apart.”
“That’s why you’re here. Isn’t it? To talk about Smoke.”
Diablo fisted his hands. The webs inked on them spread. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to drag you back in. But…it’s getting worse.”
The front door knocker thudded against the thick, aged wood.
“Fine.” Vince kissed Fair and walked over to the bar. “Go get your new little friend and I’ll pour us a few glasses.”
She strolled up behind Vince and patted his ass. “Pour me one too. And I’ll grab some snacks.” She sauntered into the kitchen.
Diablo headed to the front door.
Outside, in the video feed screen, Grim stood stoic and calm. He wasn’t quite thirty, but he had lived lifetimes working for Slice. The guy could mask all his emotions like a pro. But even through the door, Diablo could smell chemicals, blood, and the soap Grim used to try to scrub away the forced deeds on his skin and in his soul.
Diablo felt for the guy. Being Smoke’s right hand man was torture, but forever having to be Slice’s meant a whole new level of hell.
He opened the door and extended his palm. “Hey, Grim.”
Grim shook his hand. “Diablo. Thank you for the invitation.” He glanced around. “This is an amazing home.”
“Yeah. It’s not mine. It’s Vince’s. He and
his wife will be sitting in tonight.” He glanced inside, then back to Grim. “So you know…my trust is hard to earn. Vince’s is a marathon you never stop running.”
“Understood.”
A car skidded on the street and tore up the drive, horn honking. It jerked to a stop. A guy – pasty, black hair, high as hell – leaned over and opened the passenger door. The guy nudged a crumpled girl, maybe early twenties, out the door.
Diablo rushed toward the car and grabbed her as she fell.
“Help her,” the guy yelled, his voice panicked. He floored the pedal and took off down the drive, the passenger door swinging.
Not missing a beat, Grim ran after the car.
It hit the pavement and skidded back onto the street, out of sight.
Blood coated the girl’s torn shirt. Water soaked her black jagged hair. Her limp body hung over his arms.
Diablo scooped her up.
The front door flew open, and Vince and Fair hurried out.
“What happened?” Fair lifted the girl’s shirt. Six fresh dagger wounds formed a bleeding eye on her chest.
“A Claim,” Diablo said. “Gone wrong, unlawful, who knows.”
“I’ll find out.” Vince pulled out his phone and dialed.
Grim jogged back next to them. “There was no license plate.”
Diablo glanced at Vince and Fair. “You know her?”
They both shook their heads no.
With a delicate touch Fair swept the wet hair out of the girl’s face. “Get her inside.”
Girl cuddled in his arms, Diablo carried her through the grand doors. Her whimpers trapped deep in her lungs.
Vince grumbled at someone on the other end of the line. “Well, find out. Now. And Smoke cannot know I called you.”
“This way.” Fair waved Diablo to the guest bedroom. She spread out a towel on the bed.
He laid the girl on top. Blood continued to drip from the wounds in her chest, one slow beat, then another, her body clearing out the old, letting the antigen that swam in her veins take over. He’d seen it a hundred times, but every time, with the stealing of a person’s future, the memory of his Claim resurfaced – the drowning in his own body, the shaking, the agony, the burn of the Founders’ poisons searching through him, deciding his fate.
The girl’s eyes fluttered. Tears slipped from the edges. Sweat beaded on her forehead. Her heart beat, fought against the antigen in a battle it wouldn’t win.
It would be the last day any of those functions belonged to her.
Darkness swept over Diablo’s heart, and he stepped away.
Fair knelt beside the bed. “Look at her. She’s so young.” The girl convulsed and black antigen bubbled under the skin below the wounds. Fair gritted her teeth and gripped Diablo’s wrist. “What could she have possibly done to deserve this?”
He couldn’t answer. Consequence in the Legions, while ordered by his ruler, didn’t always mean justice.
But it was always inescapable.
Vince stomped in holding a syringe. The liquid of the Function Punch in the barrel swirled with multi-colored beads and strands that forever refused to blend. Steam seemed to rise from Vince’s growl. “Smoke is getting out of control.”
“What do you mean?” A pit opened in Diablo’s gut. Smoke’s behavior of late had caused warning bells to ring in Diablo’s intuition, the reason he asked to talk with Vince and Grim in the first place. But Vince saying it turned his fears to truth.
Vince leaned over the girl and emptied the barrel into her heart.
The girl gasped and her eyes flew open. “Please.” She clutched at the air before her. Her eyelids fluttered and she passed out again.
Warm water and cloth in hand, Fair sat beside her and cleaned the wounds. “This is the third girl this week. Why is this happening? Smoke used to be so strict on Claiming females and the young.” Fair glanced at her husband like somehow Vince could make sense of the senseless.
“Her Claim was Fallout. Her brother. I’m pretty sure the guy that dropped her off here.”
“You mean threw her out,” Grim said from the doorway. “Who does that? To their sister?” Grim rubbed his fist in his palm and looked to Diablo. “I know you can’t reap more Consequence on the guy, but…say the word and my knuckles can find out what her brother’s face feels like.”
Fair smiled at Grim.
