by Juli Valenti
Mercy merely nodded, refusing to correct him. She attempted to run her fingers through her hair but they tangled, and, frustrated, she threw it up in a top knot before shrugging at Tonka. With that, he opened the door, revealing a petite blonde woman on the other side.
She was about as tall as Poet, if not shorter. Her blonde hair was cut to fall at her shoulders, and time, not a hairdresser, gave her light highlights throughout the color. In a world full of black and darkness, this woman was clearly the sun in her yellow sundress and tan sandals. Skin kissed by the sun, a warm smile spread across her face, her presence made Mercy instantly feel slightly more at ease. Tonka, rather, Boone, she supposed, had a mother unlike most others. A wonderful, carefree breath of fresh air.
“Hi!” his mother said, approaching Mercy and slapping at her son’s hand as he tried to grab her. “I’m Siobhan, and you must be Mercy! Mercy me, what a great name. Not like some name no one can spell right, and, having grown up in the south, one no-one could pronounce.”
“Hello,” Mercy said cautiously. “Nah, I got the name of a stupid car —”
“That no one would ever want,” Tonka finished for her, butting between the two women and embracing his mom. “Hey, old lady.”
Siobhan hugged her son tightly, not even glancing at her son’s large body, or the clothes that covered him. Tonka returned the gesture, his frame bending to even reach the small woman. His hands wrapped around her, completely enveloping her, and Mercy could see the genuine happiness the motion had brought to her. An idle thought of her own mother flicked through her mind, and Mercy blinked, forcing it away before it choked her up.
“Now, now, son. Let me look at this beauty you’ve got in this dungeon of a clubhouse.” Siobhan tapped at his shoulders and Tonka’s answering sigh was loud. Mercy was almost certain he’d whispered something as he’d straightened, but what, she couldn’t say. Before either of them could speak, Siobhan looked around the room.“Why don’t we go sit in the other room and talk? Boone can get us a drink — I think I saw Wyatt at the bar.”
“Mom —”
“Don’t mom me. Besides, this girl is probably parched anyway, what, from your sexcapades. I’ll have a gin and tonic.”
“Mom —”
“What will you have, dear?” she asked Mercy, ignoring Tonka.
“Crown on the rocks.”
“Mom —”
“Go on, we need a little girl talk, son. I won’t say anything to embarrass you.”
Mercy stifled a giggle at the way Tonka shifted from foot to foot, clearly having something to say but refusing to disrespect his mom. It was the sign of a well-raised, mannered man as far as she was concerned. She watched as he turned and, after a heartbeat, stormed out the door, muttering about naps and it not being five o’clock.
Siobhan’s eyes were alight with humor as the door to the living room closed behind the man. It was easy to see where Tonka got most of his features. Other than the height, which was clearly not from his mother, so many of his features were blatant on her face. It was almost unnerving, seeing his traits reflected in his mother, only softer. Their eyes were the same, a blue so light it was silver, and the same sparkle. Same cheekbones, same playful smile. Their hair was a different color, but Mercy could tell even without touching hers, that it was the same silky texture.
Moving toward the couch, Mercy grasped Tonka’s cut, smoothing the supple leather with her fingers. Idly she toyed with the fabric as she glanced around, wondering where to put it. Cuts never belonged on the floor, unless it was a statement or an act of desire that put it there. Turning, she decided setting it over the TV would do. Her borrowed top she dumped carelessly to the floor, the duffel bag that still held her earlier purchases following. Their guns she put on the table beside the couch — in easy reach if she needed it, though she doubted she wouldn’t. Better safe than sorry.
“So much like my son,” Siobhan commented softly, her words making the other girl jump. She’d most certainly not forgotten Tonka’s mother was there, but she hadn’t realized the older woman had been watching as she’d cleared a place for them to sit. “Always beside you.”
“I’m sorry?”
“The gun,” she said, nodding to the weapons. “Boone is never far from his, and it seems you’re just like him.”
