by Juli Valenti
“That’s not your place to say, Tonka.”
“Well, it is. See, I own this joint. Bought it free and clear two days ago after your men killed Lock.”
Chucky beamed, showing his perfect teeth, a sinister, evil smile. “That was Coast. He did a good job with the whole thing… You really should keep track of your prospects better. It was entirely too easy for him to break in here, to take care of the shop keeper, and to take Mercy’s precious car.”
Mercy’s fists clenched. She’d known, just as they all had, that something had happened to her Chevelle. It was her Achilles heel, common knowledge for the entire town she’d grown up in. It was the only good fucking thing to have come from that entire place. Wyoming could have been completely wiped out and as long as her Chevelle remained standing at the end of it, and she would be happy. Chucky was smart in that regard; he’d killed Chey, breaking what was last of her heart that existed there. She had no kids, no pets, only her beloved car.
Instinct demanded she ask where it was, what they’d done with it, but her pride wouldn’t let her. To do so would admit that he’d struck the chord he already knew he had. Putting words to that gave him power, and she refused to ever do that. Chucky lived on a power trip, one he’d so often taken from her and everyone around her. This she wouldn’t give him.
So rather than acknowledge his stupid words, she sighed, shifting from foot to foot, her nails digging into her palms. Glancing at Tonka, she noted the tension in his shoulders, in his neck, the muscles there clenched, though his face was neutral. From the outside looking in, no one would ever know he was bothered.
“I’m getting bored here and I have cum running down my legs, Dad. Are you almost done?”
Two could play the game he was, only she was better at it, it seemed, judging by the color flooding his cheeks. Even from where she stood, she could see his teeth clench before he nodded, an unspoken decision made. It wasn’t going to be good.
“All right. If that’s how this is going to go, you’ll come by force, Mercedes.”
“I’ll die before I go back with you,” she swore, putting every ounce of strength she could muster in her voice. “And it’s Mercy. Don’t forget, you’ll find none in me when this is over.”
“So be it,” her father said, the lines in his forehead smoothing as he turned to his men. “Take her.”
His order rang out loud in the garage and, obediently, men stepped toward her. Tonka’s arm snaked out and all but threw her backward, behind him. She stood almost encased, the truck to her back, he in front of her, the metal toolbox rooted in place at her side. Understanding dawned on her quickly, dampening the frustration she’d had about being manhandled. He’d moved her with calculation, in direct reach of both her gun and the cell phone.
She grabbed the former first and thrust it at his open hand, before she grabbed the phone. It wasn’t ideal, she would’ve preferred to have the gun herself, to have the comfort of protection, but she knew that logically it was the best idea. Idly, and not for the first time, she wondered where his own piece was. He’d literally yelled at her not that long ago for not having hers within reach, and here he was without his. Hello, pot, meet kettle, she thought wryly, pressing a button on the phone and letting it ring. She kept the speaker off, not wanting to give anything away, and had chosen the one person she knew would answer over everything.
In the days that had passed, she’d gotten to know Artist. She knew who and how the woman operated, admiring in their similarities, and enjoying their differences. The VP’s woman was her own, and took great pride in her role within HR. She was also loyal to a fault, and answered the phone regardless of the day or time, if someone within the club were to call her. And, in that moment, she figured she could act as an honorary member.
Mercy could faintly hear the sound of Artist’s voice as she answered. Even from where she held the phone at her thigh she could hear the woman’s tone change as Mercy didn’t speak. If she and Tonka were going to get out of this alive, she was going to have to be smart. She never underestimated the decisions of her father, and she knew he’d kill her if he had to, but he didn’t want to ruin his property. Mercy was more worried about Tonka. He was just another biker, just another body to take lead in the president’s eyes, and that was not okay.
Not only would she willingly die rather than go back to Sheridan, but she would apparently die to keep Tonka alive too. Replacing the phone, still connected with Artist on the other line, on the toolbox, she grabbed a wrench and a screwdriver before planting her feet.
