by SE Jakes
“The bonds shop’s not going to cut it anymore,” Mercy told Sweet in a graveled voice, two days after making appearances in the clubhouse and in church.
Now Sweet told him, with zero hesitation, “Just tell me what you need.”
“I need a more active role.” Sweet would understand why and why now. Before this, the bonds shop had been perfect—it gave Mercy the necessary insulation to keep his identity safe.
Now, there was no reason to bother. He’d grown up son of the Heathens MC president. He knew how to handle himself. He’d proven that at a young age, and again when he killed his brother months earlier after he’d kidnapped Linc in an attempt to draw Mercy out. He knew how to defend, and how and when to kill.
“Enforcer?” Sweet asked. “I know Tug would be happy with the help. You’ve got seniority so . . .”
“I’m not looking to take anyone’s job. I might have seniority but they’ve both been in their jobs for a while, and they’re jobs I never held. So it’s not about that.”
“And the shop?”
Mercy looked at him. “I’ve put some thought into that. I don’t know if having it in town works anymore. Maybe we need to move it closer to Havoc. But I’ll get back to you on that.”
Church had been called shortly after and many other decisions were made, including a lock-down of Havoc. Vann, a rogue Havoc member, would be called back into the compound indefinitely, and with that, the club officially circled the wagons.
Mercy was welcomed back by all his brothers in Havoc, some more subtly than others. Tug, of course, had picked him up and hugged him for what seemed like forever, and when he’d finally put Mercy down, he’d said, “Fuck the Heathens. You showed them. You’re one of us.”
And Mercy agreed.
His second-to-last stop had been to Bram, the man he’d fought with and then fought alongside of . . . the man whose brother he’d almost destroyed with his secrets. Linc and Bram were on the outside (Linc’s choice, and Bram wouldn’t leave him alone) and Havoc men were patrolling their lake house, guarding them. Bram was armed but Sweet was worried.
“How could you have known?” Bram asked. He looked better than he had when he’d first come into their lives. He’d gotten off most of the painkillers he’d been using because of his near-death beating at the hands of the Heathens. He hadn’t quit the ATF yet, but his cover remained in place, among most of Havoc and with the Heathens and beyond.
“I should’ve. I got—”
“No, you didn’t get complacent,” Bram corrected before he could even say the word. “You were with your family. The Heathens? You never belonged with them.”
“I don’t know what to do . . . about Linc.”
“Yeah, me neither,” Bram confessed. “I just walk on eggshells around him and he does the same for me.”
“I don’t think he’ll see me.”
“Should that stop you from trying?” Bram smiled.
And his last stop? Would be a face-to-face that was long overdue.
Linc woke from the nightmare with a sharp yell. It happened every single night like this, and he shouldn’t have been surprised but he still was, even after nearly sixty straight days of this shit. He’d been hoping that maybe the universe would grant him a reprieve after the first thirty-seven days. The logical side, the one that had gotten him through basic training and beyond, told him it didn’t work like that.
He wasn’t sure if it was the doorbell that’d yanked him out of the dream, but he wasn’t exactly in the mood to see anyone. Bram had a key, and so did Rush. So he went to the bathroom and took a piss, washed up, running his hands through his hair. It was longer than it had been, blonder too, from all the time spent in the sun, swimming in the lake.
The bruises had faded, along with DTs. The pain hadn’t.
Whoever was at the door had taken to slamming on it like it was their mission to break in. Fuck. Linc grabbed his piece and headed to the door, opened it fast, and held his weapon out.
Mercy was on the other side, just staring at him . . . not looking surprised at all to see Linc with a gun. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Mercy. It was like seeing a ghost and fuck, his voice went down Linc’s spine. It was raspy. Smoky. Hot as fuck and this was exactly why he hadn’t wanted to see Mercy. It was bad enough that Mercy knew what the Heathens had done to him—if not outright, then he definitely suspected. Bram had learned it from the docs who took care of Linc in the hospital and Linc? Well, he’d lived it, every humiliating, brutal moment of it. Sometimes he’d begged, even though he’d been too drugged to know what he’d been begging for.
And he’d endured all of that for a man who hadn’t made a move to see him since he’d escaped. Linc was sure Mercy had guilt, that seeing Linc reminded him of a fuckup. Now, Linc would always remind him of his past, and it was a past Mercy had tried for years to forget.
“What do you want?” Linc finally asked, his voice sounding rough, part under-use and part from near strangulation.
Mercy continued to stare at him, and Linc wanted to punch him. Linc knew he wasn’t the same man he’d been the last time they’d seen each other, and he never would be. And after two months, Mercy was just fucking standing there . . . and the last time Linc had seen him, he’d been stalking through Heathens, slaying all Linc’s dragons.
Mercy finally said, “I know you wanted me to stay away, but we need to talk.”
How the fuck would you know what I really wanted? Linc shook his head no, anger mixed with shame bubbling up inside of him where neither emotion had existed before. He’d never had to be the angry, scared kid. Bram had always taken care of him, protected him, shielded him from the bad shit by making sure Linc was surrounded by amazing memories.
