by Juli Valenti
Mercy wanted to ask about the other woman, about both of them, but wasn’t sure if she would be welcome to. Her face must’ve betrayed her though, because Tonka gave her a small nudge toward the bathroom, and propped himself on the edge of the bed. “Go ahead and ask, I’ll sit here and answer the things I can.”
“Really?” For a man to divulge information, especially about club business, was rare, and his readiness to do so surprised her.
“You’re going to stay here a bit, you’re going to need to know certain things. But I’ll only talk if you do what you need to. I’m tired too.”
She nodded, and made her way to the bathroom, leaving the door slightly ajar so he could hear her. Turning the knob in the shower to let it warm, she grabbed a towel from under the sink, folded where he told her they’d be, and stripped from her clothes. She asked the first question she could think of.
5
Chapter Five
“How are there women in your club? I mean, real women, not just bed warmers.”
“Well, I’m glad to know bedwarmers aren’t women… the men will love that info,” Tonka answered. Mercy could just imagine the wry look on his face, the one that all men got when a chick said something about the brainless women that followed members of the club. Luckily, the man continued before she had to try to pet his ego down. “But, I know what you mean.
“It’s not necessarily that there are women in our club. It’s more that it’s Poet’s club. Fury, Poet’s dad, was president for a long time. Great man, fair and just and kept things pretty standard quo. He wanted Poet to be his little princess, complete with tutus and crowns and pink ribbons, and all that jazz. Had his way for quite awhile too, putting her in dance and shit. But, she was never quite the girl he wanted. Well… that’s not quite right either. She was the girl he wanted, but her interests varied, and fell too close to the club.”
Mercy sighed softly as she stepped into the hot water, allowing it to run down along her skin, from her head to her shoulders, washing away the day. More, washing Staple’s blood off, and allowing the day’s Static Law bullshit to disappear. The heat melted her sore muscles, releasing tension she hadn’t realized was there. And, as she washed, she listened intently while Tonka spoke.
“Poet earned her way into Fury’s trusted circle. The girl had a serious knack for this shit… maybe it was just because she was female that she had a different perspective to things. Or maybe it’s because she’s her, and she knows shit. I don’t know, honestly, but it got to where Fury would take her advice. She’d sit in and give her two cents - she’d see both sides of the coin. She’d see the good and the bad, the right and the wrong. She’d tell him how it would end, and what damage could be caused. She gave him good advice, too, honestly.
“When Fury died because of DH —”
“Who are the DH?” she asked, inhaling deeply as she scrubbed the Bed Head shampoo through her scalp. She knew the brand, often bought it herself, and made a mental note to tell Artist what a good choice she’d made.
“Diablos Hermanos. They’re an MC here in New Mexico that’s a real piece of fucking work, similar to SL, though they follow the rules a bit better. Though it’s been a bit quieter since our last bit of havoc we wreaked on them. Anyway—
“Fury died because of a DH drive-by. And, when it came time to vote a new pres in, a lot of people assumed it would be Shakespeare, because he was already VP. But, it wasn’t. The time came and all the brothers, including ‘Speare, voted Poet as president - to continue the work she’d started with her pop, and keep Hells Redemption going the same way it always had. Shocked the shit out of the other clubs, too, which is hilarious. It’s even better when someone starts shit and demands the pres… and here comes lil ole’ Poet. Don’t get me wrong though, that girl is lethal, just as lethal as any man, if not more so. She will shoot first and ask questions later… kind of like you.”
Mercy nodded under the shower, but knew he couldn’t see her. Tonka’s bar soap hadn’t surprised her at all and it entertained her slightly because she used the same herself. Working in the auto shop was dirty work and nothing erased oil and grease quite the way Dial soap did.
“What about Artist?”
“Artist… she’s a different song of a different tune, though somewhat similar to Poet.”