Idly she wished she had a better plan, wish she’d known Tonka a little longer to assess his fighting skills and his self-defense. Sure, she knew he was strong, knew he could take care of himself, but this was going to be different. They were wildly outnumbered, and massively under armed.
Unfortunately she didn’t have much more time to think. Tonka’s arm was raised, and three slugs were fired before she could debate further. Mercy watched as Dodge went down, followed by two men she didn’t recognize. But more were coming and he only had four more rounds. It was nowhere near enough.
“Get to the office, Mercy,” Tonka murmured, not taking his eyes off the men approaching them, their movements slower than the others. The bodies of their fallen brothers were making them cautious, now knowing that neither she nor he were going to back down.
“We’ll be cornered,” she told him, cringing at how stupid she sounded. They already were cornered.
“I had it stocked today, when everything else was being put in,” he informed her, and she raised an eyebrow, but didn’t ask the questions she wanted to. She didn’t have to, because he continued, “I knew we’d need it.
“When I say,” he fired, another SL body falling to the ground. Three left. “Jump that toolbox and go.”
“I can’t leave you here alone.” The last thing she wanted was to leave the man she’d grown to care about alone with the SL men. There were so many, with more and more coming in. For every one he took down, it seemed three more appeared.
“You won’t. I need us both armed, and I need us both taking these motherfuckers out. Please, go. Now!”
17
Chapter Seventeen
Tonka’s instructions were clear, loud, booming through the garage. And as much as she wanted to argue, to remain by his side, she knew it was worthless. He’d been right — a wrench and a screwdriver would do absolutely nothing in that situation.
Listening to him, she bolted, jumping the toolbox with ease. She sprinted toward the office, hearing loud footsteps following her, and she was momentarily grateful it was she the men wanted. Her heart raced in her chest as she heard another round fire, but she couldn’t turn to look. Her mind prayed that it was Tonka who’d fired, and not an SL, and she was surprised the Lawmen hadn’t already been shooting. And, just as she’d thought it, a hailstorm of gunfire began, shots being fired from what sounded like all directions. Way more than what Tonka had in his clip, for sure.
Angry tears began to sting at her eyes, but she ignored them. She couldn’t do anything more than what she was doing. The door to the office was unlocked and she barreled through it, grateful when she found a small arsenal laid out on the desk. What was once covered in receipts and garbage, now held multiple handguns, a couple automatic rifles Mercy wasn’t even sure exactly what they were, and a shotgun. Extra clips rested beside them and she grabbed the first gun she could find, turning on instinct and firing at the man who entered the room. He dropped to the ground, her aim true, and she grinned internally but only for a moment. There was no time.
She set the 9mm down, only so long as it took her to slip two more into the waist of her pants, and sling the automatic across her back. All the clips she could stuff in her pocket were next. As she turned she found another Static Law stepping over the body of his brother and she snatched the gun back, aiming to fire. He got a round off first, making purchase in her left shoulder. She gritted her teeth, the angry tears that had been lingering
in her eyes beginning to fall. But still she got her shot off, and watched him fall to the ground alongside the other. Her left hand was numb but she was grateful it wasn’t her dominant arm.
Ignoring the fire radiating through her arm, she burst back out from the office, letting three more bullets fly as she moved. Bodies stopped, hesitated, fell, but she didn’t take the time to see if they were dead. She had to get to Tonka. By now he had to be out of ammo, and she worried she’d find him dead on the ground like the others.
Mercy found him quickly, ducking behind the toolbox, the wrench she’d discarded in his hand before he stood and threw it at another of the bikers. She couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped her as she passed the automatic rifle to him.
“Never bring a wrench to a gunfight,” she told him, joking to keep from sobbing, grateful he was still alive.
“Well, gotta work with what I’ve got,” he said, accepting the weapon and snatching one of the pistols from her pants. He nodded to her arm. “You’re bleeding, babe.”
