Guts & Glory: Mercy (In the Shadows Security Book 1)

by Jeanne St. James

That’s why they all worked for Diesel. Unlike their boss, D’s Shadows all came from highly specialized military backgrounds and were extremely loyal to each other. But it was a brotherhood just like an MC, and Diesel understood the need to have each other’s back. D’s club brothers had each other’s six the same way, with the same type of fierce loyalty.

  Though, when it came to their women and children, it was even more intense. And that might surprise a lot of people on the outside looking in.

  You didn’t fuck with a biker’s family. Blood or otherwise.

  He watched his own “brothers” rise from the table, gather their missing clothes and pull them back on.

  Brick was still trying to work Rissa with his charm, taking his time and making a show out of pulling up his jeans. Acting like he was struggling to tuck his dick in because it was too big. It wasn’t.

  “...your number.”

  Mercy caught the last of what Brick was saying. Did he just ask Rissa for her number?

  “She don’t have her cell phone,” he announced, like Brick was going to care. Mercy pushed away from the table and stood.

  Rissa made an exaggerated sad face, and that was goddamn cute, too. “No, I don’t. The boss says I’m not allowed to have any outside contact. Even with my sister.”

  “You got a sister?” Hunter asked, jerking his T-shirt over his head.

  “Yes, Londyn lives out here on the east coast. She’s probably worried why I haven’t called her in the past couple days.”

  “She’ll get over it,” Mercy grumbled as he pulled on his own jeans.

  Rissa rolled her eyes.

  Brick smirked. “Still... If you give me your number, next time I’m in Vegas we could hook up. Get a drink or something.”

  Or something. “No.” Mercy grabbed both overflowing ashtrays and dumped them into the nearby trashcan as Walker collected the playing cards.

  He grabbed the remaining wine and the half-kicked bottle of Jack, shoving the whiskey at Steel as he left. Mercy did not want that shit left behind.

  He’d be too tempted to hit it and he was on a job.

  He was on a job, he reminded himself once more.

  And that job was in the middle of flirting with Brick.

  For fuck’s sake.

  Chapter Eight

  Why did Mercy care if she gave her number to Brick? The guy was way more personable than him. He said they wouldn’t be having sex again, so what was the big deal?

  And this Brick was hot. Like smoking hot. Like her panties might have become a little damp type of hot. If she was wearing any. Which she wasn’t.

  “Want me to call your sister for you? Let her know you’re okay?”

  “No,” Mercy said again, shooting Brick a look. “Phone might be bugged.”

  Brick stared at him for a minute, his face becoming way too serious for Parris’s liking. “That bad?”

  Mercy gave him a sharp nod. “Yeah.”

  Her sister’s phone might be bugged? She felt the blood drain from her face. “Is my sister in danger?”

  “Just precautionary.”

  “That’s not what it sounds like. Does Michael know?”

  “He’s got an eye on her. She’ll be fine.”

  Holy crap! Did her sister even know someone was watching over her? Of course, she didn’t. She was just going about her life, clueless that she could be in danger. “Ryan...”

  Brick’s head snapped around, his blue eyes slid from Parris to Mercy and back, then he scraped fingers through his hair.

  With a frown, Mercy pointed a finger at her. “Stay here and listen this time.” Then he jerked his chin at Brick and they both headed toward the front door, which slammed a few seconds later.

  Parris pursed her lips and stared at the deserted table. Brick had been the last to leave, but the table wasn’t empty. It was a disaster area. Spilled cigar ashes, ring marks on the table from beer cans, dirty glasses, and her large pile of chips remained behind, among crumbs from some of the snacks they’d been eating.

  Plus, the room still reeked of cigar. With a sigh, she pushed the slider open farther and stepped out onto the large, wide furniture-free deck.

  The cloudless night was still a little too warm, and since there were no nearby neighbors and the deck faced a patch of undeveloped woods, when she looked up she could see a million bright stars.

  She wondered where her sister was at that very moment. Maybe even looking at the same stars. She was Londyn’s rock. To be cut off from her younger sister... And worse, unknowingly put her in harm’s way...

  She worried.

  She had left the slider open to air out the house a little, even though the air conditioning was running. Maybe it would push some of that acrid smell out. She felt sorry for the new owners. Hopefully they didn’t mind the horrible stink of cigars.

  She didn’t hear him, but instead sensed his presence behind her. It still amazed her that a man that big could move so quietly.

  “Where’d you learn to play poker?”

  While he wasn’t touching her, he was so close his heat still seared her back. Her nipples tightened and her pussy clenched hard. She had no idea why. He was miserable and emotionally unavailable and didn’t even want to have a little sex for fun. And she just spent the evening with four other very handsome, muscular, almost-naked men who probably would’ve been more than willing.

  At least she had plenty of fodder for her date with her vibrator later.

  Hell, she might not even need her vibrator if he wasn’t such a Debbie Downer. Womp, womp.

  She sighed. “College. Though, Michael taught me to excel at it. When he was old enough he became a dealer at one of the older casinos up on Freemont Street. That’s where he got the start to his empire.”

  “As a poker dealer?”

