Begging For Mercy

by Mataya, Tamara

  WE STAY THERE, KISSING, nibbling snacks, making love until the sky is streaked with pink and the air cools before packing up and climbing back on his bike. Am I being insensitive for wanting to see him more? His family needed him, and some things are more important than dates with me. Things like brothers who have been injured, and his brother’s financial issues. He must be helping pay for medical bills. Why else would Matt be talking about working while he’s here on vacation?

  It explains why he didn’t have time to call me for so long...sort of. The point is he’s making an effort to be with me, and as long as he’s consistent after today, I’ll cut him some slack. If anything happened to Dad or Patch, I know they’d be my priority, not going on dates with someone, no matter how much I liked them. Maybe I’d be a bit erratic too.

  And being on the back of Matthew’s bike with my arms around him feels really good.

  We pull up to the shop, the perfect end to the perfect day, neither of us speaking as we get off the bike and walk to the door, holding hands. We were together not even an hour ago, and I want him again. I’m going to convince him to sleep over so he can continue showing me how much he respects me. I grin and tug him to the door faster.

  The cracks are so perfect for a minute the damaged window doesn’t register. Matt’s hand shoots out of mine to hold me back from taking another step as the vandalism sinks in. The top of the door has a vicious smash, and the rock that took out the bottom window of the door lies on the sidewalk, sparkling with glass dust.

  Someone attacked my shop, and it takes a few deep breaths to prevent me from screaming over the sound of... That’s not right. I shake my head, disconcerted by the silence. “The alarm isn’t going off.”

  Matt grabs my hand again and moves me behind him, shielding me with his body. “Andy, you need to call the police. Whoever did this might still be in there.”

  Glass crunches against the cement floor inside the shop as someone steps closer to the door, face obscured by the spider-webbed cracks in the window. I lunge forward, crimson fury clouding my vision.

  Patch steps out. “About time you got here.” He ignores Matt like he’s not here. “Security Company called me when you didn’t pick up. I’ve been calling you for an hour.”

  Denied retribution against the vandal, impotent frustration fills me again, now heated with adrenaline. “I turned my phone off. What else did they do? Did we catch them on security cam footage?”

  Patch shakes his head. “I reviewed the CCTV footage, but they were wearing a mask. Looked to be a white male.” He finally looks at Matt. “Where have you been all afternoon?”

  Matt scowls. “It wasn’t me, man.”

  “Can you prove that?” Patch takes a step toward Matt.

  I angle myself between them, though Matt’s easy posture doesn’t change. “I can. He was with me all afternoon.” And if I’d been here I could have caught whoever it was.

  The disgust on my brother’s face says it all.

  Matt breaks the awkward, judgmental silence. “Look, Patrick, if Andy had been here, whoever did this might have hurt her too.”

  “What, so I should thank you for... for hanging out with my sister?” Patrick glares.

  Time for a subject change. “What else did they do?” I walk toward the door. “They got the door pretty good, but what else?”

  “Your bike.” Patrick’s voice stops me in my tracks.

  I swallow hard. “Which one?”

  “Green Goblin,” he says gently.

  No. Not my Kawi. My best one, the bike that’s been with me forever and I can’t abandon. The one Matt drew me on. I cut my teeth on that baby, learned to really ride on that ugly, perfect dirt bike. I swallow hard. “How bad?” My voice is barely a whisper.

  Patch’s expression finally softens. “You’re not going to hold out on replacing that seat anymore. She needs a lot of work.”

  I can’t decide the better plan: seeing it now to get it over with, or running away and drinking until my nerves are swaddled with liquor first.

  Matt rubs my back. “Do you want me to come in with you?”

  And see me turn to a puddle of snot and self-loathing about this? I shake my head. “No, you go on. It’s best I deal with this by myself.” I appreciate the concern in his gaze and give him a hug, speaking quietly so Patch won’t hear. “Thanks for today.”

  “Call me later when this is cleared up, or if you change your mind about needing help. I’m pretty handy with a broom.”

