Mercy (Redemption Reigns MC Book 4)

by Juli Valenti

  “If she’s lying, however,” the VP continued as if she hadn’t spoken at all, “it’d be better to dispose of the problem now rather than later. We don’t need more shit to go down - today was enough of a fucking mess. Your wedding was beautiful,” he added as a side note. “But Fallen is already in rampage mode. We need to be solid in our decision before he gets back from visiting Sarah. If we’re not, he’ll slug her himself.”

  “Artist?” the president asked the only other woman in the room, and, while it shouldn’t have jarred Mercy, it did. It was so odd… the female dynamic of this club. It was intriguing, and, if they let her live, she’d like to know more. Maybe Tonka would talk to her, explain if she asked him to.

  “Honestly?” Poet nodded in encouragement. “We both know what it’s like to have alpha club men in our lives - hell, you married mine. You, yourself, know better than anyone what it’s like to have a father running an MC. Fury was a good man, though, and treated you as you should be treated. Mercedes though, it sounds a helluva lot like she didn’t have that. And, I can see her eyes. There is no hesitation there, nothing but resolute determination. I don’t think she’s here to help Static Law.”

  “Would you bet your patch on it?”

  Artist paused, looking between ‘Speare and Poet, before moving forward and squatting in front of Mercy. She remained unmoving as the female biker reached forward, grasping at her chin and lifting it, forcing eye contact. Her eyes darted back and forth, searching, and, after making a clicking sound, stood once more.

  “Yes, I would. I recognize that look… I see it in the mirror every day.”

  The president of Hells Redemption stood, first moving a few steps one way, then another, the swoosh of her dress loud in the hush of the room. She came to a stop in front of Mercy, her eyes on the door of the living area, another large, too-beautiful-for-words man leaning against the doorjamb. Her lips lifted into a small smile, the expression leaving her face as quickly as it came.

  “Fine, I agree… for now. Mercedes, you’ll stay here until your car is finished, and, once it is, you’re out, understand? If I get a single hint that you’re full of shit, I’ll take you out myself. Understood?”

  Mercy nodded, but Poet wasn’t finished.

  “Tonka, I expect you to watch her; she is now your responsibility. She stays with you until she’s done - you go where she goes, no exceptions.”

  “Of course, Pres.”

  “Um,” Mercy cleared her throat, trying to swallow the annoyance that was rising to her lips. She knew if she didn’t get it under control, word vomit was going to get her ass killed… right after the president just allowed her to live. “I appreciate you letting me stay and not putting a bullet between my eyes but I don’t need a fucking babysitter. I’m a grown-ass woman and if I wanted to be kept under club thumb, I would have stayed in Wyoming. I refuse to be treated like a prisoner, again. I’ve told you the truth whether you believe me or not, and if you don’t, and this is the route you want to stick to, you may as well kill me now. Otherwise, drop my ass somewhere and let me move on. I can make my own fucking way.”

  Great job keeping your attitude together, Mercedes. Let’s poke the bears with sharp sticks and see if they eat us.

  Artist laughed, true humor in the sound. “Oh I really like her.”

  “You would, woman,” this from ‘Speare.

  “I like you, too,” Poet informed the woman, peering down at her with a don’t-fucking-tempt me stare. “That’s why you’re not going to be taken out by anyone within my club. That’s why you’re going to shut your stupid mouth and let us help you. If any of the Static Law converts fuck with you or get your sperm donor involved, you’ll be protected.” Poet moved toward the man waiting for her, clearly her new husband. “As for everything else, get the fuck over it. You’re about to learn that Hells Redemption isn’t like other clubs. We take care of ours and everyone we decide to adopt. So suck it up, buttercup. You’re stuck with us all.

  “Tonka, let Fallen know before he gets here so he’s not blindsided. And someone get me an update on Sarah, please… if anything else goes to hell in a hand basket, come get me. Otherwise, leave me alone with my fucking husband.”