  Did he really care? And if not, why was he pretending to be interested? “Black Jack. The man was on a mission to become a somebody. And he did.” Michael was a driven man. He worked his way up from almost living on the streets to owning several successful casinos. He was a true rags-to-riches story. However, now she knew it wasn’t only hard work that helped him rise to the top.

  “A somebody who ended up in bed with the wrong folk.”

  She couldn’t argue that. Unfortunately.

  She turned and leaned against the railing. The light from the kitchen through the open doorway illuminated only one side of his scarred face making him look not only dangerous, but brutal.

  Like a cold-blooded killer.

  Neither said a word for a few minutes. They only stared at each other in the dark.

  “You shouldn’t be out here,” he finally said, his voice low and rough, causing a ripple to go through her.

  “I know. Rule number four hundred and fifteen. Thou shall not step outside of one’s jail cell.”

  “Just trying to keep you safe.”

  “Yes, I’m your job. You’ve made that clear more than once.” She tilted her head as she stared up at him. “What’s with the bonus?”

  “We need to get inside.”

  Oh no. She could be just as bossy as him. “No, you need to answer my question. You’re probably used to people taking orders from you, but—”

  “Rissa,” he cut her off.

  “What?” she huffed.

  “Shut the fuck up.” His order held a tinge of impatience, but it wasn’t harsh. No, his tone was softer.

  “What’s with the bonus?” she asked again. She wasn’t spineless. She wasn’t going to collapse with the vapors if he got angry with her. Yes, there was an undercurrent of danger, some violence even. But for the most part, he was a man who knew how to keep his cool. There were times he could be pushed to the point of exploding, but she figured those times were few and far between.

  This man liked control. Craved it.

  And letting anger take over was the opposite of that.

  “Get a bonus if you’re still able to run that mouth of yours at the end of this job.”

  She pursed her
lips for a few seconds as she let his words sink in. “But you get paid even if I’m not alive at the end of this job?”

  “Yeah. Getting paid whether you live or die.”

  Damn.

  “But the bonus is worth keeping you breathing.”

  Well, that was reassuring.

  “Need to get inside. Could be eyes in the woods.”

  A shiver shot down Parris’s spine, causing goosebumps to break out all over her body. He knew how to ruin a moment.

  Womp.

  Womp.

  “I just needed some fresh air, but now you’ve creeped me out.”

  “Good.”

  Parris rolled her eyes, though she was pretty sure he couldn’t see it.

  With an exaggerated, very loud sigh that he certainly couldn’t miss, she headed back inside with him on her heels. He slid the glass door closed, locked it, jammed a piece of wood in the bottom track, and drew the curtains closed.

  “You think there’s somebody out in those woods watching us?”

  “No. But it got you to listen.”

  Her mouth dropped open and she spun on him, only to gasp as his body hit her with a force that knocked her not only backward, but the air out of her lungs. He fisted her ponytail, yanked her head back and took her mouth before she could even catch her breath.

  A whimper slithered up her throat and into his mouth as his tongue tangled roughly with hers. Her eyes watered at how hard he was pulling on her hair. Her hand went automatically to his stomach and instead of pushing him away, trying to break free, she fisted her fingers into the soft, worn cotton and held him there.

  He stepped forward, forcing her backward until her ass hit the table, then before she could react, he had her spun around, bent over the table, her yoga pants ripped down far enough to give him access and he was inside her with one hard thrust.

  With one hand on her back, pinning her down, and the other still fisting her hair, he slammed against her over and over. The only noise in the room was their ragged breathing, his deep grunts and the slap of their skin.

  While she didn’t do anything to discourage him because she wanted this as much as he did, she also didn’t encourage him with words or actions. She let herself be used because that’s what he needed at that very moment.

  This wasn’t about sex; it was all about regaining control for him. Over her. Over himself. He must have been unraveling all night. And he was doing his best to gather those loose threads into some semblance of order.

  Come morning, she may have bruises on her hips from the edge of the table, her scalp might be sore, but she didn’t care. Hell no.

  She’d never been with anyone this rough before. With someone who treated her like she was unbreakable. Never.

  She needed that right now as much as he did. She’d been doing what he did naturally, what was second nature. Hiding.

  She was hiding her worry, her fear, her concern over herself, for Michael. And now for her sister.

  She tried to be brave. To pretend that the grave situation she was in didn’t bother her.

  But it did. And she couldn’t ignore it any longer. The look exchanged between Brick and Mercy said it all.

  “That bad?”

  “Yeah.”

  Obviously, as all former military—and it also sounded like they were all Special Forces—these guys had seen shit, been through shit. But she had a feeling for Brick, a former Navy SEAL, a former sniper, for goodness’ sake, to ask that question was telling. Then the concerned look on his face made it even more worrisome.

  If Mercy thought it was “that bad,” then it was way worse than she thought. Michael had kept things from her. She realized it now. Not just about her situation, but his business dealings as well. Only she never realized just how much.

  Michael owed her nothing. He didn’t answer to her.

  He was a powerhouse in Vegas. Hell, most likely in all of Nevada. But she didn’t realize just how powerful he was. She thought it was just due to his wealth, but there was so much more behind it.

