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

by Jeanne St. James

  Now she knew it was impossible.

  He wasn’t willing to bend.

  He simply couldn’t. He just wasn’t wired like that.

  She needed to accept it and move on. Return home.

  He’d been right. He couldn’t be what she wanted or needed.

  Again, it had only been a messed-up fantasy created in her head. As a therapist, she should know better. It was healthier to face reality head-on than ignore it.

  Even so, she didn’t push him away. She allowed him to remain where he was, his breath warm and steady as it swept over her throat. The fingers of the hand tucked behind her head entangled in her hair. The thumb of the other, mindlessly brushing back and forth over her ribs.

  But it was getting late and she needed to go. Remaining where she was only prolonged the final goodbye.

  Her bladder had also begun to complain a half hour ago. Unfortunately, it was now screaming for relief and she could no longer ignore it.

  She needed to move, clean up, get dressed and head home.

  The sooner she did that, the quicker she could put the man named Mercy behind her and get on with her life. Slap a Band-Aid over her bruised heart until it healed.

  One day she would find a nice man with a normal name who lived a normal life capable of loving her.

  It was not Mercy.

  It would never be Ryan, either.

  “I—” She cleared her throat of the thickness and tried again, “I need to clean up.” She pressed a hand to his massive bicep, indicating he needed to let her up.

  He only moved enough so she could slip from beneath the weight of his arm and roll from the bed. Without a glance behind her, she snagged her panties and bra from the floor as she headed out of the room and down the hallway to the bathroom.

  She stepped inside, flipped on the light and froze, her brain taking a second to process what she saw. The mirror had taken a direct impact at its center and shards of glass along with dark drops of dried blood lined the bottom of the sink.

  After shutting the door behind her, she quickly cleaned herself up before pulling on her underwear. The whole time she couldn’t take her eyes from the damage.

  Those scratches and cuts on his hand weren’t from dealing with Nicco and his men. Something had driven him to the point of punching the mirror.

  Why?

  Did he not like the person whose reflection looked back at him? Did he feel as if he deserved to be punished for some reason, which caused him to react like he’d done with Michael when he’d broken the man’s nose? Or did he do it simply out of frustration? And if so, why was he frustrated?

  His mission had been successful. Parris was still breathing. The threat had been neutralized. He was getting paid, and he’d earned his hefty bonus.

  How could any of that have driven him to the point of striking out?

  She fought the urge to clean up the evidence of his tipping point. But as much as she knew she shouldn’t ask him about it, she had to see if, just maybe, he wanted to discuss it.

  She was unable to just let it go.

  Though, anyone else in their right mind would. But, oh no, not her. She was a glutton for punishment.

  However, she worried about his mental state. She was concerned about what he might do once she was gone, and he was once again alone.

  She shouldn’t be. He survived for decades without her.

  Even so, she cared too much for him not to try. If it worked and it helped him... great. Even if he hated her for it, then fine, she could live with that, because she was heading home soon anyway.

  Honestly, she had nothing to lose except maybe pushing him to the point of lashing out once more.

  She turned off the light and headed barefoot back down the hallway to his bedroom. She paused in the doorway, surprised he hadn’t moved.

  He remained lying on his stomach, his bare back exposed, his powerful build impressive. Breathtaking, in fact. Unlike the breath-robbing half dozen thick scars along his broad back or the long, raised scar that marred his handsome face. Those reminded her once again, he’d been through so much. Things he didn’t want to share.

  Not only that day he almost lost his life, but years of war, combat and killing. Whatever affected him was deep-rooted. PTSD impacted everyone differently. For some it became so overwhelming that they decided to end the internal torture by ending themselves. That night she’d seen him with the gun sitting between his feet, she had wondered if he’d ever contemplated taking that final step.

  Sometimes physical or mental agony made people do desperate things just to get it to stop. And other times, people dealing with that kind of pain lashed out instead. Like a normally faithful, but injured family dog unexpectedly snapping at its owner.

