Begging For Mercy

by Mataya, Tamara

  She raises her eyebrows. “Speaking of ‘who you’re doing it with’ how’s Matthew?”

  I shake my head. “You’re so awful. We went to a barbecue last night, hung out with a couple of his friends.”

  “That’s not the salaciousness I was hoping for.”

  I lean back in my chair and sigh. “I didn’t know sex could be like this. More than that, Chug, I think—no, I know, I’m in love.”

  “And does he feel the same?”

  “Oh, I haven’t said anything. I’ve barely allowed myself to feel it never mind say it out loud. You’re the first to know, as per usual.”

  Her big brown eyes crinkle at the edges with her huge smile. “We so have to double date some time.”

  “Maybe not for the second date?”

  She nods. “True. But I see this going somewhere too, and I can’t go much longer without making sure he passes inspection.”

  “What’s passing inspection?” Patch asks, making me jump and slosh coffee down my overalls.

  Jesus, did he creep in here on his tip-toes? “A car Chug’s working on.” I give her a look, and she smiles smoothly.

  “Yeah, some semi’s been giving me a pain in the ass. How are you, Patrick?”

  “I’m fine. How have you been?”

  “Good. You’re witnessing my walk of shame right now.”

  He grins. “Nothing wrong with meeting a nice girl to take home to Mom.”

  “What about a bad girl to take home for myself?”

  “Nothing wrong with that either.”

  I smile with them, happy they get along so well. “Did you need me to take a look at anything, Patch?”

  Chug wags her finger at him. “You riding the clutch again?”

  “Nah, I just wanted a word with my little sister.”

  “Ah.” She stands. “I should get going anyway. Andy, call me.”

  “I will.” I stand and give her a quick hug, thankful she didn’t spill the beans to my brother even not knowing the full situation about Matt and me. ‘Call me’ was her code for ‘You better spill ASAP’, and I fully intend to do just that. Talking about my new boyfriend felt so nice. I guess I hadn’t realized how much I’ve been holding in lately. Good news needs to be shared, too, celebrated with those we love.

  “You wanted a word?”

  Patch shifts his weight. “Yeah.”

  Ugh. I sit and sip my coffee, annoyed at the sudden turn my day appears to be taking. “Well?”

  He sits in the chair Chug vacated. “I won’t tell you to be careful again.”

  “No, you’ve already flogged that horse to death and then some.”

  He holds up a hand. “I’m going to give you more information. You have to swear not to tell Dad.”

  My interest is piqued. “Information about what?”

  He tilts his head.

  “Oh. About me being careful, gotcha.”

  “I wanted to say something the day of the break-in, but knew I’d have lost my shit, so I held back. I was willing to let it go then, but I’ve been hearing things.”

  “Hearing what?”

  “That my sister is dating Matthew Mercy.”

  Damn. “Who told you we were dating?”

  He rolls his eyes. “Andy, come on. You showed up that day on the back of his bike. I’m not an idiot. Then Dad mentioned he came by and Matt was here painting your bike. Is it true?”

  I raise my chin. “So what if it is?”

  “He’s not a good guy.”

  “What is it with you? You think we’re so much better than his family because of a name?”

  “His family are the ones who threatened the shop. They’re the ones who threatened you.”

  A bucket full of ice water thrown at my face would be less of a shock. “What?”

  “Yeah.”

  “No, it can’t be. Why would they want me out of business?”

  “Because they’re bad people? Why do they need a reason?”

  I suck in a deep breath trying to exhale my confusion. “And you know it was them for sure?”

  He nods.

  “And Dad doesn’t know?”

  “Nope. Otherwise he’d have freaked to come here and see you alone with that asshole.”

  “Hey, Matt may be a Mercy but he isn’t one of them!” Anger tears a hole in the confusion. I don’t know what his family is doing, but I know Matt. I know his heart and it’s a good one.

  “Wake up. You think it’s a coincidence he came back into town and started dating you?”

