No Mercy: An Everyday Heroes World Novel (The Everyday Heroes World)

by D. M. Davis

  Gabriel touches my cheek. His thumb slowly swipes across my brow over and over again. His touch is calming. But even more surprising, his touch makes me feel cherished. “Sleep now, Angel. You’re safe.”

  When her breathing evens out barely five minutes after the drugs were introduced into her IV, I take my first easy breath since getting the call from Grant. Reluctantly, I remove my hand from hers and sit back in the hospital chair that’s made for children or lesser men than me. But I’ll sit here all goddamned day or night if it means she feels safe enough to sleep. It only took a second to see the fear in her eyes to understand why she remained in the hell of her pain instead of sleeping blissfully unaware of her surroundings.

  I didn’t know what I’d do or say when I stepped into her room, but the second I saw her wrecked and so fucking vulnerable, instincts kicked in. The instinct to kill to protect what’s mine.

  I will protect her. I’ll hunt down anyone who wants to cause her harm and end them before they can touch a single strand of her silky raven hair or bring another tear to her eyes. When it comes to protecting my Angel, I’ll have no mercy.

  My phone is blowing up with texts from the guys. There’s no sign of Austin, which I choose to take as good news. Sunnyville is not big enough to hide in. We’re too well known to go unnoticed for long, especially once word gets out about what he did. The details don’t have to be known. The fact he hurt his woman is enough to get him turned in by anyone who spots him in this wholesome community. He knows he’s in deep shit and skipped town.

  I’m not fool enough to believe he won’t regret his decisions, that he won’t come back for her. I’ll be ready and waiting. In the meantime, I need to get my Angel out of that uncomfortable, thin-ass emergency room bed and into something much more comfortable. My bed. It’ll hug her curves and ease the pressure on her damaged shoulder.

  I know the pain she’s feeling. I’ve had my shoulder dislocated twice: once on tour in Afghanistan, and again during one of my first MMA fights. It hurts like hell coming out of the socket and even worse going back in, and then it’s a grumpy bitch for weeks. She’s not going to like being laid up. Frankie’s never been one to sit on her ass—as delicious as it is. She’s the physical therapist for our Black Ops MMA Team. Captain Jimmy adores her. He won’t have a problem giving her the time she needs to heal. No, the problem will be Frankie.

  I might have to be an asshole to get her to stay put and give her body the time it needs to heal. Though, me being an asshole is probably the last thing she needs right now.

  My Angel not only has wolf-like gray eyes, but she has a tendency to chew off her own foot to make a point.

  She won’t take kindly to feeling weak or vulnerable.

  The room is dark when I open my eyes. Trying to blink my fogginess away, I look around. I can’t see much, but I know I’m no longer in the ER. The bed is entirely too comfortable to be a hospital bed, and last I looked, I was hooked up to an IV with blinking lights. I have a vague recollection of trying to sign papers and a bumpy car ride, but not much else. I reach for my right arm to feel for an IV and instantly regret it. Pain shoots from my left shoulder, making me moan my distress.

  Movement in the shadows has me jumping back, nearly tumbling to the floor before strong arms catch me.

  “Fuck, Angel. Where you going?” Gabriel’s gargled-with-shards-of-glass voice eases my panic as my shoulder protests my quick movements.

  I nearly puke from the pain. Going limp in his hold, relieved it’s him and not Austin, I close my eyes and wait until the nausea and discomfort subside.

  Gentler than a man his size should be capable of, he situates me back in bed. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

  “It’s okay.” I dare a glance. His face looms over me as he sits on the edge of the bed, his arms bracketing my body. He brushes my hair off my shoulder, eyeing the damage beneath the sling I can feel strapped around my body. I stifle the urge to fight the confinement. “Where am I?”

  “Home.” He smiles at my frown, his thumb sweeping across my brow in that oddly soothing way. “My home,” he clarifies.

  “How long have I been out?”

  He glances at his watch. “Four hours, give or take. Here.” He holds up a glass that magically appeared in his hand. “You need to hydrate.”

  “I need a shower.” And a toothbrush. I take a sip of water as he carefully holds the glass to my lips.