“She was raised in the club, too?” Mercy asked, genuinely curious, and grateful the other man was still entertaining her enough to keep talking. Of course, he wasn’t giving any unknown club knowledge, but it was nice to get any sort of information. And these stories were ones she genuinely wanted to hear.
“No, she wasn’t. But she knew of it. Her brother, Titan, is the president of Bishops Reign MC.”
“Titan…” Mercy said aloud, chewing on the name. She’d heard it, and she searched her mind until she gasped. “Wait, isn’t that Poet’s new husband?”
Tonka’s laugh was loud from the other room, even over the noise of the shower. “One and the same, though that’s a different story all together.
“Mostly Artist is his sister, and she’d begged to join BR. But women aren’t allowed in that club, not like that anyway. After Titan was shot, she approached Poet and asked to prospect. Poet mainly did it as a middle finger to the other pres, because the two fought like cats and dogs. But Artist really stepped up. She did some serious damage when it was needed. Her and ‘Speare are a thing, too, before you ask. And, again, before you ask, it started after she’d patched in — he was her mentor in the club and they started something later. Now the two of them are lethal in any situation. She’s also quite the tattoo artist, as it turns out.”
Mercy turned off the water and reached for the towel, grasping the clean cloth to her body and inhaling the clean smell of detergent. “And all the men are cool with this?”
“By this, I assume you mean having about them in the club?”
Stepping out into the bedroom with the towel wrapped around herself, Mercy nodded. She was surprised to see that Tonka had removed his boots and his cut, the latter folded neatly over a leather chair in the corner of the room. But other than that, he’d kept his clothes on, clearly waiting for the shower himself. The large man stood and headed toward the shower, and she took his place on the bed, setting Artist’s clothes folded beside her.
“Yeah we’re cool with it. Those are some bad-ass fucking female brothers,” he told her, shaking his head as he shut the door, leaving it slightly open as she had. “Doesn’t matter that they don’t have a cock between their legs; doesn’t matter that they don’t have the brute strength we as men do. We learned a long time ago to never underestimate them. They’re ruthless. It’s fantastic.”
“I’m so confused,” Mercy said softly, unsure if Tonka could hear her, and slightly surprised when he responded.
“I know. It can be a lot to take in. A lot of the other clubs don’t get it… at least until they need to. Or unless they’ve had to deal with Poet. They catch on pretty fast after that.”
“I’ve never seen a club that gives two fucking shits about the women around them. Women are for fucking and for bringing in money, that’s it. Never fighting. They have no words important enough for men to listen to. They are expected to be rarely seen and never heard,” she said, her heart aching at the thought of the SL girls and the way she’d seen them be treated.
“Yeah well, we’re not other clubs,” the man said, and she nodded, knowing it to be true. “Now it’s my turn. Why’d you leave Wyoming? Other than the obvious.”
Mercy sighed as she made quick work of shrugging on her borrowed clothes. They fit well, if not perfect, because she was taller than Artist. She’d known the man was going to be asking questions at some point, and at least he’d started with a fairly easy one.
“My father’s men killed my bookkeeper, Chey.”
“You said that… but as much as that fucking sucks, it doesn’t sound like the entire story.”
“It’s not. Chey was one of my best friends, who I’d met at MIT. He
wasn’t a big guy, smaller than me, and never hurt anyone. He had a wry sense of humor, that I completely understood, and more, he didn’t give a fuck who I was, or who my family was. It sounds like a poor-pitiful-me type story, but it really sucked growing up in Sheridan and your family having the same name, and your father being its pseudo-king. No one in that entire fucking town will go against Chuck Sheridan and it’s awful. But Chey, Chey didn’t care.”
“Did you sleep with this Chey?” Tonka’s voice came out demanding, and Mercy stifled a grin, even though the man would’ve have seen it.
“Ha, no. Chey didn’t swing that way. He was as flamboyant as they came, one of my favorite things about him, really. And he was unapologetic about it, too.”