  Mercy watched as the small woman picked up her dress and walked just as regally out of the room with her new husband. She couldn’t help but shake her head. Some women were firecrackers that just popped loudly and were all show. Not Poet, though. She was an entire fucking fourth of July show. The thought made her smile.

  4

  Chapter Four

  “So this is it… sorry for the mess,” Tonka’s voice was low, quiet, as if he were talking to a scared animal, hoping it wouldn’t bolt. And, in many ways, he was. It was pretty much the last place in the world Mercy wanted to be - in his bedroom, at the clubhouse, at, for a lack of a better term, his mercy.

  Not that she thought he’d do anything she didn’t want him to, which the list was pretty much nonexistent. Tonka, despite his rough and tough exterior, wasn’t that kind of a guy. At least, that’s what her instincts told her and, in her world, she always followed her gut.

  Mercy opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by a loud beating on Tonka’s room door. It was hard, incessant, merciless. A battering ram made less noise before breaking down a bad guy’s house.

  “Open the goddamned door, Tonka. I’m not fucking playing. So help me God, brother, I’ll set the whole fucking place on fire.”

  Mercy looked from the noise to Tonka, the large man before her wiping a hand over his face, clearly as tired as she felt. It was like the day that never ended. No rest for the wicked and all that. No, it was going to be one thing after another after another. At this rate she was never going to get sleep, even if she wanted to. Because, even if she was given the opportunity, the damn surrounding bikers were going to keep her from it.

  “Jesus, Fallen, hold on a second. I’m coming,” Tonka swore, taking a deep breath as his hand landed on the doorknob.

  So this is the guy Poet told Tonka to talk to, she thought, her palms aching for the comfort of her gun… which was still not given back to her and still resting in the waistband at the small of Tonka’s back. The tone of the man behind the door screamed danger, and it took everything in her to not snatch it back. She was in their house, in their world, and pulling down on another member wasn’t going to be the smartest idea in the world, regardless of how good it would feel.

  Anger, hot and stifling, rushed through the room as the door swung open. Tonka stood to the side as the other man charged in, his face red. He really, truly was danger. Though the word in Mercy’s head felt like it should have been capitalized with red letters, accompanied by warnings and alarms sounding.

  Everything about the new member had her on high alert. No longer was she tired. No longer did she yearn for a bed, or even to be away from Wyoming. No, now she didn’t care about anything except survival. Her knees bent, her hands fisting at her sides. She was unarmed in the most stupid situation to ever be unarmed. The man wasn’t large like Tonka, but he didn’t have to be. Hell, she didn’t have to see his patch or have heard his name to know that this was Poet’s Sergeant in Arms. He was the death dealer, the handler of all problems. The fury in his hazel eyes was bright, a spotlight, searching for her. And she was unarmed. Un-fucking-armed.

  Jesus Christ, this is so bad.

  “You,” the man spat, his glare boring into her. It went so much further than just her face, it went through to her soul. He hated her. He was her death wrapped in a beautiful, angry package, covered in leather. Blood caked under his fingernails, left crimson paths down his tuxedo slacks, clearly not having changed from the wedding. Or the massacre he started against her father’s people.

  Mercy’s self-preservation kicked in, keeping her mouth clamped tightly shut, and her hands coming up in front of her to show she was unarmed. She hated trying to make herself look smaller, but this man scared her more than Chucky ever could have. She’d thought Tonka was one of
the horsemen of apocalypse but if that was true, then this man was the apocalypse himself… with vengeance driving him, making him more deadly than was imaginable.

  “You are the reason the love of my life is in a fucking hospital bed.”

  “Fallen, that’s not really —”

  “Your men are now dead, lying in a river of blood and fucking waste. Except those I was forced to save. You belong with them,” the man seethed, and Mercy stifled a shiver before opening her mouth.

  “It’s a shame you saved any of them,” she answered, meaning it and hoping her eyes reflected the same. What an easier life she’d live if he hadn’t. “I took care of one of them you missed.”

