Cry Mercy (Blood Legion MC Book 1)

by Rie Warren

  Vernon reeled back. Off balance, he flailed for footing.

  He stumbled off the end of the dock and into the bayou.

  Water foamed, accompanying his frantic thrashing. Bloodcurdling screams rent the air.

  Just enough moonlight slanted across the inky roiling waterway to give sight to the scaly ridged back of an alligator before the reptile took Vernon on a death roll.

  Gator bait.

  An unpleasant way to go, but then again, fuck him and the ATV he rode in on.

  One down. One to go.

  I strode back up the dock, leaving him to his deathly fate.

  I made it to the front of Mamere’s cabin to see Saint immobilize another of the Tenn-tucky fucks. He tied up that bigot bastard in neat motions—wrists to ankles behind his back.

  Then I heard a shout from the trees.

  “You big enough of a man to fight me, Angel?”

  And the gunning of an engine.

  I raced toward the noise, zigzagging between trees. “That you, Ned?”

  All of a sudden, the ATV raced past me from out of nowhere.

  I spun, staring after the complete maniac who’d ordered this attack.

  He slammed on the breaks hard enough to spin around. “Golden boy, you’re mine.”

  I hunkered down. I hooked my fingers at him.

  Bring it.

  He wanted to play chicken.

  I didn’t dodge shit.

  I stayed right in his path.

  The ATV swerved at the last moment, and I clotheslined Ned off his four-wheeler.

  The vehicle whined and whirred away like a dismounted horse, but Ned scrambled up.

  “She alive?” He hawked a gob of spit, eyes full of spite remaining on me.

  “What do you care?”

  “Cared enough to come out here to the willywacks, didn’t I?” he wheedled.

  Then he launched his whole body at me.

  I took out the scrawny fuck with a simple sideswipe of my leg undercutting his. He splayed out on his back but quickly scrabbled back up. He held a long blade gripped in his hand.

  Slashing wildly, he plunged forward.

  My knife hit his, the screeching of metal on metal setting my teeth on edge.

  Boot planted against his, I shoved him away.

  But he wouldn’t stop. Like an unhinged madman, he jumped at me. His blade skimmed down the inside of my forearm. The pain hardly registered.

  I swung down with my bowie knife, striking between his ribs. “How the hell’d you find us out here?”

  He must’ve been doped way the hell up because when I ripped my blade from his wound, he didn’t seem to notice the cascade of blood running down his side.

  Face shoved in mine, he sneered. “Think I’d let y’all git away with stealin’ my property twice’n? My boy Ricky tracked you out here, picked up your do-gooder stench after you got the other gashes. Din’t find Grace though, did ya?”

  I restrained him with both arms behind his back. “I don’t even know anybody named Grace.”

  I wouldn’t give Uncle Ned the satisfaction of knowing how worried Mercy was about the missing girl.

  “And you ain’t never gonna.” He struggled furiously, voice rising. “Y’all think you’re so much better than us.” Ned slavered.

  “Yeah.” I torqued one of his arms way up high, pressing his wrist against his scapula. “We kind of do.”

  He foamed at the mouth. “You ain’t looking so smart now.”

  Ned hauled his head back then cracked his skull against mine with wicked force. I should’ve seen it coming.

  With me momentarily dizzy, the bastard managed to get loose.

  Blade thrust at my throat, he screamed, “Where’re the other whores?”

  The whole lot of these fascists was frigging rabid.

  “You just don’t get it, do you?” The knife pressed harder at my windpipe with every word I spoke. “Mercy’s alive! So are the other women.”

  I slammed my elbow into his ribs where I’d sliced him. He staggered a couple paces back, bleating out in pain.

  “And you’ll never get your filthy fucking paws on any of them again!” I sheathed my blade because I was too tempted to gut him clean up the middle.

  And I decided death was to good for a shit-stain like him. Too easy.

  I pounced, my first hard-fisted blow catching him beneath his chin.

  His head snapped back, leaving his throat open for attack.

  I chopped his neck with the edge of my hand.

