Mercy F*uck

by K. S. Adkins

  Besides being brained, cuffing her in a bar where the crowd clearly loved her would be suicide; and that’s if she didn’t try killing me first. I could hold my own in almost any situation but there were too many unknowns inside The Hole.

  Hell, this was one bar even I never ventured into. The place was chaos on smack. However, if you paid attention and watched her, you’d see it was a controlled chaos. Now I’m kicking my own ass for never stopping in because if I had, I would have found her sooner and by fate, not court order.

  Making my way out front to wait, I exhale hard while favoring my side. Christ, for a small woman she still hit like a Mack truck. It wasn’t that she knew how to hit, it was that she knew where to hit. The woman inflicted maximum damage with little effort on her part. When the door opens and she steps out, my breath literally caught again because Drew, even after nine years, still stole the air from my lungs. Insanely long, curly, jet black hair, bright green eyes with pouty lips and a thick body that time did not alter. Short for a woman but curvy where it mattered, she was sex on a fucking stick. Sporting a vintage Cash t-shirt that barely held her tits in, because those tits were too glorious to be covered, I openly stared. Levi jeans that were well broken in, molded to her thick frame perfectly with just the right amount of give, made me salivate. Drew used to say Levis were the only kind of jeans she could pull over her ass and she was right. Noticing the boots on her feet, I fought a groan when I saw she still donned her shit kickers.

  The woman was a classic.

  Lighting a cigarette, she struts over to the restored Impala leaning casually against it. The same Impala we worked on side-by-side for months. Together, we rebuilt her and had the time of our lives doing it. It was during those times I fell deeper and deeper in love with her. I fell in love with every little fucking thing about her. At twenty-one, I had found my forever and wasn’t letting her go. Where I knew engines and bodywork, Drew could do custom better than anyone I’d ever met and she’d been self-taught.

  Hence, why I brought it tonight but the woman didn’t seem to care about the past, the car, or my sudden appearance. It was apparent I was the only one struggling with their feelings because judging by the look on her face, she didn’t have any.

  What happened to the girl I remember?

  “Talk,” she said sizing me up and was cataloging the changes.

  Standing before her was a man twice the size he’d been the last time she’d seen him nine years ago. The one and only time he was inside of her she held onto his shoulders telling him she loved his strength, dug her nails into his back to stake her claim and cried out his name while he loved the fuck out of her.

  Forgetting the girl responsible was impossible. No matter how hard I tried I failed and believe me, I tried.

  Who are you kidding? You still feel her touch to this very day.

  She was fighting it but she remembered too. Even if I wasn’t sure, her rock hard nipples gave her away.

  Those pink beauties were always hard around me. Always.

  “Nine years ago you left me on the ground holding my balls. Mind telling me why?”

  “Talk about something else.”

  “Why are you still bartending?”

  “Next.”

  “You’re still gorgeous.”

  “No shit,” she said rolling her eyes and I wanted to hug her. “Wrap it up, blue balls, I’m insanely busy.”

  “Yeah,” I say getting closer, as close as possible because she smelled so fucking good. I had first-hand knowledge that she tasted even better. Like vanilla and pear…“Busting ass with a ball bat. You can’t go around hitting people with a piece of wood, Drew. You’re a lawsuit waiting to happen.” When she rolls her eyes again, instead of putting her over my knee, I go with, “Thought about you every day since you left.”

  Looking up at me she shrugs and says, “Wacky, considering until tonight, I hadn’t thought of you at all.”

  Liar! I wanted to shout but went with, “Seems to me you have a lot of aggression for a guy you haven’t thought about.” Have you missed me?

  “What can I say, I’m an aggressive woman,” she said hitting her cigarette and I wanted her mouth on me not that filter. “You obviously came here looking for me. The question is, why?”

  Before I could say another word there was gunfire. In a blink, I had us both on the concrete but used my body to cushion the blow. Checking her over for injury was pointless when she palmed my face to push me away. “Stay down,” I order her while trying to keep my hold on her. Don’t let go!