  The man named Fallen hesitated a moment, his face morphing into confusion before turning to Tonka. “Tell me.”

  “Staple,” Tonka said in answer, offering no additional information or reasoning.

  “Why?” this time he’d directed the question directly to Mercy.

  “He was going to call Chucky. He was going to report back to his highness and tell him that I’d been found. I’ll end every single motherfucker who tries to take me back. I’m not my father’s daughter. I’m not Static Law’s princess. I’m no one’s fucking property, nor am I anyone’s trophy to win them points. I’m Mercedes Sheridan and everyone who crosses me in a Static way will be taken care of, with or without your permission.

  “I’m so sorry about the damage that garbage caused - the collateral damage not one of them gave a fuck over. And if any of the ones you saved tell you they care, end them. They don’t. That’s not how SL works and it’s better you know now.”

  “Why are you here.”

  It was meant as a question, Mercy knew, but Fallen was too angry to have posed it as such. And she couldn’t blame him. It shamed her to know she was linked to the other club, to know what they’d done. Unfortunately, it didn’t surprise her. This wasn’t the first time, nor would it be the last, so long as Chucky and her brothers’ reign lasted. They’d continue to kill, continue to destroy everything in their path, and she’d be damned if that included her.

  “Because I fucking hate them. All of them.”

  “What do you do.”

  Another club question. She knew it well. Was she a help? Could she make herself useful? Was she just another girl trying to be a big shot with a gun? Or was she collateral damage herself? Was she another chick the club would have to fight for, defend, because their morals allowed for nothing else?

  “Mechanic, mostly. Custom weapons. I’m not a little bitch to be protected. Ask your pres. I told her to let me leave, but that seems to be a negative, Ghost Rider in your club, which is fine. But I don’t need anyone to ‘keep me safe.’ I was doing a good enough job with that on my own. I’m just slightly disappointed I didn’t get to come along and help you.”

  “Did she just reference Top Gun?” Fallen asked incredulously to Tonka, who snorted in reply. “Mechanic?”

  Mercy just nodded, knowing Fallen was weighing her as a possible option for a need within the club. She bit her lower lip, refusing to speak. She knew someone was eventually going to ask her to work, to check the bikes or help in some capacity. Worse, it was more than likely going to be the cost for the unasked-for refuge they were giving her. And damn it all to hell, she was going to have to.

  Oh the irony, she thought. In Wyoming she refused to ever have any of Static’s men or their bikes, or more, at her shop. They weren’t worked on at her place. As the sign in her shop read: I reserve the right to refuse service to anyone. Especially anyone in a cut. Her heart ached at the thought. Chey had gotten her that as a gift, knowing the giant finger to her father’s club would tickle her to her toes. She hadn’t gotten the chance to pull it down before hightailing it out.

  Fallen’s face had hardened once more, as he must’ve said something that she’d missed. But rather than repeat it, he got close, his breath hot as his words came through gritted teeth. “If my Sarah doesn’t pull through, I’ll kill them all… and you at the end.”

  “So you’ll let me watch,” she answered, remaining unmoving despite being all but nose to nose with the dangerous man. “You kill them all, my father included, and I’ll let you take me out at the end.”

  Her words, though almost whispered, sounded loud in the room. Tonka and Fallen stared at her like she’d grown a third head. And, more, she meant them. If this man could take out the one who’d made her life a living hell, and if she could watch as he did it, she’d let him take her out. She’d never thought about it quite that way before, and the epiphany surprised her just as much as the men.

  Still toe to toe with the SIA, Mercy looked to Tonka. “I’d really like a shower, and a nap if possible. Morning will be here shortly, and I’d like to follow up on my baby, please.”

  Fallen’s sharp intake of air had the larger man chuckling, the weight in the air lessening slightly.

  “You’re crazy, Mercedes.”

  “No,” she told Fallen. “I’m tired. I’m so fucking tired of it all, and if it’s all the same to you, I’d really like a time out. We can always do this head-to-head bullshit tomorrow, if you’re up for it. We can do it here in the club, at the shop with my car, or even at the hospital if that’s where you need to be. We can talk about all the ways the men of SL should be castrated and what to do with their balls once we’ve cut them off… but just not right in this moment, okay?”