“Shit!” she exclaimed, turning and firing at the SL that had appeared behind them. She placed her back to his, knowing they had to find a better place to be. While the truck and toolbox had worked for a little bit, there was very little chance they would be able to defend themselves if this continued. There was nowhere to go; they were stuck, and the shitstorm was all around them.
“Good job,” he told her, nodding at her arm again. “Your arm.”
“I’m aware, Tonka, but we have way bigger fucking problems right now than the stains I may be making on the concrete floor. Besides, oil will cover it eventually. I have a plan,” she told him, knowing he wasn’t going to like it. But it was the best she had. Before he could ask any questions, she stood, her slugged arm hanging limply at her side.
Gunfire slowed, but didn’t stop, and another slug hit her, right above where the last had made purchase. She cringed, preparing for the sting, the hurt of it hitting her, but she felt nothing. That’s probably not good, she thought, lifting her good arm and firing at the Law who’d fired last. Satisfaction filled her as he fell, and she came face to face with her father.
Tonka was grabbing at her leg, demanding that she duck, to get out of the line of fire, but she refused. That was why she hadn’t told him what she was going to do — his instincts were to protect her. But like she’d told him before, she could protect herself.
Moving around the toolbox, she watched as Chucky Sheridan held a hand up, and the gunfire stopped. She walked toward him, watching as his eyes lit up, satisfaction filling his expression. He thought he won, thought she was giving up, and, to an extent, he was right.
Blood dripped from her hand as she moved, the pistol in her other hand gripped tightly, her fingers whitening from the effort. She refused to give in, to give up, to allow herself to be unarmed.
“I knew you’d see things my way, Mercedes.”
“I told you already,” she said, raising her arm and pointing the pistol. She fired without blinking, surprise flashing across his face before he fell to the ground. “It’s Mercy.”
The remaining Static Law men froze, disbelieving, but Mercy wasn’t convinced. She kicked at his foot, and when he didn’t move, she nodded. Turning, she was about to fight her way back to Tonka, if she needed to, before she thought better of it. She fired two more shots into Chucky, one in the heart and one in the head. The Boogeyman always came back, and she’d be damned if that was the case. Chuck Sheridan’s reign over her was over. Nightmares can always be morphed into good dreams once awake.
Harley was the first to move, his gun still in his hand as he faced her. If her math was right, she had one more round in her own handgun, and she’d have to make it count if need be. There was no way she’d have the dexterity to swap out clips, seeing as she couldn’t move her arm, or feel it at all. It was dead, nonworking, merely hanging on. A pool of blood on the concrete at her feet, a mixture of both her father’s blood and hers, caught her attention, but she shook her head. Her vision was growing fuzzy, but they weren’t done.
Memories, faded on the edges, filled her. Of Harley helping her with her makeup when she was eight, after he’d bought her the kit as a gift. Her crying after her father had forbid her from walking home from school, forcing her to get on the back of a brother’s bike. She’d hated those days, and everyone in the entire school had given her a hard time, calling her a murderer under their breaths, yet never to her face. No one ever said things to her face, because of the repercussions.
She shook her head again, trying to clear the images taking root, but it didn’t work. Chey’s face came next, his innocent, sassy face. Chey had a secret crush on her kindest brother, who had sort of treated her like a person… at least until she’d become a woman and it was harder to ignore. Once she’d grown boobs, her features changing from that of a little girl, things had changed. He was still kind, but it had morphed. Mercy was sure it had something to do with the fact that men took notice of her. Or the fact that she looked just like him, or maybe her mom, she wasn’t sure exactly, just that it was all different after that.
He’d been one of the firsts to raise a flag about her garage. She’d thought she’d gotten lucky, that her father wouldn’t have found out immediately that she’d bought it and set it up. But it was this brother, her pseudo-twin, who ratted on her to her father. That day Chucky had come with other Static Law, all of them armed with sledgehammers. They’d done thousands of dollars’ worth of damage and never blinked an eye. Harley had struck the first blow. But he wouldn’t strike the last.