  “Eat a dick,” she said breaking free and sunk her knee into my stomach causing me to grunt in pain.

  Coming to her feet, she produces a gun and releases the slide with ease.

  Where in the hell had she been keeping that monster?

  Firing six rounds across the street was followed up with a man yelling out, “Drew? That you?”

  “Yeah, asshole!” she yelled back furiously. “That me!”

  “Was aiming for him.”

  “Well, your aim sucks!”

  “Go on inside, honey, he’s my kill.”

  “No can do,” she said sliding her piece back inside her holster that was hidden on her right side. Doing this caused her tits to strain in her top which I found seriously hot. Don’t get hard now, idiot, oops, too late! “Because I’m going to kill him.”

  “Did two years ‘cause of him!”

  “Not my problem, Remo!”

  “Can I, at least, watch you do it?”

  Sneering at me she asked, “Do I want to know what you do for a living, honey badger?”

  “Honey—? Christ, you’re mean. You’re lucky I find it adorable. I bought Foxy out.” Sharing this did not make her happy. Her dad, Drake, worked for Foxy back in the day. Her dad was her hero and could do no wrong in her eyes. The bond business was feast or famine, especially before the internet. When Drake worked for Foxy he barely made enough to support his large family. But the guy loved his job and busted his ass every time he went out. His eldest daughter shared his work ethic and followed his work closely. She claimed it was only because she wanted him safe. But I knew her and she also wanted her dad to get paid quickly so she leaned on her regulars, passing intel along to him. I was lucky enough to see him in action a few times myself and her old man had flare, the same flare she has.

  After losing her, I had no clue what I wanted to do, my life was in a tailspin. Without a degree, no one would hire me so I went to Foxy and asked for a job. Drake had already found other work because he needed benefits and Foxy needed someone to fill the gap. The timing had been perfect.

  Plus, if it came down to fists, I wouldn’t go to jail for it because it was part of the gig. Being paid to throw down didn’t suck for a guy with a temper like mine. I’d always wondered if she knew, but it was clear Drake and Foxy upheld the same rule with her as they did with me. It was also clear she wasn’t impressed and I refused to look into why that bothered me.

  “Figures,” she says, flicking the cigarette, she somehow managed to hold onto during the gun fight.

  “Remo, you have kids to raise,” she called across the street. “Here’s some free advice: Maybe consider a life that doesn’t include crime. It’s just a suggestion! Now haul ass outta here, I’ll handle this.”

  “Make him bleed, Drew,” the guy said just as bullets riddled the Impala.

  “For fuck’s sake, Remo! What did I just say?”

  “That wasn’t me!” he yelled, and out of instinct I yanked her down on top of me once again.

  “Who else hates you, because it’s obvious I’m not the only one, cocktard.”

  The feel of her on top of me scrambled my brain and all I could say was, “I have enemies.” Coughing to dislodge my spleen from my throat didn’t diminish how good it felt to have her near me again. She was all around me and all I could think about. Drew, however, was not suffering the same problem.

  “I can see why,” she says pushing off of me to stand and once again
firing blind.

  “What in the hell are you doing!”

  “Providing cover you, jackhole!”

  “Why do you even have a gun?” I shout at her.

  “Uh… because I can?”

  “You can’t shoot out in the open, Drew!” I chastise her. “You could kill an innocent bystander!”

  “First, there are no bystanders, innocent or otherwise, Axle. I checked on my way out. Second, I managed to survive nine years without anyone shooting at me and that streak went out the window when you showed up. Third,” she announces but says nothing.

  I ask her, “What’s the third thing, Drew?”

  “Did you get bigger?” she mumbles to herself before realizing she’d done it.

  “In all the right places too,” I grin down at her.

  “Why Foxy’s?” she asks suddenly.

  “When I dropped out he’s the only one who’d hire me.”

  “You dropped out? You only had one year left. Why would you piss that away?”

  “Gunfire,” I remind her. “We can do this later.”

