Chapter One
You must fall before you can rise.
With his fingers curled around her delicate skin and the fragile frame of her neck, he increased the pressure.
“Harder! Do it harder,” she hissed at him.
Mercy had a feeling she wasn’t talking about fucking her. Fuck no, she was one of “those.”
His grip twitched but he didn’t do as she demanded, instead he pretended to misunderstand her demand and slammed his dick deeper. His pounding rhythm became mindless. Because that’s what she was, just another mindless fuck.
One that had a freaky side.
He seemed to attract those types of bitches.
Random snatch he picked up at the bar. A woman who saw him as a freak and had someone like him on her fuck-it bucket list.
Or one who thought they could bring the life back to his eyes. They saw him as a challenge.
That last kind he tried to avoid since they became the challenge. Especially when it came to scraping them off at the end of the night.
But nights like this were typical for him. Him doing the using, and him being used.
Just busting a nut into some, what the DAMC brothers called “strange.”
No numbers exchanged.
No after-fuck cuddling.
No deep conversation.
Hell, he didn’t even bother to ask their names.
And if they asked him, he just told them his name was John.
It didn’t matter if he was John, Joe or Jack. They just wanted to fuck a cold-hearted, dead-eyed, scarred freak. They got off on that shit. And he let them for the moments it took for him to get off.
Then it was over.
A few nights later, it would happen again. New night, new woman.
Rinse. Repeat.
But the one he was sliding his dick into now?
Fuck. Total fucking freak.
He realized she was still talking. Why didn’t she shut the fuck up?
“C’mon. Show me what you got! Don’t be a pussy. You look like you’d like it rough. Squeeze harder.”
Mercy adjusted his grip on her neck, his fingers curling tighter into her flesh, and he pumped his hips faster and harder.
She was just a “her” to him because if she had told him her name at the bar earlier, he hadn’t paid attention. Or even fucking cared.
“Pretend I’m the enemy, soldier, and your life’s on the line.”
Yeah, bitch, if you were, you wouldn’t be breathing or flapping those gums.
“That’s it, fucker. Give it to me like you mean it.”
He did his best not to sigh out loud.
“Fuck me hard while you tell me how you got those nasty scars. I want to hear every detail.”
Since she could still talk, he apparently wasn’t squeezing hard enough.
But choking her out or telling her about his past was never going to happen. Just like he was never going to end up in this bitch’s bed again.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, she just out and out sucker punched him right in the face. His head jerked back from the impact, and his body went solid. His hips stilled, and his eyes met hers.
Her brown eyes surrounded in thick mascara widened, and her red lipsticked mouth became slack. He dropped his gaze to his fingers and realized he’d finally done what she asked for. Only now he could see the fear in her expression.
Total fucking panic.
When a gurgle bubbled up, he willed his fingers to release her and, luckily for her, his brain was still connected to his digits. He pulled out, rolled away from her, yanked off the condom and threw it on her now heaving stomach. He sat on the edge of the bed, a chill sweeping through him at how close she came to dying.
He could have killed her without a second thought.
Her voice was raspy when she demanded, “What are you doing? We didn’t finish!”
Mercy scrubbed a hand over his short hair.
“I’m not done, you... you monster!”
“You’re done,” he growled without looking at her.
“No, I’m not.”
He pushed to his feet, found his pile of clothes and methodically pulled them on, making sure his knife was still in the back pocket of his jeans and his .38 still tucked in his boot. The only weapons he usually carried into a bar since they were easily concealable.
He strapped on the ankle holster after yanking his cargo pants up over his hips.
Mercy ignored her sitting up in bed, glaring at him.
“Are you seriously leaving?”
He ignored that, too.
“Why are you taking what I said personal?”
He concentrated on lacing up his combat boots.
“Hey! I can have any guy I want!” she screamed as he straightened and focused on the door to his freedom. “Asshole! You ugly-ass freak! It was only a pity fuck!”
A few strides later, he was out of her apartment door and jogging down the steps. At the bottom, he hooked a right and saw his true love waiting for him under the halogen light.
His Harley. A Jag Jamison custom he paid a fortune for. But his sled was more steadfast and loyal than any female.
The only thing he appreciated more than his bike was his Terradyne Gurkha RPV. Every time he drove that sweet bitch, he got a hard-on.
As did other men simply by looking at it.
He had needed to relieve some tension tonight. And also to forget another female he’d had on the brain lately. One who would never be his.
Normally, there’d be two ways to relieve his pent-up frustration.
A round with the punching bag or an anonymous fuck. Tonight, the fucking didn’t work since his balls were still heavy and in need of some relief. Which meant he now had only one other option.
His fists.
****
With a grunt, he struck the well-used, patched-up heavy bag that hung in a dark corner of the warehouse with as much power behind it as he could. The impact jarred his bones and teeth. Not that he cared.
He adjusted his stance and put his weight behind the next strike as well. Sweat dripped off his brow, soaked his sleeveless tee both front and back, and mottled the concrete floor beneath him.
The exertion was just what he needed to get that bitch’s face, and words, out of his head. He needed to stop picking up females in bars and start looking elsewhere.
