Fear engulfed her as she met his gaze. Not because his gray eyes were burning hot, unlike their normal ice-cold silver, but because she worried that the ancient chair wouldn’t be able to hold their combined weight. It was bad enough when the bed crashed to the floor, the chair collapsing could maim them.
She planted her bare toes on the floor to help support her weight and, not breaking his gaze, began to slowly rise and lower herself. How deep he was before didn’t even compare to how it was now. It was to the point that she couldn’t put all her weight on him because it would be too much to bear. Instead, she found a rhythm and would only lower herself to right before the point where she couldn’t take any more comfortably.
He leaned forward to press his face into her neck once more. She pulled back and murmured, “No.”
She didn’t want him hiding, because she was learning that was what it was for him. He was hiding whatever he was feeling, hiding his expression, hiding the intensity of his gaze. And she wanted to see it all.
He might feel exposed by being forced to face her like he was, but she wanted to be sure about his reactions. To see if she was affecting him in some way she never thought she would.
As she continued to lift and lower slowly, carefully, tenderly, she could see his struggle, his inner turmoil, how he beat back whatever was fighting to surface. She could see it in the sharpness of his jaw, the flare of his nostrils, the thinning of his lips. His fingers dug painfully into her ass, as if at any moment he would lift her up and off him and toss her to the side, so he could simply escape.
She hoped he didn’t.
She recognized the signs. They were clear. He wasn’t used to making a personal connection with a woman when he had sex with her. It made him uncomfortable.
But even so, his eyes exposed the truth. How hot he burned, how vulnerable he was becoming by keeping that connection. He wanted to break it.
But she refused to let him.
This was good for her. This was better for him.
She smoothed her palms up his broad chest, skimming over his pointed nipples, then she cupped his cheeks, forcing him to see her.
Really see her.
Keeping her eyes open, she leaned closer and brushed her lips lightly over his, keeping the kiss gentle, unlike any of their previous kisses. No, those had been more about him showing her that he was in control. He was in charge. He was the boss.
He needed to realize he didn’t always need to be hard and remote, that sometimes good things came in soft packages. Not everyone was an enemy to steel himself against. Not everyone was suspect or bad. Some people were good.
And he could let that good in without his whole psyche imploding.
She brushed her lips over his once more, then starting from the top, she pressed butterfly kisses along his scar, down his forehead, his eyebrow, the bridge of his nose, over his cheek, ending at the corner of his lip where it was pulled slightly upward.
She teased his lips with the tip of her tongue, then swept it along his bottom lip, before dipping it inside. She took his mouth again, but he didn’t kiss her back at first. He’d become tense, his jaw even tighter, his breathing sharp like it always became when she explored his scar.
The proof of his vulnerability.
She pulled back just enough to whisper “Ryan,” before pressing her lips against his once more, not giving up until finally... finally he began to kiss her back. They fed off each other, their tongues tangling, their breath mingled. She moaned into his mouth and he accepted it.
His hand slid from her ass up her spine, continued around her neck until his fingers tangled in her hair at the back of her head as he deepened the kiss while she rocked back and forth on his lap. Her clit was so sensitive that the more she rocked, the wetter she became and the closer she got to that precipice.
With a slight tilt of his head, he kissed her like she was the only thing keeping him alive. Like she was his lungs to provide him oxygen, his heart to keep his blood pumping. Spreading her fingers over both of his cheeks, she returned the kiss in a way to prove to him that he was alive.
He was very alive.
She rocked harder against him, driving him deeper and their kiss became more intense. After a few moments, they had to break it because neither could catch their breath. Even so, she didn’t stop, she continued to ride him as his one hand gripped her hair almost painfully. The fingers of his other hand traced along her crease and she cried out as he slipped his middle finger deep inside her.
She ground down on his cock and his finger, not caring that he was too deep. That slight edge of discomfort had her blood racing, her breath ragged and rapid, his name teetering on her lips. He wanted her to tell him when she was coming. He wanted her to use his name.
There was only one name she would utter when she came. It wasn’t Mercy.
“Ryan... I’m coming,” she said on a hitched breath.
And as she did so, his hips shot off the chair and he spilled deep inside her.
When he lowered himself back onto the seat, she draped herself over his chest and wrapped her arms around his neck.
With her cheek resting on his shoulder and his arms around her waist, they remained there quietly for a long time. Neither wanting to move, to break their connection. Neither wanting to let the other go.
Neither wanting to admit what had just changed between them.
Mostly because neither wanted to recognize the fact that things might have just gotten complicated.
He never should have slept with her and, after he fucked up the first time, he never should have repeated it. He didn’t just repeat it once, he repeated it so many times, he’d lost track.
Lines were blurring, he was losing his razor-sharp focus and he was fighting this addiction to a woman he should have no parts of.
That quicksand he stepped in was now strangling him, and he was desperately trying to claw his way out of it. But he had no grip, nothing to hang onto to haul himself out of the mire.
He just kept sinking.
The only problem was if he went under, things could get dark. And if things went that direction, he might become helpless to protect her.