  Uncaring of the danger she shakes her head and says, “No. We do this now. So you quit school. What did your parents have to say that about that?”

  “Things changed after you left. Getting my degree for someone else didn’t suit so, I quit. When they found out, they disowned me,” I shrug easily refusing to recall the day my parents wrote me off.

  “Disowned you,” she says sadly and I watch her face soften but in a blink, it was gone.

  “Haven’t spoken to them in nine years.”

  “Well,” she huffs crossing her arms over her perfect chest. “No one ever said you were smart, needle dick.”

  “Someone did,” I say ignoring her nickname and moving in closer. Leaning down so she could hear me I whisper, “I specifically remember someone saying it often. Oh that’s right, Princess Frost Bite. It was you.”

  Snapping out of it, she growls up at me, “Get in your piece of shit Impala and bounce, fuck nugget.”

  “It’s not a piece of shit, Danny DeVito,” I argue, uncaring of the danger. She hit a sore spot and I wasn’t having it. “You loved this car. Now it’s got bullet holes in it!”

  “You did not just call me—My offer expires in,” firing a round she warns, “Three,” firing again, “Two,” then staring me down and firing blind she growls, “One.”

  This was getting out of control and yet I was still rock hard. The woman wasn’t going to back down and secretly, I loved it. However, she would continue to hurl ridiculous names at me, while shooting into the dark, and holding her ground until the other guy died or quit. It didn’t matter to her that the other guy also had a gun.

  Because she was too focused on me to consider him a threat.

  This meant I needed to flip the script.

  Once I seized control and the moment she realized she’d lost it, Drew would go apeshit. She’d also be difficult to contain (without gunfire) and would definitely fight back.

  Please fight back…

  Sliding the cuffs out of my back pocket, I come up behind her and slap one wrist before snagging her piece, tucking it away and securing her right hand quickly. “Are you high?” she screamed trying to deflect but was too late.

  With her thrashing in my arms, I struggle with the door because I’m too focused on being gentle with her to get her inside. When a bullet nearly takes her face off, I said fuck gentle and shoved her in hard with my foot. Crashing into the door, her face absorbed the impact and I winced.

  Oops.

  Jumping in and gunning it, I flew down the streets until we were far enough away to breathe easy. Glancing over at her, I felt like a dick for launching her as hard as I did but if I said I was sorry, she’d only adjust herself and mule kick me. Drew didn’t like being babied, I didn’t like bleeding and I wasn’t looking to total my ride.

  “I’m not high,” I comment several minutes later trying to break the ice. “And if you don’t answer my questions I’m taking you in for skipping out on your bond.” See? In total control…

  “It’s like that?” she asks quietly while staring out of her window.

  “It’s like that,” I confirm making sure she knows who’s in charge here.

  Then, giving me the most beautiful smile I’ve seen in years, she bites her plump lip and says, “Okay, Axle, let’s play.”

  It’s official, Foxy was right.

  I didn’t know the new Drew.

  But I sure as hell looked forward to figuring her out.

  “She’s beautiful,” I say with so much excitement I nearly buckled.

  “Yeah,” he said softly. “She is.”

  Sometimes he said things that I swore were intended for me but I could never be sure. I was also too afraid to ask only to find out I’m wrong. So I played it off but I didn’t play off how stoked I was for this car. “Whose is it?” I ask jumping in to sit on the torn front seat.

  “Ours.”

  “Huh?”

  “She’s ours,” he said draping himself over me with his elbows on the hood. “We’re gonna fix her up.”

  “We are?”

  “Yeah,” he grinned perfectly. “Together.”

  My parents had five daughters, which meant money was scarce.

  As the oldest, I saw their struggles and helped to hide it from my sisters. My dad busted his ass working no less than two jobs, seven days a week to provide for us. To make sure my mom could stay home and raise us without daycare.

  Fact: Never, not once, did he complain.

  Though we didn’t have much, it was okay because my parents were the fucking greatest. As a kid, I didn’t care for sports or academics. I loved playing ‘restaurant’ in the basement and serving my family.