  “You need to eat. It’s time for your pain pill.” His eyes remain on my mouth as I take another long drink. “Slow down. Need to be sure you can keep it down.”

  Easy for him to say. The Sahara hasn’t taken up residence in his mouth.

  He sets the glass on the nightstand. “Do you think you can stand? Not sure I trust you won’t pass out if you take a shower.”

  “We won’t know until we try.”

  Grumbling his dissent, he helps me sit, maneuvering me until my feet hang off the side of the bed. Besides my shoulder pain, I ache from head to toe. “Did you kick me out of that monster you drive?” Or run me over?

  He chuckles. “Hardly.”

  No, I imagine he very carefully placed me in his baby—his tricked out Hummer, his pride and joy he won in one of his early maybe-not-so-legal MMA fights—before carefully carrying me inside to his bed, where he’s been watching over me from the chair, sitting close by while I slept.

  As much as I never thought I’d experience this side of Gabriel “No Mercy” Stone, I knew he was capable of it. I’ve seen him with his mom and sister. He’s gentle and caring with them in ways I’ve never seen him be with anyone else.

  Until now.

  In some strange twist of events, my heartbreak and physical condition brought out the nurturer in him, I suppose.

  “Do you have something I can put on after?” I’m relieved I’m still wearing my hospital gown but also a little ooged out I’m still wearing my hospital gown.

  “Yeah.” He heads to his closet.

  I stand, thankful he’s not there to witness me sway on my feet. Maybe a bath would be a safer choice.

  He steps out of the closet with clothes clutched in one hand, his other gripping the doorframe. His eyes land on my hand holding on to the chair for dear life. “Why didn’t you have any clothes or belongings at the hospital?”

  As he stalks closer, I take pity on my aching body and sit in the chair with tender regard for my condition. I almost forgot why I’m here—the events leading up to me being naked under a hospital gown at the mercy of one Gabriel Stone and wincing from the pain in my shoulder and my sore ass. A bath would be good.

  “Frankie?” The brick wall of a man kneels before me. “Where are your clothes?”

  I can’t bring myself to say the words he wants to hear. The answer to the question he’s been asking since he walked into the emergency room: What happened?

  “Do you think I can take a bath instead?” I give him the only words I can muster.

  His fingers rub the fabric of the gown covering my knee as he plaintively searches my face. “Sure.” His fingers trail up my arm as he stands and turns to the bathroom. “Let me get it started.”

  He walks with the weight of the world on his shoulders. The burden impacts each step as he forges forward. The air is thicker around him—visceral and textured. I can nearly make out the waves of glimmering atmosphere as he pushes through the debris of his past, our tortured connection, and the knowledge that his best friend betrayed me in the worst way possible.

  I let out a breath and relax into the chair, closing my eyes. I thought for sure he’d push for answers, but for now, he seems content to let me be. This side of Gabriel is hard to comprehend. He’s always been a bit of a paradox. He’s gruff, but friendly and loyal to his friends. He served his country in the army as a Special Forces medic—a healer, a caretaker, a first responder. He’s highly trained and as tough as they come. Now he’s an MMA fighter who inflicts pain for a living, for sport. His asshole flag flies high, especially when I’m around.
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  I’m thankful for the white flag that seems to be flying currently. I doubt the reprieve will last.

  Though willpower and self-deprivation are my strong suits, it took everything I had to leave Frankie standing in my bathroom, looking soft and vulnerable. She needs help bathing. I know it. She knows it. But it’s not a line I’m willing to cross or push, especially without knowing what happened with Austin.

  Did he force himself on her? Was she left naked and hurt, and that’s why she doesn’t have any clothes? The hospital said she didn’t have any personal effects. They didn’t elaborate, and I was too focused on getting her home before her pain meds wore off to question them.

  My mind reels with darker and darker thoughts of all the possibilities of how she ended up at the ER. I leave the food warming on the stove, grab my phone and pace the entryway leading to the stairs, listening for any signs she’s in distress. I left the bedroom door open, hoping I could hear her call if she needs me.