He needed to remain on the surface, hold onto the light, keep focused on his mission. On the reason they were at this dump of a rental, the reason he’d met Rissa in the first place.
Somebody powerful wanted to keep her quiet. And the easy way to do that was to simply remove that voice by taking her out, silencing her forever.
He could not let that happen. What had started out as a paid job now became a personal mission.
What he needed to do was get one of the other Shadows to take over guarding her, so he could head back to Vegas to wreak havoc on Nicco and his men. He was even tempted to take out Paranzino as well, simply for the fact that he’d put Rissa in this dire situation in the first place.
Fuck that asshole. That man had her complete trust and he’d lied to her. Put her at risk without her knowledge because of how dirty he was.
He allowed that filth to touch Rissa.
Maybe now it was Mercy’s job to clean up that mess. It was time to strategize and take action. This inactivity, this waiting, was killing him and the only way to relieve that tension was to fuck Rissa. And every time he did so...
Right. Every time he did so, he was back sinking in that fucking quicksand.
Every time he was inside her, she somehow, in turn, wormed her way inside him.
But here he was, digging around inside the dark, musty, run-down shed, looking for shit to brace the bed, because even though he knew it was dangerous to keep fucking her, that was all he could think about.
Though the cabin wasn’t as bad as the abandoned house that the Shadow Warriors MC assholes had taken Kiki and Jazz to, it kept reminding him of that day they found the two women there.
He never told anyone, but he returned a couple times to sit in the middle of that house. A shack with no windows, peeling wallpaper, ratty carpet in spots, broken flo
or boards in others. He’d sit and focus on how those two fuckers needed to die so they’d never be able to touch another woman again.
So they’d never destroy another soul.
On his third trip back, he had brought an accelerant along with a lighter and burned that fucking place down to the ground, so it could never again be used for that purpose.
He watched it burn for hours, keeping an ear out for sirens. Luckily, they never came, since the house had been out in the middle of nowhere. Or maybe nobody cared enough to call it in.
Either way, it was satisfying and cleansing to watch it be reduced to ash.
Then he turned his attention to taking out the Warriors, one by one, until there was nothing left of them, either. He didn’t give one of those damn nomads any mercy. If they wore that MC’s colors, they were in his line of sight.
He’d do the same to Nicco and his men.
He’d throttle the threat until it no longer existed.
“What the fuck,” he muttered as he used his cell phone as a makeshift flashlight. He pointed it at the dark corners of the shitty shed and found nothing he could use. Not one fucking thing. They needed a place to sleep, or at least somewhere for Rissa to sleep, since he hardly slept. The threadbare couch wasn’t big enough for the two of them, and it smelled like cat piss.
He might just have to pry up some of the bricks from the front walk to stack as posts for the bed corners. He’d thought about throwing the mattress directly on the floor, but not only was it too thin, Rissa had shuddered at the thought of being the same level as the resident rodents.
No matter what, this whole thing was a major pain in his ass and it all needed to end soon.
His spine snapped straight, and he stilled as he heard a noise behind him. He hit the power button on his phone, letting it go dark.
He slowly and quietly turned as his eyes adjusted to the dark.
Just in time to see something long and metal swing in his direction.
Then he saw nothing.
Parris’s pulse was pounding so hard, it was trying to escape her throat. The blood rushing in her ears was making it difficult to hear.
She couldn’t see because she was blindfolded. She couldn’t speak because she was gagged. She couldn’t move because she was bound.
She had no idea where she was. She had no idea who had her.
Well, she knew who the men belonged to, she just never got a good look at them as they knocked her to the floor from behind, causing her skin to split open above her eye. Then they had her trussed up before she could get out a scream of warning to Mercy.
She closed her eyes behind the blood-soaked blindfold and remembered the last time she saw him. Mercy had been walking out the back door of the cabin in search of something to brace the bed up. All for her. So she could sleep. He went outside to do something for her and was probably now dead.
Because she couldn’t imagine she’d be in this position if he wasn’t dead or seriously injured. He wasn’t a man who would let any of this happen without a fight.
Unless they ambushed him.
If these men had achieved that, then they’d found their location quickly and had been waiting to make their move.
She had resisted crying, but now couldn’t stop the first tear from falling. This was all her fault. Her stupid idea of getting a message to her sister.
She had been careless and now both her and Mercy were paying the price.
They wanted her; maybe they’d let him live.
She could only hope.
However, right now she was having a hard time drumming up any hope.
Because this was it.
She was going to die. She just didn’t know how soon.
And she could only hope that they wouldn’t draw it out and make her suffer.
There was that word again.
Hope.
She needed to stop using it.
Hopeless seemed to be way more appropriate for her current situation.
Chapter Fourteen
Mercy squatted on the concrete floor of the warehouse. He had a blood-soaked towel pressed to the seeping wound at the back of his head.
He was trying not to rage, pace, or scream since he knew that would just get the blood flowing faster.
“Need to get to the hospital,” D said in a stream of grunts.
Mercy’s fingers clenched the towel tighter. “No.”