The Givers never took joy in Consequence, but Diablo could see the justice that image roused in Fair’s heart.
Vince grumbled. “Fair…no repercussions. You know every action creates a reaction. It will come back to us.”
Her eye twitched. “I hate the Legions.” She wiped more blood off the girl’s soft copper skin. The darkness of the antigen converged below the surface, trying to decide her designation. “Just once, I want to watch someone get what they deserve.” She brushed a tear from the girl’s cheek. “And this girl...she did not deserve this life.”
“I….” Grim dropped off. “I know I don’t know you two. But why did that guy bring her here?”
Vince shook his head. “I have no idea. I don’t even know how he knows where we live. Not many people do. Got that?”
Grim nodded. “I tell no one.”
Head ducked, Fair focused on cleaning the girl’s face.
Vince watched her. His brow scrunched. “Fair? How did he know?”
She scoffed and jumped to her feet, getting face to face with her husband. “I gave a few of the Claimed girls my number. Address. If they ever needed a safe place.”
Diablo’s mouth hung open. He closed it. God, he loved Fair. So kind, so passionate, and balls for days. The only one on the planet that could pin Vince in his place.
Vince whipped away from her, giving her his back. “Fair? After everything we’ve been through. To get this. To get some peace. Some solitude. A life.”
She yanked him back around. “And you have this life because I offered you the very same sanctuary all those years ago.”
“But—”
She cocked her head. “No buts. It’s who I am. If you don’t like it, then you can leave.”
“Leave? It’s my house.”
She glowered at him.
He lowered his head. “It’s our house.”
“Stop making this about you and go get some ice and Diaphoresis.” She waved at the girl. “She’s burning up.”
A grand smile snuck on Diablo’s face.
Fair turned on him. “Don’t enjoy this.”
His smile flattened. “I…ah….”
She pushed him toward the door. “You’re Smoke’s Sovereign Shield. Go do something about it.”
“Do what?”
She grabbed Grim’s arm and hauled him into the hall too. “You’re new enough to know how to be your own man. Help Diablo see beyond Smoke and figure it out.” She shoved them out the door. “And when you come back tomorrow,” she glanced back at the battered girl on the bed, “you better have some answers.” She flung the door shut in their face.
No sleep and a full night of mulling over the current state of the Legion, and he and Grim hadn’t come up with any answers, only more questions – Why had Claims increased? Why had extreme Consequences been granted? What favors could Smoke possibly need that would lead the most unbendable man Diablo had ever known to deviate from the Founders’ rules?
Diablo stepped inside Vince’s, letting the air-conditioning cool off summer’s brutal stare. He entered the living room.
His friend paced.
Concern prickled on Diablo’s flesh.
Vince stopped and leaned out, looking behind him. “Where’s Grim?”
“He got called away this morning to handle some of his own Legion’s business.” Diablo drew in the air. Sandalwood. Spice. No kitchen scents. No sweetness. “Where’s Fair?”
“I don’t know. She was watching the girl. Then suddenly left three hours ago to pick up more bandages.” He shook his head and poured himself a rim-high drink, spilling the whiskey on the bar.
&
nbsp; “Supplies. Sounds reasonable. Women often bleed longer after Claim. Sometimes four or five days.”
Vince pointed at the center of the room. A fully stocked medical kit sat open on the coffee table. “That was hidden behind a chair in the girl’s room.”
Diablo exhaled. “I’ll go look for Fair. You stay here. I’m sure she’ll be right back.”
A key rattled in the lock, and the front door opened.
Fair entered. Grim right behind her. Both were quiet. Both wore gloves. Fair held a paper bag in her hand.
Vince rushed to her. “Where have you been?”
She opened the bag and pulled out bandages and antiseptic.
Grim handed Vince several syringes of Function Punch. A few specks of red liquid blotted the outside of the barrels.
“What’s that?”
“Oh.” Grim wiped the red off with his glove. “Nothing. I was getting a payment from one of Slice’s debtors. He gave me some Function Punch as a tip for being…lenient.”
Vince reached out to shake his hand. “Thanks.”
Grim extended.
Vince clutched Grim’s wrist and yanked off his glove.
Mini cuts and bruising flanked Grim’s knuckles.
“A tip? Lenient?” Vince said through a clenched jaw.
Grim’s eyes flared, then quickly recovered. “He needed a little encouragement.”
Fair never looked back, stayed bent by the table, soaking cotton balls with alcohol.
Vince sucked in a purposeful breath, then another, dropped Grim’s glove and grabbed Fair’s arm.
She curled her hands tight.
“Fair?”
She held his glare.
“What did you do?”
“Fine. I’ll show you.” She yanked her arm free and pulled the tips of her glove, one finger at a time, then ripped it off. Cuts and bruises marred her skin.
“I take it you found the girl’s brother?”
She nodded and touched her used knuckles. “His name is Lance. He’s one of Smoke’s Emissaries.”
Vince closed his eyes and lowered his head. “Why would you risk yourself like that? If Smoke finds out...you know, with your position, you inflict any non-ordered Consequence, and you will get triple of the same.”