  I cross my arms. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. He’s not like them.”

  “Isn’t he? Because I’ve heard some other things going around about him.”

  My heart speeds up. “Like what?”

  “Like Matthew Mercy’s back in town and up to even worse shit this time.”

  Worse shit? He had a gig doing a paintjob for Garth, it’s not like he’s...

  I saw him with Aaron Samson that day. But that doesn’t mean he’s connected to him, right? And maybe they were friends from the old days. It doesn’t mean Matt’s working for him.

  Patch exhales. “I know you like Mercy, but it’s better for you to stay away from him. Nothing good can come of it. Do you honestly think you’ve got a future with him when his family has already threatened you? They were probably the ones who vandalized the shop and your bike. And who were you with when that happened?”

  “No.” Matt wouldn’t have ever been involved in something so awful.

  “Whatever. I didn’t think you’d listen.” He stands. “I had to tell you, though. And if I catch him around here, catch him around you? I’m calling the cops.”

  “For what?”

  “I’m sure I’ll think of something.” He leaves me alone with too many emotions roiling through my belly, making me regret my breakfast sandwich.

  It’s Matt’s family, not him. I’m sure of it.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Matthew

  I shouldn’t have told Andy I was going to a race tonight, but I didn’t want to lie.

  Now her dust flies into my face as she takes the lead.

  Inch by inch I creep forward, overtaking her. If I kicked her right now, she’d never expect it, and there’s no way she’d recover in time.

  I can’t kick her. I can’t hurt her.

  Fuck.

  She wins, popping a wheelie after the finish line, and zips over to collect her envelope of money.

  Andy Perris just cost me ten thousand dollars because I couldn’t fight dirty with her, not even a little bit dirty when it’s for my brother. I head to the truck and load my bike up, cursing under my breath the whole time.

  “Hey, Mercy!”

  I turn and take in the scrub rider striding up to me fast. I hop off the back of my truck. “Yes?”

  “Not sure I like the way you race.”

  Okay, I couldn’t race dirty with Andy, but I had no real issues roughing up the other guys on the track. I smirk. “Not sure I give a shit what you like.”

  A small group has closed in on us, interested in the animosity. I move a few steps away from the truck, not wanting it or my bike to get jacked up.

  Sure enough, he takes a step forward, hand coming out to push against my chest.

  This isn’t a schoolyard fight with pushing and shoving. I don’t have the time or patience for that right now.

  His head snaps back when my knuckles connect with his face in a very satisfying way. His blood slicks the backs of my gloves as I hit him again and again, pausing to slam my fists into his gut.

  “Matt, what the hell are you doing? Matt stop!” Andy’s voice cuts into the haze.

  But I can’t. It’s not some asshole racer I’m pounding on. It’s Santos and Samson and my father and uncle and the shitty situation I’m annihilating with my fists and knees and feet.

  And I can’t stop.

  Maybe I don’t really want to.

  Another guy jumps on my back to stop the fight that’s
gone way too far, and I throw him to the ground and start on him too, landing a swift kick in his ribs, knocking the air out of him before he can react.

  I’m not who I used to be, but there was a reason people were scared to fuck with me back in the day: I can fight. Fighting’s free and I grew up poor.

  Another guy jumps in. Hatred pours from my body in hits and jabs with too much force behind them.

  A blur of strawberry blonde flashes before my eyes, and before I know it, I’m lying on the ground with Andy Perris straddling my chest, dangerous fire in her eyes. I lift my arms to shove her off of me, and she leans in closer.

  “I fucking dare you to hit me, Matt.”

  All the fight leaves my body, and I drop my hands to the ground, stunned she’d think I’d ever hit her, even in the middle of this emotional shitstorm.

  She tosses a glare over her shoulder and more than one guy takes a step back. “Get the fuck out of here. Show’s over.”

  Self-loathing sucks the fight out of me. “You can get off me now. I’m fine.”

  “Nothing about this is fine right now, Matthew.”

  “He had it coming.”