“You loved him,” the other man said, his large body appearing in the doorway. His broad, muscular chest on full display, still wet from the shower. Tonka was an Adonis. A beautifully created work of art, complete with sinews of muscle and a sprinkling of hair adorning his chest. He had a swirling tattoo across the pec of one side, though Mercy couldn’t make out the detailing. Watching him stand there, Mercy swallowed and shook her head.
“Yes, I did,” she answered truthfully, closing her eyes against the perfect specimen of man in front of her. She had to remind herself she didn’t sleep with bikers, or get involved with them in any way. Doing so only led to disaster. But what a beautiful disaster he’d be.
“So, knowing that you’re like our females here, how many did you kill?”
Tonka’s question was point blank, almost a statement, only a slight lilt at the end of his words making it an inquiry. It warmed her to know that he didn’t think she was a pushover, some little bitch who’d cry and run to the cops over the situation, not that it would’ve done any good there; the Lawmen owned the cops in Sheridan. It was a hell of a compliment, and she relished in it for a moment. Plus, he was right. She had killed.
“Three that I could find right away, one of them being my brother.”
“What stopped you from killing the rest?” Tonka questioned as he moved to a dresser and pulled on a pair of basketball shorts, his towel falling to the floor. She saw the muscles of his legs, where they met with his ass, and it made her breath catch.
Shaking her head again, she answered, “My father. He put out a call to bring me in. And, knowing him, I refused to be ‘brought in.’”
“Think he’d kill you?”
Mercy paused, legitimately thinking about Tonka’s question. “No,” she answered finally. “He wouldn’t kill me.”
“Really? Even though you took out his men?”
“No,” she repeated, more firmly this time. “He won’t kill me. As Poet said, I’m the Princess of Static Law.” The words were like poison on her tongue, almost gagging her. She hated them, and hated that the statement was true. “I’m an asset to him, to be traded and used. And while I’ll never be anything more than that, my life is worth more than merely one son. He still has five more to choose from.”
Tonka nodded, though his face was hooded as he turned to her. She couldn’t read it, not exactly, other than to know he was thinking. He was chewing on her words, and she could tell he didn’t like them. She remained silent, letting him wrestle whatever thought he was, and merely watched him as he moved toward the bed, and pulled the duvet back. He grasped the remote from the side table and turned on the tv, before sitting and patting beside him.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to try to take advantage of you,” he told her before she could say anything, and she raised an eyebrow. “Don’t get me wrong, I want to, but you’re worth more than that. Besides, I’m enjoying our conversation.”
“Fucked-up conversation to enjoy,” she told him as she moved around the bed to the other side, propping up the pillows and sitting beside him.
Tonka shrugged. “It’s our way of life… nothing I’m not used to. So tell me about your garage.”
Mercy smiled, a genuine smile she felt to her core. Her shop was one of her favorite places in the world, the town of Sheridan be damned. It was her own private sanctuary. A place where oil and grease were mana to her soul. Nothing could touch her there, not her father or the club, regardless of how hard they tried. And that was probably the reason Static Law fucked with it as often as they did. But it didn’t matter, it was her church. It was her mass and her Sunday service every day. And she told him so.
This time it was Tonka’s turn to smile. “I can tell you adore your work,” he said thoughtfully, his eyes moving from her to the TV he’d turned on, the volume low as flashes of naked people in the wilderness came and went on screen.
“What do you do?” she asked him, realizing she knew very little of the man sitting beside her in his massive bed. She knew he was gorgeous, and knew he was a member of the MC she was currently an almost-unwilling guest of, but little else.
“Eh, you already know my biggest hobby,” he said, motioning around the room, but meaning the clubhouse. “And you know I like bikes, because, anyone who doesn’t is a fucking pussy. But, I’m also a chef. I run a restaurant downtown. I like food,” he added, patting his nonexistent belly and making her chuckle.