  Grant picks up on the first ring. “Did you get any sleep?”

  “No.” I run my fingers through my hair, noting I need a shower too. It’s early, not even seven yet. We’ve only been home a few hours. I knew he’d be up, even though it’s Saturday and he’s off work.

  Behind his sigh I hear the leather of his couch give as he settles in. “I figured as much. How is she?”

  “Hurting. I’m making food so she can take her meds.”

  “Awful nice of you.”

  “Not nice. Necessary.”

  “If you say so.” He’s trying to goad me. Get me to admit things I have no intention of admitting to myself, much less him.

  “Why doesn’t she have any clothes?” My eyes draw up to the top of the stairs. I’d rather she not overhear our conversation, but I choose to stay where I am instead of seeking privacy.

  “She hasn’t told you what happened, then?”

  “No. She ignores my questions. I don’t want to push. She’s been through enough.” The idea of not knowing doesn’t sit well with me. I have to wait for her to be ready, though.

  “Be patient. She needs you right now. That should be all you need to know.”

  “Should it?” The edge of my frustration clips my words. But he’s right. She doesn’t have any family. She only has Austin, and, well, he’s proved he’s not to be trusted. Cap and the guys love her like family, but none of them would dare think to cross me on being the one to see to her now, especially after what Austin pulled.

  “Would you want to hurt Austin any more than you do now if you knew the worst happened?”

  “No.”

  “Would you want to hurt him any less if you knew nothing happened, and it was an accident?”

  “No. Fuck. She’s his girl. He let this happen to her. He left when he should be the one by her side. Whether he meant to hurt her or not, he did when he didn’t protect her.”

  “Exactly. The details you’re seeking aren’t pertinent to how you feel about Austin. Or your feelings for Frankie, I imagine.”

  “I need to know so I can help her.” So I don’t hurt her in the same way.

  “You’d care for her differently if you knew he didn’t mean to hurt her?”

  “Fuck. Okay, I get your point, Doctor Malone.”

  He chuckles. “Then my job is done.”

  “Ass.”

  “Takes one to know one.” He ends the call.

  Grant’s laugh still echoes in my ears as I make a tray of food and head to the bedroom.

  The rattling of dishes has me glancing through the open bathroom door to the adjoining bedroom where Gabriel sets a tray of food on the bed. Before I can look away, his eyes meet mine. “Feeling better?”

  “Mm-hmm.” He’s still wearing his black jeans and t-shirt from last night at Davenport’s where he said I was dancing like slut meat. I cringe at the memory. He’s probably right. I was desperate to get Austin’s attention. I got Gabriel’s instead.

  He stalks like a jaguar on the prowl, stopping inches from me, his eyes perusing me wearing his t-shirt and boxer briefs. “My turn.” He tugs his t-shirt off by the neck and tosses it to land on the hamper on the other side of the bathroom. His body is on full display, a body I’ve ingrained every sinewy dip, angle, and curve of into my brain so thoroughly, I could probably recognize it by touch alone, though I’ve never touched him—at least not in the way my mind is racing to do now. The breadth of his shoulders is as impressive as the definition of his abs and obliques. If there were an ideal MMA heavyweight fighter’s body, it’s standing before me now on glorious display.

  He touches my wet hair as I try to brush the tangles free with one hand. “Eat while I shower. I’ll brush and dry your hair when I get out.”

  My gawking—not only at his body but his comment—doesn’t go unnoticed. His brows arch as a laugh escapes his expansive chest. He grips my hair in one hand at the base of my neck and twists it, holding it in place with a clip he found in a vanity drawer.

  “Eat.” He gently urges me out the door as he turns and starts to remove his jeans. I stand frozen in shock, only looking back at the sound of the shower door opening, and catch sight of his naked ass stepping inside.

  Holy hell. He’s one fine man—asshole or not. I swallow my lust and close the bathroom door. He apparently doesn’t need privacy, but I sure as heck do. A girl can only take so much Gabriel at one time. A much larger dose, and I might explode from exposure… Or embarrassment.