  I begged from age ten on to be allowed to get a job. I wanted to help my dad, I wanted to do my part.

  Turns out, I had to wait three more years and even then neither parent was pleased when I didn’t do what other teenagers did by babysitting or a paper route.

  With my eyes on the prize, I got hired for my first job washing dishes at the local dive bar after school three days a week. Mom was far from happy; but my dad, after a two-day ass kissing bender, had talked her down.

  By sixteen, my mom ceased bitching about it since I was practically running the place. Bars, for some weird reason, were my thing, they made sense to me without my trying. So at seventeen when I graduated from high school, I didn’t even walk with my class at commencements because I’d rather be making money than pretend I liked the humans I spent four years with. The owners never cared that I was underage; they only cared that I made them money. Plus, they knew my dad and Foxy, who vouched for me. Odds are good the owners feared them too, but whatever.

  The day after I turned eighteen I met Axle. He came in with a group of his friends, took one look at me and sat at my bar. He had a few years on me and I liked that he did. Guys my age were walking talking masturbators.

  Located two blocks off campus, we stayed busy from open to close. College kids filled the place but so did execs and locals. Bottom line, the bar had the best location for what it provided.

  Me.

  Okay fine, it wasn’t all about me. The food was good too, but I did have regulars. As in, dozens and they paid well, which allowed me to provide for my family and still live on my own.

  Like any job, there were unspoken rules.

  The big one was, don’t get attached to the customers, especially romantically.

  I followed this rule to the letter.

  Until he introduced himself and I broke the number one rule by engaging him.

  Working in a bar meant taking pervs in stride, but he wasn’t like the others. First, he barely drank and second, he made eye contact with my face and not my tits. He was smart, funny, and very protective of me. But to everyone else he was rough, abrupt, and possessed a hair-trigger.

  As he began to frequent regularly, I found out he worked part-time at the garage down the road and toward a ge
neral degree at Wayne State. Axle was promised a cushy job upon graduation but the stipulation was, earning that piece of paper.

  Though Axle came from money, he openly shunned it, preferring to channel his inner bad boy instead.

  He channeled it like a fucking pro too.

  Dark menacing eyes, stubble along his strong jaw, long dark shaggy hair, flannel shirt, broken-in Levis with Docs on his massive feet, he owned it. Add to that he was extremely tall, lumbered when he walked and possessed a vibe that warned anyone stepping to him they would pay in pain.

  Which meant he had a thing about fist fights.

  As in he loved them.

  Needless to say, I instantly fell for everything about Axle. I was his biggest fan. Who watched him fight, cheered him on, and to keep him close, I slyly asked him to fix my Jeep.

  The Jeep turned into a motorcycle I found in a junkyard.

  The motorcycle turned into parties I pretended to like.

  Parties turned into family dinners with my family which I did like.

  We were tight, the tightest, but I wanted more. We had moments where he hinted we were something but I was too afraid to step out of the friend-zone to ask what it was for fear he’d say it was nothing.

  When he bought the Impala to fix together everything changed.

  Every free moment we had was spent in close proximity and I fell so far in love with him I saw no way out.

  I began making my own subtle hints, touching him at odd times, offering him my most seductive smile.

  So when he asked me to his place before hitting the garage, the usual sexual tension that simmered just below the surface was burning me alive.

  I decided I was done fighting it.

  The car we restored together had been beautiful, only I never had the chance to ride in it. Because instead of taking the Impala out for its first official test drive, I asked him to have sex with me. I told him I’d never done it and that I wanted it to be with him, only him. Everyone on campus knew me because they drank at my bar, it was like going to school without the class load. Until Axle, I hadn’t befriended customers because most never stuck around. Besides that, most proved to be idiots. For him, I went to ridiculous frat parties and pretended I fit in. Only I never did because I was a bar bitch and years ahead of most in the maturity game. Binge drinking and random hook ups were not my thing. Night after night, I watched people square off, choosing their temporary partner with little care.