  He bent over double, wheezing through his suddenly constricted airway.

  And then I went full mental on him.

  I rained unholy blow after blow on him, following him all the way to the ground after I batted his blade away once and for all.

  Knees at his kidneys.

  Fists smashed against his face.

  He still hadn’t caught his breath when he started coughing up blood-tinged mucus.

  When he rolled into a fetal position, I happily grabbed his bald head and slammed his skull repeatedly into the ground.

  “You want to beat him to death?”

  I dimly recognized Slade’s voice through the red haze of utter unstoppable violence.

  Yeah. Beating him to death suddenly sounds like a Grade A plan.

  I boxed Ned’s upturned ear until it swelled into cauliflower proportions, breath chugging in and out of my chest.

  “Or you want me to tie him up with the other Tenn-tucky motherfuckers? The ones that are still living?”

  Shuddering all over, I hunkered over the badly beaten body.

  “Get him away from me before I rip his black heart out of his chest with my bare fucking hands.” I spoke through gritted teeth.

  The fight was over, leaving just ringing silence. Or maybe that was my ears ringing from having my skull bashed hard twice tonight, although the first time was my own fault.

  I stood and limped over to the outdoor spigot. Bending with a groan, I splashed blessedly cold water all over my face and hands.

  I washed the blood away.

  I barely made a passing glance at all the prisoners tied together like a multi-human pretzel—if they could be referred to as humans, which they really couldn’t—before making a headcount of my brethren.

  “Everyone okay?” My voice rasped from my throat.

  “We are. They’re not. So I think that’s a solid outcome.” Revenge smirked. “Who wants a drink?”

  He got a lot of takers on that offer.

  Leaning a foot onto the bottom step of the porch, I called into the cabin, “Mercy? Mamere? Sol?”

  “We’re just fine in here, boug.”

  Not a second later, Saint hollered from the path onto the property, “Incoming!”

  “Motherfucker.”

  “There’s more?”

  “I can’t get a bead on them.” Saint came rushing back toward the bonfire circle. “Was just doing a check on the perimeter when I heard footsteps.”

  “How many?” I asked, once again checking weapons to prepare for a raid.

  “Don’t know.” Saint made sure his gun was loaded and ready to go. “They’re not like the last ones.”

  I motioned everyone down and silent. I was thankful one of them had gagged the remaining rednecks.

  I had to hope Mamere would be ready inside for another attack.

  We huddled together before fanning out to a wide semicircle. Everyone drew firearms that time.

  I couldn’t hear a damn thing beyond an owl hooting and the swamp breathing.

  Up ahead, two tall bulky shadows darted in and out of the deep cover of foliage—too fast to target.

  Someone on our crew popped off a wild shot.

  Then a booming voice thundered from beyond the closest stand of cypress trees. “Stand the motherfuck down!”

  No fucking way.

  I gave the all-clear signal, hollering out, “Storm?”

  Two figures emerged from the humid mist.

  They became clea
rer with each step they took.

  Storm . . . and Walker.

  My brother carried one more of the rednecks across his shoulders—tied up and trussed up.

  Entering our circle, he dropped the bundle unceremoniously from a great height with a loud grunt. “Think that’s the last of them.”

  Revenge—who’d never met either man before—charged up. “You two almost got your heads shot off.”

  Walker’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Is that so, Kemosabe? You almost got your puny cock blown off.”

  I snorted.

  Slade mentioned, “Yeah. Walker’s the explosives specialist.”

  Revenge stepped back. Not like he was a lightweight by any means, but he had no idea the amount of true damage he’d been about to take on.

  Slade turned toward Storm and Walker, slapping their backs.

  “You called them?” I accused him.

  “The situation seemed a little FUBAR.” He shrugged.

  “I don’t even get to blow anything up? This blows.” Walker’s long hair flashed blue-black in the moonlight as he bitched and moaned. “Probably better go disable the flash bang traps I set up.”

  “We didn’t need your help.” I bitched and moaned too, but stuck my fist out for a bump.

  The Lakota man tapped my knuckles with his while Storm stewed to the side of us.