“Probably got a concussion.”
“Won’t be the first fucking time.”
“Need stitches.”
Mercy wanted to shake his head, but he knew better. Instead, he said, “Walker’s getting the first aid kit. He’s gonna sew it closed.”
“Crazy motherfucker,” Diesel muttered. “Gonna get fuckin’ Paranzino on the horn an’ see if he’s heard from the other motherfuckin’ side.”
“You tell him—”
D cut him off by bellowing, “Know what to fuckin’ tell ‘im!” Then Mercy’s boss lumbered away, shaking his head.
Yeah, D knew what to do. That was the only thing keeping Mercy from detonating like a grenade. Diesel had dealt with this kind of shit before. They all have.
Mercy because, as a Delta Force operator, hostage recovery was his specialty.
The rest of his team had assisted D with recovering not only Kiki and Jazz, but Diesel’s own woman, Jewel, when the Warriors had kidnapped her. And again, when D’s club brother, Slade, was taken by the same fucknuts.
So, D knew what was up. He’d had experience with this type of shit, though not as much as Mercy. Or even as much as some of the other Shadows.
No, Mercy dealt with hostage situations one too many times. He bore the scars of the last one he’d handled.
Or attempted to handle with some success. But it was that last situation that ended his military career.
Walker was suddenly standing next to him.
How the fuck did that asshole approach him without Mercy knowing? Most likely because his fucking head was throbbing, and he couldn’t think straight. Also, because D was right... He was sure he had a concussion. A metal pipe meeting the back of his head pretty much guaranteed that.
They should have killed him. That was their first mistake. He wasn’t sure why they hadn’t. It would have been easy enough to do once he was down and out.
Maybe they thought he was dead. But if he’d been in their shoes, he would have plugged a couple .45’s center mass to make sure.
Maybe they wanted to keep the noise down to a minimum, so as not to warn Rissa or any nearby neighbors. At night sound carried and a couple gunshots might draw some attention.
If it was him, he would have made sure the man down was dead. Even if it meant putting that pipe to good use until he was splattered with brain matter.
Whatever their reasoning was, he hoped they did the same with Rissa.
Not that he wanted her injured, he just didn’t want her dead.
So, if them trying to remain on the down low kept her alive a little longer, then he was okay with that.
Mercy just needed to move soon and find those fuckers before they decided it was time to dispose of their hostage.
The only problem was, Mercy needed the gaping hole at the back of his head closed first.
“Need you to sit somewhere or lay down so I can do this. It ain’t gonna be pretty. The back of your head might end up matching your fucking ugly face.”
Mercy glanced up at Walker as he said, “Why do you think I look like this, asshole? I sewed it closed myself,” and didn’t miss the other man’s wince.
“Yeah, so you said. At least this needle’s clean and was made for suturing. Unlike the kit you used that was made to sew on a missing fucking button.”
The needle he had used might not have been sterile and the thread not appropriate, but it held his face together until he could get medical help. At the time, that was all that mattered. “Let’s get this done. I have shit to take care of.”
“We have shit to take care of.”
/> Mercy met Walker’s gaze and gave him a slight chin lift. “We,” he corrected himself. “Get me sewed shut so we can go get these motherfuckers.”
Not twenty minutes later, with his brains safe from spilling out due to Walker’s skill with a needle, they were crowded into D’s office. It used to be that all of them fit somewhat comfortably until Jewel squeezed out two babies and D had his girls’ baby shit now filling his office, because it was rare that he was more than a few feet away from them at any time.
Mercy couldn’t wait until they started kindergarten and D tried to fit his enormous body into one of those tiny school desks next to them. He’d end up wearing it like a tutu because he’d never get himself back out. If it was even capable of holding his bulk.
But while that thought was entertaining, what D was saying was not. Mercy was itching to go find Rissa. However, they had no way to tail her or the men who nabbed her.
At least, not quickly. And time was not on their side.
“He’s already in the fuckin’ air, on his way,” D was grumbling.
“So we gotta sit on our hands ‘til he gets here?” Brick asked. Mercy could see Brick was chomping at the bit for some action just as much as Mercy.
“Got a better idea?”
Hunter spoke up, “We need to get Nicco on the phone to get a bead on him. If he contacts Paranzino, I can find him. But if Nicco isn’t with Parris, then... Fuck.” He scrubbed a hand over his short hair. “Maybe we need to snag Nicco and then have him call his men wherever they’re holding her.”
“We assume they’re holding her. Could be dead and dumped by now,” Steel muttered.
The whole room stilled and went silent for a second until Walker exploded, “Fuck! You asshole!” and shoved Steel.
All eyes slid to Mercy. The thin thread that held him together was getting more frayed by the second. It was on the verge of snapping.
“Sorry, brother,” Steel said.
The hardest thing he ever fucking said was, “She’s just a job, brother.” Because fuck if that was true. She wasn’t just a fucking job. She wasn’t just a package.
She was Rissa.
Guts & Glory: Mercy (In the Shadows Security Book 1) Page 16