Mercy looked from the guns, to her lover’s mother. It was awkward as hell, that was certain, and she wished she’d brought her clothes into the room before their "sexcapade” as Siobhan had called it. At least then she’d feel more on solid ground, more like herself. Now she was feeling like a teenage girl who’d been caught with a boy, fooling around, by his mother. There were worst things, she supposed; she could feel like a teenage girl caught with a boy by her father. Mercy shuddered.
“You’re beautiful, even disheveled. But I do have to say, I heard ya were the princess of a club that caused an awful lot of problems here, darlin,’” Siobhan said, her legs crossing and her body turned to face Mercy.
Her mouth opened, then closed as she tried to think of what to say, but the older woman spoke before she had to.
“I’m guessin’ since my son has you here, and bedded ya, that you’re not an heiress to that throne.”
This time Mercy shook her head. “No,
ma’am—”
“Siobhan, please. Or Shah, or Von, or anything other than ma’am - I’m not old enough to be ma’am.”
“No, Siobhan,” Mercy corrected after swallowing hard. “That throne, as you called it, may be mine by birth, but rest assured I want nothing to do with it. I’d do just about anything to write that kingdom off the face of the earth, to ensure no history ever existed, nor did they.”
“You hate them.”
It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. It was a fair assessment, though Mercy wasn’t sure it was a strong enough sentiment. Hate wasn’t good enough - it didn’t represent the fire she felt. More, she loathed them. She wasn’t joking when she said she’d destroy it all.
“I do and more.”
“Family? Other than your dad, I mean. We all know who he is.”
Again she shook her head. “No.”
“Your mom?”
Mercy had the ridiculous urge to cry, but instead cleared her throat to speak. “My father killed her when I was a kid.”
Siobhan reached a hand out, as if to grab her hand, but then let it drop to her lap. Mercy appreciated the gesture, and the lack of it even more. Talking about her mom always fucking sucked and the last thing she wanted to do was get emotional with Tonka’s mother… wearing his clothes… covered in humanly fluids.
“Boone doesn’t just take women to his bed,” she said, the abrupt change of subject startling Mercy. They’d just been talking about her family, and about Static Law, and now they were talking about the giant elephant in the room.
Great! Sex talk with a boyfriend’s mom, she thought.
He’s not your boyfriend.
Even better. She wished she could punch the bitch in her head that thought it was so helpful. God this situation was one of nightmares. Maybe she would wake up, still in Tonka’s arms, safe in bed, and not being forced to sit with his mother feeling like she was growing a third eye out of nowhere.
“My boy… he respects women, as a good boy should. I raised him right, if I do say so myself,” she continued, her southern drawl curling around her vowels. “He’s chivalrous, despite the hands he was dealt. He, sometimes falsely, mind you, believes all women are to be cherished and protected. He’ll see the good, long before the bad, in a female. And, if my Boone took you to bed, he must like you. Don’t spoil that, and he’ll spoil you. You’re not married, are ya?”
Mercy jerked, now knowing why his mom asked the question. If she’d asked earlier that morning, she would’ve had no idea the reasoning, the ramifications of those simple words. Knowing herself, she would’ve been miffed that someone would’ve thought so low of her… but not now. She understood completely. Tonka’s story was still fresh in her
head, and, judging by the narrowing of his mother’s eyes, it was never far from her thoughts either. She guessed having your son, a teenager at that, kill a man, and having to come pick him up covered in another’s brain matter, would do that to any mother.
“No. No way. I’m not that kind of woman,” Mercy told the other woman. “Look, I know how this must look, and what you probably think of me. I’m not club ass. I’m not some bitch with engine envy looking to hop on the back of any man’s motorcycle. I am no one’s property of, nor will I ever be.
“I’m not a whore, either. Counting Tonka, I’m still only one hand in on lovers. And, before you ask, I’m thirty-one. So no, I don’t get around. And, while we’re at it, I don’t have any sexually transmitted diseases. I barely touch drugs, maybe once or twice a year, if that. I drink but only smoke cigarettes when I’m wasted or stressed, because they give me headaches. I won’t apologize for the latter two, because I am who I am, and I’m being honest.
