by Juli Valenti
Tonka glanced at the clock on the center of the wall. “Well, it’s still relatively early. We only got a few hours of shut-eye before we got the call. It’s only about noon. I think we have plenty of time. Why don’t we grab some shit food here, and then we can go back to the club for a nap. I wouldn’t mind catching a few Zs myself. After that, I’ll drop you off at the garage; I have a couple club errands I have to make at some point today anyway.”
“Are you always this easygoing? This… so ready to jump in and make everything okay?”
“Are you always this high strung?”
“Well, having a murderous, batshit crazy biker as a father doesn’t really allow for anything other than that,” she told him, a chuckle escaping her. “But, for the most part, probably. I tend to see the bad before I see the good.”
“We’re perfect together, then,” he told her, guiding her toward the smell of chicken fried rice, courtesy of ChinaMax. “To answer your question, yes, I’m pretty easygoing. But you’re not the only one with a past. Plus I have a lot of experience with people whose family fucked them all up in the head, beautiful.”
Mercy waited for the man to elaborate but he didn’t. Instead, he gingerly placed her many bags on the ground, and ordered his fast Chinese food. When he glanced at her, she followed suit, ordering what he did. It wasn’t often she ate at a food court, and she didn’t really care what she ate, so long as she ate in general. Anything would do, and because this was what he’d chosen, a chef who probably rarely indulged in fast food, she guessed he would know better than she did what was good. Once he paid, he tried to arrange the bags so he could carry the tray, but was unsuccessful. She giggled as she took the tray and sauntered her way to a table, feeling like she’d won some small battle.
“Don’t get used to it, woman,” Tonka grumbled, and she laughed, throwing her head back.
“Oh come on,” she said, unable to control herself. It felt good, finding something funny, something that had nothing to do with anything other than humor. “I am capable of more than just carrying a tray of food, you know.”
“Well, I don’t like it. That’s my job.”
“I hear that every day about my job… that’s it’s not a woman’s job, it’s a man’s.”
Tonka shook his head. “I don’t mean it like that. I mean it more that I feel like you are worth more than carrying a shitty tray of food. I want to carry it, so you don’t have to, because you’re… you’re worth more. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Want to make me understand?”
“Nope, not today,” he sighed, his usually open face closing as he spoke. Whatever it was he didn’t want to tell her was going to be heavy. And he would tell her, eventually, she was sure. Everyone had their demons, apparently even Tonka.
10
Chapter Ten
The ride back to the Hells Redemption clubhouse was quiet, and surprisingly quick for the distance they travelled. Mercy was no longer taken aback by the speeds at which the man rode, even with the bag she had slung across her back, containing their purchases. This time, he occasionally turned his head to check on her, see if she was okay with the extra weight, but she had a feeling it had everything to do with his chivalry, and less the weight. Clothes didn’t weigh that much, and the duffel Tonka’d produced from his saddle bag was perfect for riding… probably the reason he kept it with him.
There was little conversation, no playful banter, something Mercy wasn’t sure she was grateful for or depressed about. She’d come to seriously enjoy their time together, especially when they were alone, but she suspected he was lost in whatever past demons plagued him. That, she completely understood.
When they pulled through the gated compound, Mercy took sight of the Static Law cuts still lining the fence. She counted at least ten, give or take. It was a lot, a hefty decoration telling a tale of destruction, though this time by no hand of her father’s. Rather they were a warning, a declaration, and one hell of a message. Some were bloodied, some with holes from bullets. Some were still flawless, minus the large gash taken out of the emblem that proudly proclaimed them belonging to Static Law MC. It was ironic too — the way the knife had passed through the lightning bolt and scales, separating the two perfectly, making the scales look off balance, rather than side by side. Seemed fitting to rid the balance of the image. Not that there was any balance within that club. Lightning, yes, but justice, fairness? No, never.