  I manage to scrape up a smile for him. “You shouldn’t have told me that. Facts like that are way too easily exploited in a shop.”

  “I have fond memories of this shop.” His eyes burn, and despite the circumstances, my skin heats too.

  I squeeze his hand, grateful he’s managed to distract me for a moment. “See you later.”

  Matt nods and walks away.

  Patch is on me the second we’re alone. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  I step inside the shop, eyes assaulted by the mess as much as my ears are assaulted by the start of my brother’s boring tirade. The shop is more important than his opinion about Matt. Other than the window, nothing seems broken, a perk of working with metal tools.

  Patch follows me inside. “I don’t even care what you were doing with Mercy. I’d probably puke over the details and then have to kill him. Guys like him are only after one thing.”

  “Do we really have to talk about him right now?”

  A vein in Patch’s forehead appears. “It’s better if we don’t. What really bothers me is that we warned you about this.”

  “What, you still think he had something to do with this? We’ve been together all goddamned day, Patch, I know for a fact he was nowhere near the shop when this happened.”

  Patch grabs a garbage bin. “What’s that old saying? If you lie down with dogs, you’re going to get fleas. People see you with him, there goes our credibility, and not only that? Rougher people are going to come sniffing around wanting to do business here, getting pissed when we turn them down. This is just the tip of the iceberg.”

  More likely, this is in retaliation for my rough play while racing. Dad and Patch didn’t know about the way I lashed out at everyone when I was frustrated with Matt when I thought he was jerking me around. Matt even said he’d almost gotten stabbed because of me. But I haven’t raced for a bit, and haven’t pissed anyone off lately. The chances of this being repeated are slim to none if that’s the case. The person responsible will have gotten it out of their system and will probably leave me alone now. Still, I keep my mouth shut.

  The less said about things that will give Dad and Patch matching aneurisms, the better.

  The garage isn’t too bad. Things are tipped and thrown, but nothing’s really damaged. The boys warned me about security at our last dinner, thinking I should tuck tail and run to something less dangerous, and as I take in the mangled tires, bent fender, and slashed seat of my beloved bike, I can’t help wondering if maybe they’re right. Maybe I’m not tough enough for this. Futility driven by insecurity steamrolls my emotions, leaving me flat and raw and done.

  If everyone knew the garage was Patch’s, they might be less likely to use it to get back at me.

  Trouble is, there’s no guarantee that’s the reason this happened. It could be completely random and I’m connecting dots that aren’t even there. And unless I know for sure my giving up the garage will stop things like this from happening, I will not be chased away.

  I grit my teeth, grab a broom, and start sweeping up broken glass.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Matthew

  My hands grip the handlebars so hard on the ride back to Dad’s my fingers ache when I pull into the driveway and try to let go. If Patch hadn’t been there I wouldn’t have left her alone.

  Was it that little fucker Benny, retaliating for her racing dirty? One of the other guys who she’s beaten, literally with rough play, across the finish line? I clench my teeth so hard my jaw aches
. Whoever it is better run when I find out his name.

  No one fucks with Andy Perris.

  I feel so useless. While I was making love to her, kissing her, having lunch, someone violated her shop—her home outside of her apartment. Hell, it’s right below her apartment! As much as I wanted to stay, it seemed like she wanted some privacy, and fair enough—I wouldn’t be in the best mood if I walked in and saw someone had destroyed my bike and place of business. I hope the damage to her bike is cosmetic, but if it’s not, she’s got the space and equipment to make it better.

  The same can’t be said for her peace of mind. Maybe I’m projecting. Andy’s tough. A reluctant grin forms at the memory of the first night I went over there. She stormed down those steps in panties and boots with a goddamn baseball bat. Any burglar would have been dazzled by her physical appearance, giving her the edge while she went in for the kill. She’s definitely not a damsel in distress, but I know how I’d feel if someone wrecked my bike, and that shop is Andy’s life.

  As bad as I feel for her, I can’t suppress the residual feelings of pleasure being with her gave me. Except for the break in, it was a pretty perfect afternoon.