“I like food too,” she murmured, the words coming out as an invitation, though she hadn’t intentionally made them that way. She’d meant it as a statement, but even she could hear their underlying meaning. They told him she wanted him to cook for her, and they both knew it. Luckily for her, Tonka didn’t rise to the occasion and rib her on them.
“We’ll go check on your car in the morning, well, in a few hours,” he told her, glancing at the bedside clock. It was one of those old ones that every person’s parents always had: black with red numbering. “After that, we’ll stop in and I’ll make us some food. I have to check on inventory anyway.”
“Do you not have to work every day?”
Tonka’s answering chuckle was music to her, touching a part of her she wished it didn’t. It was warmth, and delight, all at once. “No. I haven’t had to work every day in a long time. I’m mostly there for special occasions at this point, or when I’m bored and have nothing better to do. Like you with your garage, my place is my happy place. But I’ve got a great staff I’ve trained. They carry out my recipes, and I get to cook when I want, making it less a job, and more a profitable hobby.”
Mercy let out an agreeing noise. She knew what he meant. She’d gotten to the point that she didn’t have to work every single day to pay the bills… they got paid regardless of how many days she’d worked. Sure, in the beginning she’d had to. She was building up her clientele and taking in anything that came through the doors, but after awhile, she got to choose the bigger projects. The ones that were fun. The ones that brought in enough money to keep her afloat until the next project that tickled her fancy. It was one of the best bonuses of owning your own business.
Now, of course, all that had changed. Now she had no shop, no business. She was good on money, for awhile at least, but even that was going to run out. The question was, would her time run out before the money did? How long could she stay under the radar of her father? Seeing as how she wasn’t even a week out from Wyoming, and she’d already fallen into a club, and their shit, which was littered with bodies of the Static Law, the future didn’t look too promising.
“Ever watch this show?”
She glanced back to the TV, a small smile playing on her lips. “Naked and Afraid? Yeah, I love it. Matt is the shit.”
“Pfft. He’s a douche but definitely a good survivalist. This is the new episode.”
She watched as the man beside her turned the volume up, the announcer discussing the African location they’d put the two participants in. She listened as they rated each survivalist, giving them their own PSR, or primitive survival rating.
“Yours would be at least an eight,” Tonka said softly, leaning toward her slightly.
“Yours too,” she answered, allowing herself to sink back against him, her shoulder touching his. She knew she should be bothered,
that she should be refusing to be this close or even getting to know this stranger of Hells Redemption. But she also knew she was tired, and he made her feel comfortable. And most of all, she felt safe with him.
Safety was a rare thing, and even if it was only for a moment, she was going to enjoy it while she could. Lord only knew what bullshit awaited her in the morning.
6
Chapter Six
Light peered through the window, waking Mercy from one of the best dreams she could ever remember having. She was warm, blissfully so, and so comfortable it was like she’d melted into the bed. An arm was flung over her, the man attached to it facing her, his face peaceful as he dreamed. She smiled as she watched him.
They’d stayed up watching multiple episodes of Naked and Afraid, each ribbing the people on the show and how they’d have adapted differently. Tonka had a similar survival style to her own, it seemed, and by the second episode, they’d determined they’d have made a hell of a team if they were on the show. The part she hadn’t mentioned was if he was naked around her, she doubted she’d be clear-headed.
At some point, she’d positioned herself in the nook of his arm, half laying on his chest, and his hand had idly played with her hair. Neither of them had discussed it; it had just naturally happened.
Now as she watched him sleep, the large man built like an aptly named Tonka truck, she knew she could be in big trouble. He was all muscle, quick to smile and laugh, and the world, regardless of how dark theirs was, didn’t seem to take much of a toll on him. She genuinely wanted to know him and wished he wasn’t part of the MC world, and that they could’ve met on different circumstances. Perhaps she could have met him in his restaurant, asked to meet the chef, and gone from there, rather than the whole fucked-up mess they were in. Of course, that was a pipe dream. They were who they were, though who he was, wasn’t a negative like her.