“I will kill you, Harley,” she told him, her words sounding tired as she moved toward him, closing the distance between the two of them. Even she was surprised with how confident her words came out, her vision blurring as she forced herself to ignore it. “Blood is just a liquid that is colored red. You were the closest thing I had to a real father, but all that is shit here. I wouldn’t go with him, and I won’t go with you, now.
“You can make your choice — take your brothers and get the fuck out of here. Or you all can die. It’s your choice. Personally, I’m a big cheerleader of option number two. But, well, who am I to dictate someone’s path in life… ironic that.”
The roar of motorcycles sounded amongst the hesitant calm in the garage. Apparently HR was coming to their rescue, and within moments, dozens of familiar, welcome, faces came into view. Artist, Shakespeare, Fallen, and more. The prospect who’d helped her before, Nature, also appeared. And then more people she didn’t recognize. They all wore cuts of some sort, and it took her a moment to realize it was more than just Hells Redemption riding in on a blaze of glory. Bishops Reign had jumped in as well, cementing the alliance between the two newly married clubs. Mercy was idly pleased she didn’t see Poet or Titan in the midst of them all… She deserved a vacation, too. Maybe once everything was over she’d take one too.
Almost as if in slow motion, Mercy watched as Harley turned, his gun raised. Without thinking, she raised her arm and fired, her last round making purchase in her brother’s gun arm. It was a wounding blow, not a killing one, forcing him to drop his gun loudly to the ground. The similarity of them both wasn’t lost on her. She had a wound in the shoulder as well, though it was her non-shooting arm. The Law needed to spend more time in the gun range…like she had.
“You’re out of rounds,” he told her, his hand reaching for his shoulder and she laughed.
“Maybe, but I’m not alone.”
“Neither am I. I have plenty of fucking backup, if you haven’t noticed. You’re still surrounded, Mercy, and my men would love nothing more than to fucking kill you, to avenge the death of the lives you took, including that of a legend. One word from me, the new SL pres, and you and all these men are dead.”
Tonka appeared at her side and took her pistol, before snatching the last one from her waistband and handing it to her. She flipped the safety off.
“I loved you, Harley. And I’m sorry,” she told him.
&n
bsp; Lifting her good arm, she fired again, this time through the side of his head. His body fell atop her father’s, blood and brain spraying from the impact of the slug. A tinge of sadness rang through her. She hadn’t wanted him dead, but so long as Static Law was alive and well, with any of her bloodline running the club, she would be in danger. She’d been called the princess of SL, and despite her protests, her refusal of the title, she was. And just like with royal lines, she would be considered a threat to all those who led the club. She still had more brothers who would be coming after her, a rough fact she didn’t want to think about. But at least here in this situation she would fight what she could.
I should have asked them what happened to my Chevelle, she thought, mentally sighing in defeat. It was likely her car was gone. The fact that that was what was getting to her, the loss of her car, and not the blood dripping from her arm or the bodies on the ground, was funny. She laughed, unable to help herself, loudly throughout the room.
“What are you laughing at, you stupid fucking bitch,” came from one of the remaining Law. Many of them had backed up, or put their guns back in their holsters…They were the smart ones. Sort of. Smart would have been never coming to Socorro, New Mexico. Smart would have been never patching into the biggest bloodbath of a motorcycle club, even if it wasn’t them causing the ultimate bloodbath.
Tired, bleeding, and annoyed by the entire situation and the lack of her car, she raised her pistol and shot him. Her aim was off, and she hit him in the chest, but didn’t kill him, the loss of blood clearly taking its toll on her.
“Shut the fuck up,” she told him, turning in a slight circle to take in the rest of the Lawmen. “All of you. I’ll kill each and every one of you, one by fucking one. Try me. This is a lesson to be learned — never underestimate the power of a fucking woman.”