  She stabs her thumb behind her. “There were three of them.”

  “They had it coming.”

  “You’re acting like a thug.”

  I avoid eye contact. “You knew about my reputation all along.”

  She stands, still straddling my chest. “You’re acting like a Mercy.”

  I sit up and she moves away. “You knew who I was before we started anything.”

  “I thought I did. I really thought you were different, not like them at all. But look at you. Take a good fucking look at yourself, Matthew Mercy. You just beat the shit out of three guys for no reason.”

  “Guess I don’t need a reason other than my last name.” I lurch to my feet.

  “Stop it! Why are you being like this?”

  “Guess you’re finally getting to know the real me.”

  She steps closer. “This is not the real you. I know the real Matt, and he’s sweet, and kind, and warm, and smart, and he’d never hurt anyone for no reason.” She lays a gentle hand on my arm.

  Her touch burns me and I shake her hand off. I’m going to have to raise more money in a worse way to help Luke now, and all because I couldn’t hurt this woman. “No, Andy. You just saw the real me. Funny how you don’t like it either.” I stalk to my truck and roar off with too much speed, leaving her in my dust, for once.

  THE ONE CONSTANT IN my family has always been beer in the fridge and vodka in the freezer.

  I pour a big glass of the latter and snag a six pack on the way to my room. I don’t fucking know why I did what I did today or how to make it better, but liquor can’t make me feel any worse. Maybe some liquid amnesia right now will help me forget the disappointment and hurt in Andy’s eyes.

  I can’t believe she tackled me and actually took me down.

  The second half of the glass of vodka goes down easier than the first.

  It was so fucking hot. She’s so hot. Fearless, fierce. Strong—didn’t she say she’s done martial arts since she was a kid? No wonder she got me down and pinned so easily—though she did have the element of surprise on her side.

  Not that I fought back. Did she actually think I’d have hit her? I couldn’t hit her. I love her.

  Fuck.

  She’s tough and soft, strong and open, and she’s purring through my veins like a finely tuned motor.

  I pop open a beer, guzzling half of it.

  If I didn’t love her, that disappointed devastation in her eyes wouldn’t be shredding my chest from the inside out right now.

  Draining the first and second cans doesn’t make the pain in my chest go away, but it puts a nice buzzy filter between it and me.

  I close my eyes for just a minute and when I open them, Luke’s perched on the foot of my bed, frowning at me like a mother hen, which makes me laugh.

  “Why so serious, bro?” I finish the can in my hand I somehow managed not to drop while dozing. Score one for me. I crack open another to celebrate small victories. “Cheers!”

  “What are you doing?”

  What am I doing? “Drinking? Is this a trick question? I’d offer you a beer, but I need them all. They’re medicinal.”

  He shakes his head. “This is my fault.”

  “Nah. I’m going through some stuff right now.”

  “Me and my bullshit have done this to you.”

  “I’m just fine, Lukie.”

  “You aren’t!” He stands and paces around the room. “You’re the only fucking person who actually gives a shit about me in all this and look what it’s doing to you. I’m so sorry. I kept thinking I had to change all of this for myself, and that wasn’t a good enough incentive—not when I don’t give a shit about my own wellbeing. But I care about you, Matt.”

  His sincerity is too much, pierces through my nice warm buzz like a bucket of cold water. “Don’t.”

  He crouches by me. “I’m going to fix this. I can’t watch you turn into those assholes downstairs because of me. Whatever it takes, I promise you I’m going to fix this and then we’re getting the fuck out of Miami. I want to go with you back to Colorado and make a better life for myself. At the very least, I owe you your life back. I think... maybe I deserve more. I can stay here trying to impress those fucks downstairs and digging myself deeper into a life I hate, or I can finally grow up and be someone I’m proud of—someone who makes you proud, too.”

  I focus on my can. Finally, he gets it and wants better for himself. But things are so messed up it feels like too little too late. “If you can think of a magical solution for this mess, I’m all ears.”