  Like a man driving his fist into a mirror.

  He had to have known she’d see it since there was only one bathroom upstairs.

  Maybe he hadn’t had time to clean up the mess because she showed up on his doorstep without prior notice. Or maybe he wanted her to see it, to scare her away. To prove his point that he could never be what she needed.

  Well, he could be. He just didn’t want to be.

  She moved deeper into the bedroom, picking his T-shirt up off the floor and tugging it over her head. As she perched on the edge of the mattress she wasn’t sure how to approach what she saw and the reasoning behind it. He turned his head on the pillow to the other cheek, so he could see her, but other than that, he still didn’t move.

  He tensed as she lifted his right hand off the sheet and brushed her fingers lightly over the cuts on his knuckles. Then, even though he slightly resisted, she raised his fist up and gently kissed each knuckle before lowering it to her lap, gripping his fingers tightly in both of her hands.

  His voice was low, flat and gruff when he said, “If you think we’re going to talk about it, I’ll stop you before you start. We’re not.” He rolled to his side and sat up, surprising her by not jerking his hand free. “I can see what you’re gearing up to do. You can’t help but keep fuckin’ with my head. Worse, you don’t come from the front. I can see that now. You come from the side. Cold-cocking me even though I’m aware you’re about to do it.”

  His tone held no anger, but instead a touch of desolation, which made this even more difficult.

  “I’m worried that you could eventually break through and you’ll see the real me, Rissa. And I swear to fuck you won’t like what you see. You’ll be fuckin’ horrified. But you’ll try your best to drag me deep, to crack me open, and if you achieve that you’ll end up running as fast as you can to escape what you find. And if that happens, it’ll break me. Not because you’ve figured me out, but because you couldn’t deal with what you discovered. The day I see that on your face, it will destroy me.”

  She remained quiet, not wanting to interrupt him because he had dropped his guard. He was allowing her to see something he normally kept hidden. He wanted her to see he could care, it just took too much of an effort that could cost him dearly.

  “You want to believe that a man named Ryan Mercer exists. But he no longer does. He hasn’t for a long time. Only Mercy has survived. He’s the man who busted Paranzino’s nose. The man who smashed that mirror. I swear to you Mercy’s not who’s right for you. And you will regret making any effort to find Ryan. That effort will not only destroy you, but it will destroy me, as well.”

  She couldn’t stay silent any longer. He needed to know she was willing to do whatever was needed. “I think I can handle whatever haunts you, Ryan.”

  With one hand still in her lap cupped between hers, he lifted his other, curling his fingers along her jawline, and his gray eyes, holding a deep-seated hurt that made her want to cry, met hers. “But I can’t. I can’t live like that. I can’t watch every move, every word I say simply because I’ll think you’re analyzing it. I’m sorry, Rissa, but I can’t be what you need me to be. It’s not fair to you for me to pretend that I can.” He shook his head and his fingers twitched within hers. “I can’t
. That’s the hard, cold facts.” He sucked in a slow, audible breath, almost as if bracing himself for what he said next. “You never should’ve told Diesel to drop you back off. So now you need to get dressed and I’m taking you to the airport.”

  With quiet reservation, she had done what he said. She had gotten dressed and without anything left to say between them, followed him downstairs where he gathered her luggage off the front stoop and loaded it into his massive vehicle.

  Armored. Bullet-proof. Just like him.

  The drive to the airport was also too silent. It was difficult to believe that it had only been about a week ago when she’d arrived in Pittsburgh, in Shadow Valley, in Mercy’s life.

  Now everything was being rewound. She was leaving Ryan’s life, Shadow Valley, and soon Pittsburgh.

  This time it wouldn’t be on a fancy jet with one mysterious, handsome stranger. This time she would board a commercial flight with a plane full of strangers, going back to a life she wasn’t sure she wanted to go back to.