“My self-worth is greater than anyone can ever make it. I don’t need approval from anyone, and, while I’d like to have yours, if you choose not to give it, that’s fine. Tonka, Boone as you call him, is… I don’t know. I’ve known him twenty-four hours ish, and I’m not stupid enough to claim things that aren’t real. He isn’t my boyfriend, we aren’t going steady; I don’t even know his last name, so please don’t ask me my intentions with him, because I don’t know. I know that being around him is like breathing fresh ocean air outside after living in an attic your entire life. I know he makes me feel good, and I know that I’d kill to protect him from my father and his men. I hope that covers everything?”
In reality, Mercy knew she should’ve stopped after her first sentence, but the rest had come pouring out of her. Clearly, with this woman being in the HR clubhouse, she had to know of at least some of the things that went on. She had to know about the guns, the drugs, the violence; the whores that hung around were generally everywhere on the outside, and completely unavoidable, so she already knew about them too. The last thing she ever wanted was to be thought of as one of those women. Well, the second to last. The first was being known for being her father’s offspring — she wouldn’t call herself his family, because they weren’t, and never had been.
“Hopkins,” Tonka’s voice came from the door, startling Mercy once more and she swore. She wasn’t used to being this jumpy but, Jesus. This situation was one made of nightmares and did little to put her at ease. “My last name is Hopkins.”
“I like this one, Boone,” Siobhan said to her son, smiling and genuine, which only served to confuse Mercy even more.
I’m starting to get a headache.
“Me too, Ma,” the man said, handing a tumbler to his mother and then a glass of amber with ice to her. She took it, grateful to have something to hold on to, and even more grateful when he plopped down between the two of them, his legs bumping into Mercy’s and his arm snaking behind her head. “What’s up? I know you didn’t come down to interrogate Stang.”
The other woman shook her head. “You know me too well. No, I didn’t. The restaurant needs you tonight, if you can? I know you’re busy with club biz and all that entails, but the mayor made a reservation and requested you directly.”
“I’m not a puppet,” Tonka said, in the sternest voice he’d used with his mother Mercy had heard yet. She raised an eyebrow but stayed quiet, grateful for not having a card in that part of the conversation.
“I know, I know, but they’re paying triple your rates. Surely Mercedes —”
“Mercy, please.”
Siobhan shot her a pleasant smile, having done the same to her. “Surely Mercy can take care of herself for an hour or two while you show the city’s finest what you can do. Besides, you know as well as I do that he stays on the HR payroll because of your mushroom sauce.”
“Mom —”
This time it was Mercy’s turn to interrupt the man. “I can, Tonk. I have to go back to Lock’s shop anyway. I need to know what all I have to work with. You could drop me off, if it’s on the way? Or, if it’s not, I can hitch a ride with one of the prospects.”
“You are not getting on the back of one of those fuckface’s bikes,” Tonka told her, nearly spitting the words out, and she smiled. She liked this new possessive part of him, the one that refused her riding bitch with another man. Hell, it wasn’t like she wanted to ride bitch for anyone — Tonka was the only exception, and even that was begrudgingly.
“Okay, so get me a loaner bike. You know that I can fix them, so of course I can ride on my own. Get someone to ride with me.”
Tonka nodded thoughtfully. “That could probably be arranged. You’ll need protection though,” he said, holding his freehand up to stop her protest. “I know you can take care of yourself, but I’d personally feel better if the club was with you. You’re stuck with us, I’m afraid, Stang.”
“So it’s settled,” Siobhan said, clapping quietly. Mercy noticed the other woman’s glass was already empty, resting in her lap. Meanwhile she hadn’t even touched her own. Glancing at the amber liquid, she put it to her lips and downed it, the burn in the back of her throat surprisingly pleasant.
With that, Siobhan stood, and Tonka followed suit, ever the gentleman. Once again he bent to hug his mother, nodding as she murmured something too soft for Mercy to hear. She then turned to Mercy and hugged her too, whispering in her ear as well.