  Probably things she didn’t even want to know.

  Only now, those things were like an octopus’s tentacles, trying to reach out to touch her, wrap her up and drag her under.

  As she came back to the here and now, to what was going on in that very room, on that very table, she pushed the rest of that aside.

  For now.

  Because now... she was getting what she asked for.

  Not quite in the manner she had hoped, but maybe in the only way he could give it to her.

  He was emotionally crippled. She doubted he could let himself be tender or caring. Having sex was just like any other mission he’d been on.

  A means to an end.

  A way to get it done. Over with. No lingering. No whispered words. No passionate kisses.

  Sex, like control, was a tool for him. To cope. To keep the gunpowder that was tightly packed in that stick of dynamite from exploding.

  To keep it from destroying him.

  She could help him. Not just with the sex. But with disassembling that explosive device.

  It would take time, persistence and caution.

  He would need to not shut her down, shut her out.

  But he would.

  He would resist her at every turn.

  However, what was happening on that table showed her that he might not be able to resist for very long.

  He intrigued her.

  And she was affecting him in some way, too.

  His pace had slowed, their skin was no longer slapping loudly, his grunts had softened, so she let herself relax a little more. Now he was having sex and not just taking back control.

  Because he now had himself under control. Maybe just barely, but it was there.

  His fingers released her hair and curled around her hip instead, supporting her. The hand on her back was no longer pressing her to the table, instead it was sliding up her spine to the back of her neck. His fingers traced the bruise on her shoulder, the one he’d left behind yesterday. Good thing it only ended up being a slight discoloration and not a bite mark, or that would have sparked a whole bunch of questions from his “team.”

  Questions he would’ve wanted to avoid.

  But him touching that spot, with more tenderness than she expected, made her remember the exact moment he bit her and once again, just that memory made her clench tightly around him.

  Suddenly her hips were jerked back from the edge of the table and he was free of her. But neither of them was finished. Not even close.

  Would he just leave her hanging like that?

  Yes, he would.

  He reached down and yanked her yoga pants back up over her hips, then jerked his jeans up over his own.

  He raked fingers through his hair. Fingers she swore held a tremble.

  “Ryan,” she whispered, searching his face. Unfortunately, it gave her nothing.

  A complete blank. His eyes shuttered. His body stiff.

  “Rissa, go upstairs.”

  She reached out to touch him, but he stepped back. “Ryan—”

  “Rissa, go the fuck upstairs,” he roared and spun away. His whole body heaved, and his raw voice was forced when he ordered, “Go the fuck upstairs now.” He turned his head, not enough to look at her, but enough so she could see his profile. A muscle flexed in his jaw. “Now!”

  He needed to talk this out. He was so used to burying shit, tightly tamping it all down like that gunpowder.

  But dynamite was volatile.

  He needed to learn a better way to deal with his shit. Those demons he fought. Whatever they were.

  But now he was shut down, closed off.

  There was no point in beating her head against a wall with him.

  She felt filthy. Not because of what he did, but because she’d been pinned to the dirty table. She had cigar ashes and crumbs stuck to her damp skin.

  Without another word, she headed toward the stairs. She needed a shower anyway. She wasn’t going upstairs be
cause he ordered her to. Fuck him.

  She was doing it because she needed to rinse the debris off her skin.

  Womp freaking womp.

  Parris laid in bed, staring up at nothing. Her room was dark. The house was quiet. She leaned over and picked up her e-reader off the nightstand where it was plugged in to charge, hit the power button and looked at the time. 2:00.

  She never heard him come upstairs, but that didn’t mean anything.

  Hell, he could’ve been standing outside her door after she showered and dug out BOB, closed her eyes and finished what he’d started.

  Twice. Because when she caught her breath after the first orgasm, she did one more for the hell of it.

  Funny, in those fantasies, Mercy wore a smile and his gray eyes were warm when he looked down at her and made love to her like she was the best thing since sliced bread.

  Fantasy is freaking right.

  Anyway, she hoped he was listening in. She didn’t bother to muffle the sounds she made each time she came. In fact, she made sure she was extra loud. Nor did she care if he heard the hum of her little powerhouse of a vibrator bringing her to that point. Twice.

  She had even considered a third time.

  She thought having two orgasms would help her sleep. It didn’t.

  Hell, he owed her an orgasm.

  At least one.

  You don’t start things like that, get a woman’s hopes up, and then pull out and pull up your freaking jeans. Just like that. Tuck away the goods and leave her hanging.

  Nope.

  She blew out a breath as she touched her shoulder where the mark remained of his bite.

  He owed her.

  He not only cock-blocked Brick from getting her number but didn’t finish what he started.

  That was not acceptable.

  She shoved the covers off her now overheated body and dropped her feet to the floor, staring at her closed bedroom door.

  Did she dare?

  He probably wasn’t someone to wake up unexpectedly. He was the kind of guy who would lash out when startled from his sleep. Was it worth the risk?

  She stood, left her pajama bottoms on the end of the bed where she threw them earlier, and took determined strides to the door. Yanking it open, she rushed down the dark hallway in just her panties and cami to the master bedroom on the other side of the house.