  Yes, she loved her career. She did look forward to getting back into that groove. But she wasn’t sure how things would be with Michael from this point on and without her best friend and without the man next to her in the driver’s seat, she already felt lost. Alone.

  She’d go back to an empty house. And then she would bury herself in what she did best. Work.

  It was better than nothing, she supposed. At least she had something to keep herself busy and her mind off the sullen man beside her.

  She had wanted to argue everything he said when they were in his bed. But she couldn’t. His expression, which was normally neutral, had said it all. For once, for a very short period of time, he dropped his barriers, allowing her to see his fears. If only to drive home the meaning behind his words.

  For most people, that wouldn’t have taken much of an effort. For Mercy, it was huge and probably took a lot out of him. While she appreciated the effort, none of it was what she wanted to hear.

  She had to recognize that some things weren’t worth fighting for, because in the end, it could be a situation where if you won, you truly lost.

  He was right, she’d never stop trying to dig deeper with him, expose his inner thoughts, his past, his pain in an effort to help him. However, she knew to force it wouldn’t do him any good. He would continue to resist and eventually it might only make him hate her.

  And just like he thought she wouldn’t be able to handle seeing the real Mercy, she wouldn’t be able to live with him hating her, blaming her for shattering everything he held onto so tightly.

  He just didn’t understand that she’d be there to help pick up the pieces. But, again, he needed to be willing.

  He wasn’t.

  So, there was nothing left for her to do but throw in the towel and go home. She’d only known the man for a week, so it shouldn’t be so hard to walk away, to put him behind her.

  But as he pulled up to the curb in front of the Pittsburgh airport, her stomach clenched and twisted. She clamped her jaws together so she wouldn’t beg him to rethink everything he said.

  She was resigned to the fact that Mercy was not a flexible man, he wasn’t going to be swayed, nor would he change his mind. He was a man set in his ways and would stick with what worked in the past because that’s what he knew. He was not a man who would sit in a therapist’s chair and slice himself open and allow himself to bleed just for a woman.

  He was also not a man who normally said goodbyes, but he was getting one from her whether he liked it or not.

  She climbed out of the RPV as he went around to the back and handed her luggage to a skycap with a cart. After he slipped the man some cash and the airport employee rolled the cart inside, Mercy slowly turned to her where she had remained on the sidewalk, her feet feeling as if stuck in concrete.

  While his gray eyes were not cold, they revealed nothing.

  “Ryan...” she whispered.

  He lifted his hand to stop her and shook his head. “Rissa, take care of yourself.”

  No move for a kiss or a hug. Nothing. Not even an impersonal handshake.

  “Yes, you, too,” she murmured, forcing herself to keep eye contact. “And...”

  His lips flattened, and his shoulders tightened as if he was bracing himself.

  Her voice sounded thick as she continued, “Thank you for keeping me alive.”

  As his mouth opened, she held her breath and waited. After a slight hesitation, he finally closed it and said, “I was just doing my job.”

  She finally dropped her gaze to the concrete at her feet, fighting back the burn in her eyes as she nodded and whispered, “Goodbye, Mercy.”

  Without waiting for an answer, because she knew none would be coming, she turned and pushed through the revolving glass doors into the cooler interior of the airport.

  As she wound her way through the cordoned-off lines leading up to the airline’s ticket counter, she glanced over her shoulder to see him still standing at the curb. He was watching her, his face unreadable, his fists pinned to his thighs. Maybe he wanted to make sure she was safe before he left.

  Fifteen minutes later, after obtaining a plane ticket for the next flight to Vegas and heading toward the security line, when she checked again, he was still out at the curb, but this time sitting in his vehicle that was hard to miss. Airport security had pulled up behind him and one of the officers was standing by the driver’s door, most likely ordering him to move. But he was clearly ignoring the uniformed man, instead still staring in her direction.

  She lifted her hand slightly in a half-hearted wave, but as she expected, he didn’t return it.