  A round of snickers came from the doorway, and Mercy realized they’d gathered quite an audience. She wasn’t sure if the other brothers were there to keep the man from killing her, to keep her safe as Poet had ordered, or to watch the mayhem. Either way, they all seemed entertained. Probably a good thing… no one kills he who keeps them laughing.

  “You really are crazy, Mercedes,” came a voice from the crowd.

  “Mercy, please. I hate that fucking name.”

  “Mercy,” Fallen murmured. “Do you expect any?”

  “Judging by the dead body in our lot, I’d doubt it, Sarg,” one of the brothers in the hall called.

  “You took him out here?”

  Mercy shrugged. She watched as he took a step or two back, before running a bloodstained hand over his own face. A chuckle escaped him, exhaustion and adrenaline clearly wearing the man thin. “Don’t make me like you, when I have to kill you, Mercy.”

  With that, he turned toward the door, clapping a hand on Tonka’s shoulder. They spoke in hushed whispers, and Mercy let them, turning away herself. She took that time to take in the room she’d been occupying.

  It wasn’t just a room; it was like a small apartment, the living space much better than what the Law were accustomed to. There, they each had a room akin to a hotel or a studio apartment. Here, it seemed everything was different, which shouldn’t have come as any surprise.

  The room she was currently standing in had a small couch on one side, slightly bigger than a loveseat. A TV stood on a wooden stand, complete with drawers beneath it, a Beretta placed in sight. Knowing it was there was slightly comforting — and more, showed Tonka at least somewhat trusted her. He had to know his spare piece was there, and he’d left it when he’d let his Sergeant in the room.

  From where she was, she could see another door, and hoped behind it was either a shower, or a bed. At this point, either worked, though she desperately wanted to stand under a water head for awhile. Staple’s blood had hit her as she’d ended the other man’s life, and as much as his death didn’t bother her, the stains from his life were on her, and that did.

  “Lost?” Tonka’s voice was soft from behind her, having somewhere along the way moved closer to her. She spun to find his large body towering over her, the bedroom door closed. She was apparently time traveling.

  “I’m hoping whatever is behind door number one has either a shower or a bed,” she admitted.

  “Well, you’re in luck, because it holds both,” the larger man told her, holding his hands out. In them were what looked like women’s clothing and she arched an e
yebrow at him.

  “They’re from Artist,” he said in answer, shrugging. “She was part of your audience.”

  “Oh, but I took some from my car,” she said in answer, turning to look for her bag and not finding it. Realization dawned on her that it was in the room she’d originally stood with Poet, and she’d never picked it back up after being ushered to Tonka’s.

  He must’ve known the same because he nodded. “I can go get it, if you like… though I fear you’ll be bombarded with more brothers and more questions. Don’t get me wrong, they all tend to mean well, but today’s been a rough fucking day. Today’s a day that everyone wants to shoot first and ask questions later. So while they’re justified in wanting to know more, I figure you’re tired and don’t want to deal with it… and they need to rest so they don’t deal with it. Feel me?”

  Mercy nodded. “I feel you. Mind if I shower?” she asked, taking the extended articles of clothing. She wasn’t a fan of wearing another woman’s clothes, but for some reason she felt better knowing they were the other member’s, other than a previous lover’s. It didn’t make any sense but it was what it was, and she refused to entertain the thought further than that.

  “Not at all. I'll show you.” He motioned for her to follow, opening the door to a large bedroom, complete with a king-sized bed. He pointed through the other side, to another opening. “That’s the bathroom. Towels are under the sink. Soap and shit is already in there - I don’t have any of that fancy shit women like except for shampoo because Artist has forced us all to use it. She said ‘it’s better for your hair’ or some stupid girly thing… but we've learned not to argue with that one, doesn’t get us anywhere.”