He just didn’t know where.
He thought of Jazz, and how he would’ve stopped his midnight trolling for her. But Crow had claimed her before he could, and the biker wasn’t giving her up without a fight.
Not that Mercy blamed him.
If he had that in his bed, he wouldn’t give her up without a fight, either. Fuck the fight, there would be total devastation before Mercy would let anyone else have what was his.
But Crow won her. Crow deserved her. Crow was right for her.
He saw that clearly now.
Still didn’t mean that Mercy liked the outcome.
But Jazz needed someone who could be softer with her than he could. Someone who could love her, which he wasn’t sure if he could love anyone anymore. It was a concept foreign to him. He might not even recognize it if it bit him in the ass.
And, truthfully, Jazz deserved to be treated like the treasure she was, which was how that pussy-assed Crow treated her.
Fucking motherfucker.
His upper lip curled, and with a grunt, he pounded the bag with a quick jab right, quickly followed by a left uppercut.
One of the overhead halogens lit up and Mercy squinted from the sudden brightness until his eyes adjusted. Once they did, he saw his boss lumbering in his direction. And like normal, he wasn’t alone.
His youngest daughter, Indigo, was tucked within his arms. That man didn’t go anywhere without at least one of his two baby girls glued to him. He took their safety to the extreme.
He pitied any guy wanting to date them when they got old enough.
“Brother,” D’s deep grumble was low, probably so he wouldn’t wake up a sleeping Indie. His dark brown eyes slid to the bag, then to Mercy’s hands.
Mercy glanced down at his clenched fists. He hadn’t bothered to wrap them, and now his knuckles were raw and bloody. Even a bit swollen.
He glanced over his shoulder. The bag had blood smears on it, too.
“I’ll clean it up, boss,” he muttered.
“Ain’t out here to talk about that.” Diesel adjusted Indie in his arms. “Got a job for you.”
Thank fuck. “Need to stay busy, D. This down time’s getting me torqued.”
“Know it. Know why. Got it.”
“Right. So, what is it?” When Diesel hesitated, Mercy frowned. “Don’t tell me it’s another douchebag football player. I’m not a fucking babysitter.”
“No.”
“An entitled celeb who shits out gold turds and has an assistant who cleans his ass with handwoven silk wipes?”
“No.”
Mercy’s buzz of getting an assignment quickly turned to shit. “I’m not liking this.”
“Got a package for you to move.”
Mercy lifted a brow. “From where?”
“Vegas.”
He grimaced. He fucking hated Vegas. A city of greed and overindulgence. Too many damn people, the press of bodies, the lights, the noise, the non-stop action. A good place to blend in. A bad place for his head.
“Delivered to where?”
“Safe house.”
His brows shot up. “We don’t have a safe house.”
“Not ours.”
“Whose?’
“Rich fucker. Gettin’ one set up. Get the package, deliver her to the fuckin’ house, an’ then go from there.”
“Her?” Oh fuck no. “Send Steel.”
D shook his head. “Sendin’ you.”
“He’s up for the next babysitting job.”
“It’s yours.”
Mercy asked through clenched jaws, “This have to do with the shit that went down with Jazz?”
D cocked a brow at him.
Fuck. It was. “Is she the rich fucker’s piece?”
“Don’t know. Don’t fuckin’ care. Payin’ big. Just gotta keep her safe ‘til he handles the threat.”
He handles the threat? “Wait, we don’t even get a fucking piece of the fun?”
“Ain’t gettin’ paid for that. They wanna pay for that, you get a fuckin’ piece of it.”
“What’s the threat?”
“Soon as I get that shit, gonna email the deets to you.”
Mercy snorted and cocked a brow at D.
Diesel scowled. “Jewelee’s gonna email it to you.”
That was more like it.
But even so, he wasn’t liking this at all. Walking into a job without all the details prior? “When?”
“Soon as she gets it.”
“No, when do I have to fly out?”
“Tomorrow, first thing. Gonna set you up at one of his casinos for the night ‘til we get the details an’ further instructions. Got me?”
He was liking the sound of this job less and less. “Fucker owns casinos?”
“Fucker owns a lot of shit. Sure a lot of his businesses ain’t legit.”
“So, this job is a possible dirty side piece?”
“Or main piece. Who fuckin’ knows. Who fuckin’ cares? Keep ‘er ass safe. Bonus in it for you at the end if you keep ‘er in one piece. You don’t, we still get paid. But the bonus might be worth you keepin’ her breathin’.”
“I can do whatever needed to protect her, right?”
D smirked. “Fuck yeah.”
Mercy grinned, too. Maybe this job wouldn’t be so bad after all. How hard was it to watch one female and deliver her breathing at the end of the job?
Diesel’s nostrils suddenly flared and his face twisted. “Fuck,” he muttered, staring down at his daughter.
A second later, Mercy caught a whiff of what he was smelling. “Fuck,” he agreed.
“Gotta find Jewelee.”
Mercy pinned his lips together as he watched D, his biker boss and the Sergeant at Arms for the Dirty Angels MC, lumber back toward where he came from.
Then he realized he never asked how long this job was going to take.
Fuck.
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