  I’ve barely settled on the bed and taken my second bite of the bacon and egg sandwich when he emerges from the bathroom. He finds me immediately, taking in my stance and the sandwich in my hand, my chewing paused as my attention is drawn to him. A towel wrapped around his waist is the only layer protecting me from his utter nakedness. Water still glistens on his tanned skin as if he couldn’t bother to dry off before checking on me. His black hair, cut to spikey perfection, drips in ignored chaos, and his hands flex at his sides, fingers twitching to touch.

  Jesus. What’s wrong with me? I’m ogling my ex’s best friend only hours after said friend trampled all over our relationship and my heart… And my body.

  Shame floods me, and heat warms my cheeks. I look away, setting the food aside. I’m a horrible person.

  “Hey.” Rough fingers lift my chin till I meet his blue gaze. “Whatever you’re thinking, stop.”

  I grimace over the emotions building. Do not cry. You cannot break down in front of Gabriel! He’s being all sweet, but it doesn’t erase the past five years. Between Austin’s confession of infidelity and abandoning me after injuring me, and Gabriel’s personality transplant, my head is swimming. I can’t decipher what’s real and what’s a lie.

  I shake off his touch. “I’m fine.”

  He scowls, knowing it’s a total lie. “Let me get dressed, and I’ll help with your sling. Then medicine. Then hair.” He disappears into the closet while I stare at my hands, absorbing his list of to-dos, and try to come to terms with my broken body responding to him the way it is. I have no self-preservation. I’m obviously high on drugs to be considering any of the things my mind keeps throwing out in random blips that are far too dirty and delicious.

  “Eat, Frankie,” he barks from his mancave of a closet, causing me to jump and then gasp from the pain. His hawk ears must have heard as he sticks his head out. “Sorry.”

  “For barking at me or causing me pain?” I glower, knowing the latter is not his fault.

  “Both,” he simply replies, pulling a white t-shirt over his head, further mussing his towel-dried hair. Barefoot and in workout shorts, he stops next to the bed, reaching over to nab one of the other three sandwiches he made.

  “You have to stop that,” I protest.

  “Stop what?” He sits on the edge of the bed, lopping off a sizable bite of his breakfast. I try to scoot over to give him room and me space, but he stops me with a hand on my thigh.

  “Being so nice.” My eyes remain on his hand as he squeezes, his thumb slowly moving back and forth.r />
  “You need to heal.” He stands, taking his sandwich with him and talks around another bite, “We can go back to hating each other when you can move without groaning in pain.”

  He says it like our hating each other was a game. It wasn’t a game to me. His words hurt. He’s dead-stare unraveled me more times than I care to admit. At times, it was a barrier between Austin and me, yet Austin seemed to tolerate it better than I did. I avoided Gabriel. Gabriel avoided me. But given our working relationship, it wasn’t always possible.

  So, why is he taking care of me? Out of pity?

  He finishes his sandwich as I watch him collect stuff to do my hair.

  “I don’t hate you,” I whisper my confession. I may not always like him, or how he makes me feel, but I never hated him.

  He turns, his eyes intense and masked. “I don’t hate you either.” He swipes a pill bottle from the nightstand, opens it, and hands me a pill. “Never have.”

  Could have fooled me. I swallow my reply along with my pill. I don’t want to fight. He’s being nice. Anything I say will be caustic and detrimental to our truce. I’m worn out, tired, and in pain. Not the best condition to question motives and changes of hearts.

  Gabriel, situated behind me on the bed with me between his massive legs, sprays detangler in my hair before gently combing it out. Then he turns on the hair dryer with the concentrator attachment and blows it out, clipping up sections to keep it out of the way as he goes. It’s a skill he says he learned from doing his sister’s hair when she was younger. He keeps this stuff on hand for when she visits.

  The next twenty-ish minutes might be the most enjoyable of my life. The warmth of the hot air, his hand on my back, neck, and hair has me more relaxed than I ever remember feeling.

  My head nods a few times as I start to doze off. He only chuckles and says, “Just a few more minutes, Angel. Then you can sleep.”

  Finally clean, hair dry, food in my tummy, and drugs coursing through my system, I fall asleep with Gabriel watching over me.