  “Actually, there’s something you can do. You could take those cunts”—I nodded toward our prisoners—“and the bodies, and make up some kind of excuse to cover our collective asses? Just make sure the surviving shit-bags get prosecuted or persecuted or whatever.”

  Walker rubbed his hands together. “Can I use C-4 at all?”

  Sometimes Walker’s sick obsession over explosives made me shudder. But it was all for a good cause, right?

  “Uh . . . depends what you wanna do with the bodies, I guess.” I shrugged, then remembered . . . “Except for the one that got eaten by a gator, because he’s toast. Or rather, a midnight snack.”

  “Fuck. I missed that too?” Walker seemed genuinely upset.

  I almost laughed.

  But Storm had started glaring at me like his eyeballs were bullets boring straight through my head.

  Slade lit one of his rollies, puffing a ring of smoke into the air. “Also there’s a bunch of women that were sex slaves to these animals . . . we’ve got them safe in town. But they’re witnesses. They need looking after and given sanctuary.”

  Looking after was an understatement. Considering the state we’d found them in, they needed medical treatment big time. And major counseling. Drug addiction programs to get them off what they’d been forced to take.

  When we’d rescued them, each and every woman had been severely underweight, which might even be the least of their concerns. And each and every one of them had refused to let us take them to the ER.

  “Where?” Storm shouldered up to me. “Where’ve you stashed the women? Thunder Road?”

  “Mamere’s house in town.”

  “The one I bought her.” His eyebrows took on new heights.

  “That’d be the one.”

  “Didn’t need my help, huh?” A grin broke through Storm’s stern expression.

  Then he grabbed me in a bro hug. “Fucking idiot.”

  We slapped palms against backs and then lightly slapped palms across one another’s cheeks. Then we laughed outright.

  The rest of the MC dudes gathered closer now that the entire shit circus was over.

  “Y’all. This is my big brother Storm, sometimes called Nash, and this is his—”

  “If you call me Storm’s partner I’ll cut you. Not that I have anything against gays, but we’re both happily married hetero men.” Walker’s lips quirked.

  “And this is Walker.” I scratched the side of my jaw. “They work together.”

  “Somehow I get that they don’t do desk jobs for a living.” Saint shook their hands.

  “Bingo.” Storm cocked an imaginary gun at him.

  Revenge screwed his brows together. “So . . . Storm. As in Storm and the train station and the terrorists and your lady almost getting—”

  I jammed an elbow against Revenge’s ribs. “Not real good memories, cous.”

  “I was there too,” Walker groused.

  “Anyway, y’all can be on your way so you can get rid of the bodies and stuff,” I said to the pair.

  “You’re not gonna let me meet the girl?” Storm did that eyebrow twitch again.

  “Who says there’s a girl?” I reeled my head back on my neck.

  “There’s always a girl when this type of shit goes down.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I look stupid to you?”

  “Wellll . . .”

  Storm smacked me upside the head. “Couillon. Take me to her. And Mamere. For fuck’s sake.”

  “Fine. Great. I’ll take the shit job, again,” Walker griped. “Let you all play happy families. Never mind I’m out here in the middle of nowhere when I could be having serious sexy times with Jade. I don’t get to hoedown or whatever it is you do. And where’s the gumbo? The beignets?” Seriously grumbling, he began to take command of the prisoners from Revenge.

  After hauling the hobbled hillbillies to their unsteady feet, he punched the punk I thought was Mercy’s cousin, just because.

  Ned came-to enough to open bloodshot eyes and bleat out, “You’re leavin’ us with the Injun? He’s probably g’on scalp us!”

  “Not carrying my tomahawk today. But—” Walker pistol-whipped him with his weapon of second choice after explosives—his Smith & Wesson.

  One of the deadnecks cried out, “Police brutality!”

  “I’m not the police, so you’re shit out of luck, you inbred halfwit.”

  Revenge opted to accompany Walker as far as the dark-ops dude would let him. And the pair made use of the ATVs, bundling dead bodies on the back and lashing them down while tying the rest in a makeshift chain gang to get out of the swamp.