  It was a good reminder that she needed to continue forward, not keep looking behind. Swallowing hard, she steeled herself and headed toward the security lines. But with each step she took, she kept her ears peeled carefully for him calling out her name.

  Admitting he made a mistake.

  Ordering her to get out of the security line and go home with him.

  Until finally...

  Finally, when she heard her name being called, her heart skipped a beat then began to race as she turned, a smile on her face and fresh tears in her eyes. Right then and there, she realized she was willing to accept him however he came to her. Whole or broken. Even shattered into a million tiny pieces.

  She would accept him as he was.

  What she found was only an older gentleman holding up her driver’s license. “Miss, you dropped this.”

  Miss. Not the “Rissa” she so desperately wanted to hear.

  With trembling fingers and a crooked, pasted-on smile, she accepted the license from him, forcing out a “thank you.”

  She was a fool. Because Mercy wasn’t the run-through-the-airport, drop-to-his-knees-and-declare-his-undying-love type of guy.

  No, he was the punch-a-man-who-lied-to-his-friend-and-put-her-in-danger-then-make-the-asshole-apologize-and-swear-to-never-do-that-again type of guy.

  That’s who he was, that’s who he’d always be.

  Her gaze scanned the crowd behind her one last time, just in case she was mistaken. But after a few seconds, with a nod to no one but herself, she turned around and got in line.

  She refused to glance back over her shoulder again.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Find her!” Mercy heard his boss roar in his typical Diesel-self they all came to know and love.

  Well, maybe not quite that last part.

  Who the hell was D demanding his crew to find? Was it Rissa?

  His heart began to thump wildly at that prospect—especially since the last he knew, she’d been safely back in Vegas for a couple of weeks now—until he heard Ryder’s pissed-off answering growl coming from D’s office. “Fuckin’ send somebody else! Had more than my share of that fuckin’...”

  Mercy held his breath and waited for Ryder to fuck up. After a second, he breathed again. Good choice, Ryder. Don’t let it slip in front of D. Otherwise, they’d be cleaning up Ryder’s remains.


  The argument had to be about Kelsea. Once again.

  Mercy stepped into the shadows just outside of his boss’s office. Last thing he wanted was to be spotted and sent to clean up D’s cousin’s latest fucking mess.

  “Find her. You now know all her typical landin’ spots. Brooke said she hasn’t fuckin’ shown up for work in a goddamn week. Brooke’s done. Jag’s done. I’m fuckin’ done,” D yelled like it was Ryder’s fault.

  Poor sucker.

  “I’m fuckin’ done, too,” Ryder shouted back.

  “Ain’t fuckin’ done ‘til you get her ass the fuck home in one piece. Then I’m gonna deal with ‘er an’ she ain’t gonna like it. Probably hangin’ with that Slit guy.”

  Hanging. Kels wasn’t hanging. The only hanging to be had was probably her pants around her ankles as she bent over for a bunch of strange dick.

  “Slash,” Ryder growled.

  D grunted. “What-fuckin-ever. That whole fuckin’ MC needs wiped the fuck out.”

  Mercy’s ears perked up. Now that job sounded more up his alley. Taking out members of an outlaw MC versus retrieving an out-of-control c— Kelsea.

  Maybe he could sneak out of the warehouse before either of them knew he was there. He only stopped in to talk to D about finding him a new assignment as soon as possible. One that would take his mind off other shit.

  But no matter how antsy he was, he was not willing to handle Kelsea. Ryder had become an expert at wrangling her ass, so that’s why D always reached out to him. But eventually Ryder would threaten to quit because he couldn’t take any more of the woman’s bullshit, then someone else would become the next sucker.

  Hopefully someone other than him, as long as he kept out of sight and out of mind. He was an expert at extracting hostages from volatile situations. He had no patience to babysit a messed-up woman who acted as if she was a spoiled teenager having a temper tantrum because life had thrown her a curve ball.