Idly she wondered who all had met their end. Were they all ones that genuinely deserved to do so? A good 99% of the club was shit, but, while rare, there was at least one or two who didn’t necessarily deserve to die. Not that she’d trust that small one percent either.
As they swung around, she turned, looking to the front of the vests. Six or seven had the white diamond on the front, the bold 1% clear to be seen, and she closed her eyes. So at least those men definitely deserved what they’d gotten. They’d killed, murdered, relentlessly and mercilessly.
Not like you can talk, her mind chimed in helpfully. You’ve done the same.
That’s different, she told herself, willing it to be true. Sure, she’d killed and lost absolutely no sleep at night over it. There was no point in sugarcoating that, but the men she’d ended, she’d had good reason. They’d been a threat, or hurt what was hers. They more than deserved it. And she’d do it again if she had to.
A thought she couldn’t ignore came to her. “How come none of HR has a one percent patch?” she asked as Tonka cut the engine to his Harley and swung his leg over one side. He extended a hand to her, and she took it, not needing the help, but appreciating the gesture.
“Surely HR has taken out their fair share.”
Tonka’s eyes took her in as she removed his helmet and handed it to him, adjusting the bag still slung across her back. He rested it on his seat before grasping the strap from her and pulling it over her head, replacing it over his own shoulder.
“We have,” he told her honestly, his tone telling her as much as his words did. They’d killed people of their own accord as well, and, like her, didn’t lose sleep over it. “We don’t like to broadcast our business. Too many wear the diamond and have more confidence than they deserve. Or they use it as some sort of fucked-up shield or, worse, an invitation to act like a complete dick and intimidate people. Hells Redemption doesn’t need any of that; we are who we are, and we do what we do. We make money the way we need to, and those that choose to underestimate our power, or our female pres, get a pretty hefty surprise when they’re wrong.”
“You have, right?”
“What, taken a life?”
She nodded, swallowing. Mercy wasn’t sure if she wanted him to say yes, or say no. Either answer had its own repercussions within her soul. If he hadn’t, she wasn’t sure how she could see him in the same light. Could she be the monster, while he was lily clean? More, if he said yes, how many lives had he taken? Were they all taken with good intentions, or bad? Maybe both? But really, what was a good intention when it came to murder? Of course they all had their own motives, their own validation. And no one ever really felt unjustified if they ended someone; everyone always had a reason. Plus, murder was murder, no matter how the cookie crumbled.
Tonka inclined his head. “I have. And, before you ask, I’m unsure how many.” His words were candid, something she appreciated, and she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “To answer your third question, before you can ask, yes they all deserved the ending they got.”
“Why do you think I was going to ask that?”
“Because, Stang. I’ve discovered when you have a question brewing in your head, your entire face becomes a question mark. It’s almost funny, cause it’s the only time it does that. Not when you’re unsure of something, or when making a decision; it’s only when you have a question. And you always seem to have quite a few.”
“Well, you’re wrong. I wasn’t going to ask that.”
“No?”
“Nope. I was gonna ask wh
ere the hell you keep your keys. Those jeans are entirely too tight to keep them in your pocket, and I know you don’t have a key ring for your bike. So I was curious.”
A laugh escaped the man as he led her toward the side door. “You’re funny. Full of shit, but funny,” he told her between chuckles. “But, I’ll answer that one too, because it’s easy. Don’t need a key when your VP is a security god. The code panel at the gate is thumbprint activated, not code, for when someone’s not watching to open it for you — which is almost never. Someone’s always got eyes on that damn metal. More, there’s fucking cameras everywhere in this damned place. The commons rooms, the halls, etc. Pretty hard to break in… if the iron and the knowledge of lead being here wasn’t enough to deter someone.”
“They’d have to be pretty fucking dumb to break in,” she added, and he nodded, before his eyes hooded slightly.
“Happened once, but then he had an invitation so I’m not sure it counts. It didn’t end well in the long run.”
“Um,” she continued, choosing to divert their conversation, not wanting to bring up something else that darkened the so-bright man. “There aren’t any cameras in your room, are there?”