  I linger on the porch, breathing in the evening air, finally cooling down, and remove my helmet, turning to go in the house.

  “Wish we could see that bitch’s face when she sees her shop.”

  I tread softly up to the door and across the threshold, ears straining to hear the rest of the conversation between Dad and Kingsley in the kitchen.

  Kingsley coughs. “Don’t know how it’s stayed in business. Nothing fancy if you ask me.”

  “Yeah, I was expecting better, myself, for all the things you hear about the place.”

  “That bike was fucking ugly anyways. I don’t know how she could beat anyone on it.”

  “She won’t beat anyone on it anymore.” There’s a smile in Dad’s voice.

  “Amen to that.”

  Two cans clink together, and I storm into the kitchen not caring who said what since every word was bullshit. “It was you guys?”

  Dad frowns. “What was us?”

  “Were you two the ones who trashed Andy’s shop today?”

  “It’s not what you know, it’s what you can prove.” Kingsley cracks open a beer and he and Dad laugh.

  I cross my arms. “Don’t screw around.”

  Dad butts out a cigarette. “Can’t have been me, I was with him all day.” He jerks a thumb at my uncle.

  Kingsley smirks back. “And I don’t know anyone who would do the type of thing you’re speaking of. Inn-o-cent.”

  Deep breaths, Matt. In through the nose, out through my foot kicking their asses. “I’d taken her out today.”

  “We know.” Kingsley hoists his can toward me in a silent cheers. “You gave us the perfect in, Matt. Thanks for that.”

  I can’t believe he’s thanking me. “You guys fucked her bike up.”

  Dad nods. “Damn right. Now she won’t be riding for a bit, taking purses that are rightfully yours. Not unless she has a secret bike in there somewhere. Everyone wins.”

  Black rage settles in my bones. “What if she’d been there at the time, would you have knocked her around too?”

  “Who cares? She wasn’t there so it doesn’t matter what coulda, woulda, shoulda. That’s what you’re for, son, knocking her around, keeping her occupied. So? We’re all dying to know. How is she in the sack?”

  Kingsley laughs. “You got her begging for Mercy?” He slaps Dad’s arm. “See what I did there?”

  “Fuck you,” I spit the words at them both.

  Dim calculation slides into Dad’s eyes. “For someone who’s only fucking her to distract her, you seem awfully...invested in her well-being.”

  Shit. I need a new tactic to make them think I’m not mad because I care about Andy and hate what they’ve done. “This wasn’t the best move to make. You don’t know her like I do.”

  Dad’s eyes narrow. “Don’t know her, and don’t care to know her. I care about paying off the debt and keeping your brother out of shit creek. That girl is too good in the races.”

  I run my hand through my hair. “I beat her.”

  “Not all the time. Now you will. You should be thanking us for the help wrecking her bike—now she won’t be able to race. Problem solved.”

  “She’s a mechanic, for fuck’s sake. She’ll fix her bike up until it’s better than it was before.” I pace around the kitchen. “No, you don’t get it. If anything, you guys have made this worse. She’s competitive. I’d managed to distract her from racing, and now you’ve made it seem like someone wants her not to do this; racing is suddenly going to be so irresistible. She’ll want to use it to prove she’s not giving in, not scared of whoever did this to her shop and bike.”

  Dad and Kingsley exchange an uneasy glance. Dad shrugs. “Then you’re going to have to work a little harder, aren’t you, boy?”

  “Yeah, I am.” I grab my coat and stalk toward the door, actually glad to have an excuse to get the hell out of here.

  “Where are you going?” Kingsley calls.

  “Back to Andy’s. I’ve got to work some damage control, thanks to you guys. The last thing any of us need is a pissed off Andy Perris, tearing up the racetrack trying to prove how tough she is. I almost got stabbed once because of that. Not that it matters to you.”

  “Stab her instead,” Kingsley calls. “Not with a knife!” He laughs like it’s the best joke ever.

  My snarl of frustration is hidden by the revving of my motor.