“Keep watch on my boy,” she said, squeezing, and Mercy closed her eyes. It had been a long time since she’d been hugged by a woman, and the tiny female’s arms around her left her wanting. “He’s big and strong, and if you wanna be his woman, you have to be too. I like you.”
And, as quickly as she’d appeared, his mother swayed out of the room, winking at her son before shutting the door. Plopping back down on the couch, Mercy wished she hadn’t drank all of her Crown. She could really go for another. Or four. Or the bottle, either way.
“Mom likes you,” Tonka told her, peering down at her, and she raised an eyebrow. “Don’t look at me like that. It takes one helluva tough bitch to do what you just did.”
“What, word vomit all over myself, while covered in my boyfriend’s jizz?”
“You said I wasn’t your boyfriend.”
“Pfft,” she sounded, waving a hand as if to wipe her words away. “You know what I mean.”
“I do, Mercy,” he said, kneeling before her and leaning forward, placing a soft kiss on her lips. “And any woman who can word vomit to my mom, wearing my jizz and my clothes, will be my girlfriend. Just you wait. Now come on.” Standing, he extended a hand to her. “Let’s shower and get to work. So much for our nap. I guess sex and an impromptu meet-the-parent was more important.”
“The sex, yes. Could’ve done without meeting your mom,” Mercy muttered, mortified, and quickly realized how her words sounded. “Don’t get me wrong, your mom is lovely.”
“I know what you mean,” Tonka told her, laughing as he guided her back toward his room, past his bed, and to the shower. “Solo?”
Mercy shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Come, I want to wash you. Least I can do, since I dirtied you.”
“You can dirty me anytime you want,” she told him, meaning it.
13
Chapter Thirteen
Mercy and Tonka showered together, mostly platonically. He kept his word and washed her, taking great care to ensure the remnants of their lovemaking were cleaned from her skin. She’d been unable to keep her hands off him, but even as desire had stirred in her once more, and clearly in him as well, they’d abstained. Not for lack of want, but because there were other things that needed to be done. There would be plenty of time later, or so Tonka had reassured her when she pouted at the thought of not taking advantage of him.
Once out of the water and dried, she’d dressed. The newly purchased clothes fit like a dream — skinny black jeans with holes at the knees paired with the black snake tank Tonka had picked out for her. The straps of the
tank crossed in the back, the fabric loose in all the right places, and she’d been surprised to find a black sports bra amongst the bras and panties he’d purchased as well. It had the same design and a part of her idly wondered if that was why he’d picked it up… to match. Nightmare Before Christmas socks followed, and her boots.
She used the brush Tonka handed her to detangle her wet hair, not bothering with finding a hair dryer. In the New Mexico heat it was just going to get messed up anyway, and, in the garage, there was no one she felt she needed to impress. Despite that, she couldn’t help but wish Siobhan would come back now. Now, when she was dressed and ready to take on the world, or her lover’s mother. Rather than feeling like a used condom, she felt more like herself. Much better to discuss the ins and outs of her life, and relationship, or lack thereof, with the man who’d stood before her.
In his hands, Tonka held a shoulder rig, not much different from his own. It was black, looked to be made of Kevlar, and he held out one strap. As she shrugged into one side, he held up the other, before pulling at the buckles and adjusting the fit. It had to have belonged to a woman smaller than she was, because it was tight until he released some of the strap, and she sighed as it seated in place firmly, comfortably.
“It’s Artist’s,” he told her, answering her unasked question, and, not for the first time, she wondered how he knew her so well. He’d told her previously that the only time her face gave anything away was when she had a question, so that had to be it. No way could a man know someone so quickly otherwise.
Mercy was pleased to find that her piece fit just as comfortably under her arm. But, even then, it was still a holster, and it would get in the way while she worked. Perhaps not as badly as the thigh holster would’ve, which she appreciated the change, but in the way nonetheless. She voiced her concerns to him as he’d shrugged his cut on, covering his own.