“Why?” he asked, his eyes alight with humor as he reached his door. “Afraid someone other than me is going to see your sexy-as-fuck body?”
He thinks I’m sexy. Her inner teenager was jumping for joy, volunteering to strip right then and there, just so he’d say it again. She shook her head, ignoring the dumb broad.
“Someone other than you? As if you’re going to see any more of it than you already have,” Mercy told him tartly, mostly joking. If her vagina had its way, she’d get naked in a heartbeat.
“Oh, Stang. Just wait. I will be between your thighs. I will feast on your delectable body, and more, you’ll beg for it. Trust me.”
Annnnnnd, I’m wet, she thought, images of his bare skin above her, his so-much-larger body between her legs. She knew he’d be hard, so hard, and the idea had her mouth watering. Yep, I’m in big fucking trouble. And worse, she knew her face was coloring, pink flooding her cheeks as she daydreamed.
“See, told you.”
Ignoring Tonka, half afraid of what her reaction would be if she answered, she entered the room. Her backpack now rested on the couch and she looked from it to the bag slung over Tonka’s shoulder. Mentally she tried to remember everything she packed when she’d left her beloved, now missing car. Maybe enough for a day or so, she knew, as well as a box of bullets. Her wallet and the registration to her car, for sure. But looking at her sad-looking pack, she was grateful the man had taken her shopping.
“Here,” he said, slinging the bag beside hers and turning to her. She watched as he lowered himself to the floor, his large hands moving to the thigh holster. His fingers made quick work of the buckles and she sighed in relief as he removed it, pulling her 9mm from the holster and checking the safety. He placed it on the couch as well, and she expected him to stand, but he didn’t. He remained unmoving on the floor, his face upturned toward her as he ran a hand up the leg that’d been carrying her piece.
“You have marks,” Tonka commented, massaging her thigh as her temperature started to rise. His hands trailed from her thigh and down to her ankle, before drawing a path upward again. In that moment she was torn. She was tired, but under his soft touch, she didn’t want to sleep. She wanted him, wanted him to keep touching her. It had been so, so long.
Mercy’s hands gripped at his shoulders, finding purchase in his cut and pushing at it. He moved slightly, helping to shrug it off, and she took it, taking care to fold it and place it behind her on his sofa. His eyebrows were raised when she met his gaze, but he didn’t mention it. His shoulder holster was next, and he gave his own gun the same treatment, checking its safety, before handing it to her to be placed with the rest of their items. As she set it down, he removed his shirt, allowing her access at his skin.
He was tan, tanner than she was, and it was clear, despite his being a chef, that he took care of himself. Muscled shoulders, and traps, he was built for every woman’s wet dreams. He was warm under her touch, and she trailed her hands from one shoulder to the other, his neck, wanting to touch him. She hadn’t gotten to appreciate him earlier in the morning before they’d been interrupted, and enjoyed doing so while she had the opportunity.
“You’re so perfectly made,” she said almost reverently, not necessarily a statement to him, rather amusing. Tonka chuckled softly, his eyes closing as she moved the hair from his cheek, exposing his face.
“I’d say the same about you, Stang,” he murmured in reply and she knelt, disliking that he remained on his knees in front of her. Leaning forward, she placed a soft kiss on his lips.
“I want you.”
“Mercy, I want you too… but I’m not sure you really want to. And in this, you have to be one hundred percent sure.”
“I am,” she told him, her lips grazing his once more as his arm snaked around her waist.
“Are you?” he murmured, kissing her, his tongue moving to tease her lips. “Or are you just scared and tired. The two are different.”
Standing, he pulled her up with him, and guided her to his room, walking her backward and refusing to let go. His lips occasionally pressed against hers as she stumbled, but his arm remained firmly around her.
“Do I need to tell you twice?” she asked against his mouth, the back of her knees meeting the bed.