  The last thing I heard as they drove from the cabin and into the forest was Walker calling, “Here, here, kitty-cunty.”

  I turned toward the cabin. “Mamere! We’re coming in. Don’t shoot our heads off.”

  Storm snickered. “Gotta love the old gal.”

  “Just give me a minute, okay?” I pressed him back. “Mercy’s . . . let’s just say it hasn’t been a party for her.”

  And I’d just seen her kinfolk carted off. Her brother torn apart by an alligator.

  He whistled. “Angel and Mercy? No shit?”

  “No shit.” I stomped up the porch steps and walked inside.

  Mercy flew at me, sobs caught between her breaths. “Is it done now?”

  I held her face between both hands, nodding.

  “Ah don’t wanna know what happened. Ah don’t ever want to see them again.”

  “You won’t. I promise.”

  My head dropped, my lips hard against her soft mouth before my tongue swooped inside. Her hands climbed to my shoulders, and she pressed her feminine body into me. Folding her against me, I kissed her with all the time in the world.

  A pure luxury.

  When I pulled back, it was only because I knew Storm was one impatient motherfucker.

  “My brother’s here too. He wants to meet you, cher.”

  “I’m not exactly fit for company.” Her gaze flew behind me as the door banged closed.

  The black-haired bastard ducked inside right behind me.

  He barked a laugh. “Now you sound like Mamere.”

  “I heard that!” Mamere sassed back and—as if summoned—she and Sol appeared.

  She immediately crushed Storm to her bosom. “Don’t make me take a willow switch to your backside. You ain’t so big.”

  He laughed boisterously when she let him up for breath, then he was spun toward Mercy, who looked like a waif in front of us.

  “I don’t have my Mary Kay lipstick on either,” Mercy whispered gamely.

  Storm’s guffaw joined mine.

 
; And I knew she’d won him over just like that.

  Like she’d won my heart and soul.

  “Should I call you Storm or Nash? I’m still a little confused about that whole thing.”

  “You and me both.” My brother winked. “Most folks just call me bastard.”

  “I will not hold with that kind of language in my house.” That time Mamere threatened with a broomstick instead of a sawed-off, and Sol made his own greetings to the man he’d helped out during the last battle.

  With the scene outside cleared, we gathered at the picnic table beneath the bright stars. Sol began cooking with some shouted directions from Mamere, and the rest of the MC settled in for a little jubilee.

  The drinking began, but I stuck to coffee, Mercy to water.

  She had a long way to go yet on the road to recovery.

  I was just lucky she was still alive.

  She was still by my side.

  I couldn’t take my eyes off her—not because she was frail or sick or she might fall apart at any moment. But because a righteous new love shone through her.

  Love for herself.

  Her fingers curled around mine, and she flicked her honey-blonde hair over one shoulder.

  She leaned closer to Mamere when she ordered Storm to: “Show me some photos of my great grand bébé.”

  We were gonna give her some great grand bébés too.

  I hoped.

  One day.

  Chapter Sixteen

  MERCY

  I COULDN’T STAY UP late that first night. My eyes started drooping. My hearing even got muzzy. I managed to remain awake long enough to get a little acquainted with Storm. The black-haired man would be intimidating in any other situation—he almost dwarfed Angel, which was no mean feat. But Mamere constantly gave him her special brand of Cajun tough love, and it was impossible to feel threatened when he stammered or blushed as she lightly berated him over one thing or the other.

  I stayed up long enough to thank the MC men for . . . well, for saving me not once, not twice, but at least three times.

  I stayed up long enough to be reassured the nightmare was truly over at last.

  I hadn’t wanted to put Mamere out of her own bed again, but she’d insisted as had Angel.

  The following days were no picnic despite finally being free of my kin’s terrifying prison-like existence. Getting off the smack cold turkey . . . there was no quick fix or easy remedy. I endured the aches. The chills. The nausea. The churning cramps as my guts gnawed for more heroin after being pumped full and nearly out of my mind for several days.