  I look up but he’s already gone.

  Myself and me and liquor make three.

  Andy would be so disappointed. She was livid with me, and rightfully so.

  Unfortunately, the more I drink, the more I remember Andy with other expressions. Smiling. Laughing. Raising one eyebrow at me like she can’t believe I just said whatever I said.

  The night before the barbecue when I made love to her. Her face when I was inside her, trusting and giving, holding nothing back.

  The night before the barbecue when the love in her eyes threatened to undo me.

  Will she ever look at me like that again, open and unguarded, or have I fucked it all up?

  And who drank my last beer?

  Stumbling down the stairs to get another, awareness dawns that I shouldn’t be walking with the floor all spinny, but Dad and Kingsley sit at the table, and the need to drink more sloshes through me, drowning the tiny voice telling me to get out of this house.

  “Well, well, well, what have we here? Good old, dear old, sweet old Dad. And Uncle Kingly—Kingsley! How are you two, dare I say it, gentlemen, tonight?”

  “Not as good as you, apparently.” Kingsley grins. “Throw me a beer, kid.”

  I turn and half-bow to Dad. “And the patron of the family? Would he like a beer as well?”

  “Sure.”

  “Two beers coming up.” I haul open the door and grab two brews, close the fridge, and throw the cans as hard as I can toward the two men I hate most in the world.

  “Goddamn it!” Kingsley shouts.

  Unfortunately, my aim sucks when I’m drunk.

  At least they get sprayed when one of the cans bursts from the pressure.

  “Foam parties are all the rage,” I inform them as they shoot to their feet.

  Dad recovers from his shock first. “Goddamn it, Matthew. You’d better go sleep this shit off. I’m warning you.”

  “Of what? What are you warning me of? Fucking has-been.” I crack open a fresh beer and lean against the counter. “See, your problem is you think I give a shit about you. I don’t. News...flash!” I finish the beer, almost spitting out a mouthful when their bewildered expressions make me laugh. “Nothing to say? No orders, or threats, or stupid little sayings?” S’s are hard to say, slithering slowly from my
tongue.

  Dad shakes his head. “You need to sleep it off.”

  “What I need is to get the fuck outta here.” I weave to the door. “And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

  Where the hell did I put my keys?

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Andy

  What I’d thought would be a fun night of racing with my boyfriend then making love with him until the sun came up sure went to shit in a hurry.

  After my shower, I wrap a blanket around my shoulders and curl into a ball on my couch, hurting for Matt, for whatever the hell it is he’s going through, but mostly hurting for myself. Whatever he’s feeling, he has no reason to be an asshole to me. It’s looking more and more like Matt’s not the person I thought he was.

  The look in his eyes scared the shit out of me. He was like an animal, something feral and destructive, hitting that guy—those guys—over and over again, not stopping when I shouted at him. Something snapped in his eyes when I said he was acting like a Mercy, went from pissed to broken, but he was acting like his family. My words were harsh, and he deserved every one of them.

  Is Patch right? Was Matt taking me out as a distraction so his asshole family could get in here and vandalize my bike? It’s starting to feel like less of a coincidence.

  Nausea rises. I can’t believe the man who held me so tenderly, who made love to me with such passion could be holding in a secret so dark. He looks at me like he loves me, touches me like I’m precious and sexy and he can’t get enough of me. Those emotions, that chemistry can’t be fake or faked. Maybe he’s one hell of an actor...

  My phone dings with a text. Do I want it to be Matt? What can he say to make things better? Is there anything?

  Patch: Can I borrow your bike?

  I bitchily type and send Fuck No, then immediately send another message: What for?

  Patch immediately calls. “Okay, I have a date and I really like her, but my bike’s doing something weird.”

  I don’t offer to fix it like I normally would. I’m more in the mood for breaking things tonight—something else Matt and I have in common at the moment. “I don’t know.”

  “I know I’ve been a dickhead, but it’s because I care about you. I’m not trying to be mean.”