“In this? Yes,” he told her softly, his forehead creasing. “You’re not club ass, and I’m not the type of man to take advantage of a woman, no matter how badly I want to.”
“You’re right, I’m not club ass,” Mercy answered, pulling away slightly and grabbing the hem of her shirt. She tugged it off, relishing in the air as it caressed her bare skin. She’d never been so happy she hadn’t put a bra on. “I’m also not going to lie to you. Yes, I’m tired. Yes, I know all hell is going to break loose, which makes me nervous, if not slightly scared.
“I am also a woman, standing before a man, all but begging for him to keep touching me. I know the repercussions of my actions, of asking to be taken to your bed. I know I want you, and I want you to want me. I know that it’ll cause an even bigger shit show for you, and, while that may be selfish as hell, I don’t give a fuck. And you, Tonka, don’t seem to be the kind of guy who shies away from what he wants because of said shit show.”
“You still have to tell me twice.”
“This is me telling you twice, Tonka.” With that, she drew his hands up to touch her and leaned forward, taking his lips against hers once more. This time there was no gentle, sweet kissing on her part. She nipped at his lips and he opened for her, his tongue meeting hers as he gripped at her skin. One hand on her waist, one on her breast, kneading her skin, had her moaning into him.
“You’re mine,” he all but growled, lightly tossing her backward to the bed, forcing a lustful giggle from her chest.
She wasn’t anyone’s property, like she’d told him, but knew it would be a fight to get out of his bed. Even with that knowledge, however, she didn’t care. Fighting was a way of life for them, and, if she was going to go down, what a better way to have him going down on her in the process.
11
Chapter Eleven
Mercy had expected Tonka to fall atop her as her back hit the mattress, but he didn’t. Instead he moved calmly toward her boots, and slowly unzipped one, then the other, letting them loudly clatter to the floor. Her socks followed, and his hands replaced the material, gliding over her.
“Fuck me,” he groaned in reverence, his hand moving to his jeans and unbuttoning the top button. Mercy couldn’t help but stare. He was sex on a stick standing at the foot of the bed, shirtless, the trail of hair across his chest and stomach stark against his tan. The bulge in his tight pants was evidence of his arousal to her, and she squirmed, fighting to let his hands explore her feet, her legs.
She watched as he removed his own boots, making quick work of taki
ng them off and tossing them aside. Before she could blink, he was finally above her, his mouth taking hers with fervor. He kissed her like a drowning man and she was oxygen, and it wasn’t enough. Mercy craved this man, as he did her, and she voiced her frustration.
“Patience, Mercedes,” he told her, surprising her with the use of her full name. Usually she hated hearing it, would’ve corrected anyone else, but the way her given name rolled off his tongue was something else. It was sensual, admiring, needing… everything.
Moaning as his hands trailed her bare skin, she arched into him, cursing that she hadn’t ripped her borrowed shorts off. To her, they were an abomination, never to be worn again. Cursed, as they kept her from what she wanted, and with his weight atop her, she couldn’t get leverage to take them off. She’d never wanted to wear them in the first place, now she was definitely going to burn them.
“I want you,” she whispered, knowing he already knew it but needing it to be said. And it was the truth - she wanted Tonka like she’d never wanted anyone else. Fire burned her core, hot and wet between her legs. Her nipples were almost painfully hard, begging for attention. Everywhere his hands glided only ignited that fire more.
Tonka shifted, moving from the kisses he was placing on her lips, her chin, to her neck, before moving lower. His mouth took one of her nipples into his mouth, his hand caressing the other, kneading her skin. His grip was rough, hard, matching his erection she’d felt through the coarseness of his jeans. Come to think of it, she was going to set those on fire, too, if she ever got him out of them.
Her fervor surprised her. She was usually a patient lover, not that she was all that experienced. Mercy could count on one hand the amount of men she’d been with, having been super picky about the men she allowed in her bed and in her pants. And yet, none of those men had ever made her feel so… desperate.