  AFTER A STOP AT A SUPPLY store, I pull up to Andy’s an hour later. There’s tape on the glass, and the mess around the door is tidied. Her back is to the door.

  “Hey.” I knock, and the way she spins around, fear lingering in her eyes, kills me. My family put that fear in her eyes.

  “Hey.” She smiles and opens up to let me inside. I set my bag down to wrap her in a hug, and she wearily sighs against me. “What’s all this?” She steps back and taps my bag with her toe.

  “How’s your bike?” I ask gently.

  “I’ve straightened the frame, and welded. Done a patch on it as well—dents, no cracks—but it’s ugly. She had more battle scars than I should have let go without fixing, but nothing like this. Not intentional damage from some asshole vandal. And now...”

  “You can’t look at her the same.”

  “Exactly. God, I love how you just understand.” She leans into me again, and I give her a little squeeze.

  Boy, do I ever understand. “I might be able to help with that.”

  “How?”

  I open the bag and let her peek inside at the colored pencils and paints and notepad.

  “What?” Her eyes widen.

  “Your bike needs a new paint job and I’m here.” A couple hundred bucks I couldn’t afford, but fucked if I’m going to let Andy carry the burden of this around. “I’m doing it. I know it can’t be done tonight, that the repairs will need a couple days—I know you work fast—but we’re going to design it tonight.”

  Her hands slide around the nape of my neck and pull me closer. Her lips part against mine, and she holds nothing back, kissing me with a frenzy that sends ideas rushing to my cock. When she pulls back, her eyes are wet. She rubs at them. “This is the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

  I grin. “I’ll put the coffee on and you come up with a few ideas for what you’d like her to look like after her makeover.”

  We walk hand-in-hand to the kitchen area where I select a flavored pod for myself and put her choice in first while she looks through the colors with a critical eye. After a moment, she sets out a rich blue, a dark gray, and a vibrant green.

  She fiddles with the bottles like she’s nervous. “I want something new and fresh, but the green will be a tip of the hat to how she used to be. Beyond that, you get free rein.”

  “It’s perfect. Do you need help with anything else around here? I did say I was handy with a broom.”


  She sips her coffee. “No, there really wasn’t a lot of damage. Doesn’t make it less frustrating, but Patch had already taken pics for insurance so I was able to get cleaning right off the bat, then move onto my bike. Haven’t changed the tires yet.”

  “You can do that while I get started on the design and then I’ll paint up a mock-up.” I don’t want to sit here and ask questions I already know the answers to. “Shall we get to it?”

  “Sounds good. Oh.”

  “What?”

  “I haven’t got any overalls that will fit you.”

  “Andy, they’re just jeans. If I get paint on my clothes, it’s not the end of the world.”

  A glint enters her gaze, but she turns and gets to work, and I do the same. I don’t feel guilty about spending the cash. Those assholes crossed a line. It was one thing to have me beating Andy in the races, but for them to actively sabotage her and make her feel threatened in her home is something they never should have done.

  I layer in the blue and gray, working in a filigree with the green, ending it with a subtle A at the top, for Andy. The back fender, I draw a bit darker but with the same palette, working in a bit more filigree in thin, vibrant green.

  “Wow.” Andy’s voice over my shoulder startles me, but I keep my hand steady. “This looks fantastic.”

  I set the pencil down and assess my work. It is pretty decent, if I do say so myself.

  She snakes her right hand into my left, and rests her temple against my arm. “It’s gorgeous. You’re incredible.”

  “Andy?”

  She whips her head around and I turn too, releasing her hand as though it’s burned me.

  Grant Perris, Andy’s Dad, is here.

  And he saw me touching his daughter.

  “Hey, Dad. Patch told you about the vandalism?”

  He nods. “Came over to see if you were okay.” He looks me up and down with an unconcerned, gentle menace—a look all fathers with daughters seem to innately have. I’m not sure what’s worse: the fact I’ve had my hands—and mouth—all over his daughter and I’m pretty sure he knows it, or the fact I’m a Mercy and have done the above.