But his memories of recent events shattered any pretense, remained front and center, and no matter how hard Bram tried to help, it wouldn’t work.
So now, confronted by Mercy, Linc’s mind was conflicted more than ever. Technically, none of it was Mercy’s fault.
Technically, all of it was.
The nightmare he’d woken from before the doorbell rang still shook him. He put the gun down on the table by the door and shoved his hands into his pockets so Mercy wouldn’t see the tremble that he hoped would leave soon.
The dreams? They’d take much longer.
“I can’t do this,” Linc finally managed. “You’re absolved, okay? I’m sure that’s what you’re looking for.”
Mercy’s back went up when Linc said that. He wanted to take Linc’s face in his hands, force Linc to look at him, but he kept his hands to himself. “It’s not about my conscience.”
At that, Linc finally met his gaze as if to silently say bullshit.
There was so much Linc didn’t know, and that was on Mercy. Because Mercy had chosen not to share that part of his life with anyone, except Sweet, and even Sweet didn’t know the entire truth.
“I don’t deserve your time. I know that. But Linc, fuck, I hate that you’re suffering.”
“So this is about me.” Linc’s voice was graveled, not the easy drawl Mercy had longed for every fucking night since Linc had gone missing. Every single night since Linc had been found.
And those months in between? Linc had suffered. Been to hell and back and Mercy was sure there was way more than had happened to Linc during his capture by the Heathens than anyone knew.
Everyone but Mercy, because he fucking knew . . . and that broke his fucking heart. “It’s only about you.”
“What makes you think I’d want to talk to you about anything?” Linc challenged, the haunted look in his eyes burned into Mercy’s mind.
He’d snuck into the hospital, and he’d watched Linc sleeping, tubes running in and out of him. He’d wanted to rip the blankets off Linc, check his body for scars, kiss away all the pain and hurt he’d endured. “Because you used to talk to me about things. Things you never told anyone.”
Linc didn’t argue. “That was a long time ago.”
“Not
that long.”
“So you want to be my shrink now?” Linc asked carefully. “What do you really want?”
You to be better. You not to have gone through this.
You. “I’m sorry, Linc. Fuck, I’d give anything for that not to have happened to you. Anything. I’d have taken your place in a second.”
“Sure. Okay.” Linc nodded with a wave of his hand. “You’re absolved. Better?”
“That’s not—fuck.”
“Go away, Mercy. Go away and stay away. Clear enough?”
“Very. Except I’m not going to do what you’re asking.”
Linc turned away from him and Mercy forced himself to walk away, but not before telling him, “I’ll be back.”
“How comforting,” Linc muttered, then slammed the door behind him.
True to his word, Mercy was back at Linc’s the next day. He knew that Bram split his time between Havoc and the lake house, but Bram had also told Sweet that Linc wanted to spend time alone, didn’t want to be too scared to be by himself. And yes, the immediate threat had passed, but hell, the Heathens were going to remain a threat to anyone attached to Havoc, which necessitated extra protection for all Havoc members and their families.
Whether or not Linc knew that there was a protection detail attached to him at all times, Mercy had no idea. But so far, Linc had mainly stayed close to the house, only straying as far as the lake to swim.
Today, Tug was on duty, staying a respectable distance from the house, and tonight, Rush would come and stay over with Linc. They’d been best friends since boot camp, and even with that, Mercy knew Ryker would be waiting outside all night, watching over the men.
But it should be you, and not outside, either.
Then again, Linc hadn’t realized Mercy was spending the night on his porch at night either.
Finally, Mercy pushed himself toward the backyard. Like he did every day, according to the other Havoc men who’d been on guard duty, Linc was swimming—back and forth across the length of the lake. Mercy counted twenty before Linc lifted his head, a subtle acknowledgment of his presence.
He didn’t doubt Linc had known he was here the whole time, situational awareness, which bothered the fuck out of him. Because how the hell had Linc missed the Heathens closing in around him on the day he’d been taken?
Yeah, blame the victim, Mercy. But it wasn’t that. He just desperately wanted things to have gone a different way.
Wanted Linc to have never crossed state lines. Wanted him to have stayed close to Havoc, where Heathens wouldn’t dare come close.
And you didn’t even think to look for him, Mercy chided himself. Not until he’d gotten in touch with Linc’s brother, Bram, who’d been undercover at the time—and recovering from a deadly near-beating from the Heathens MC. In an eerie twist, the Heathens had nearly killed one brother and then did their best to break the second, with no knowledge of their familial relationship.
It was taken care of so they never would. But none of them could stop the Heathens permanently, although Mercy would try his damned best to eradicate them from their roots, in the town he’d grown up in, where the Heathens had burgeoned into the meth-pushing MC they’d become.
Walking onto a Heathens’ compound for the first time since he’d renounced them at sixteen had been like walking onto foreign soil. Finally, he’d done what he should’ve a long damned time ago. Now, he figured there were Heathens waiting in the wings to try to take up the mantle, but none of them were born-and-bred MC men, which would make it that much more difficult. Still, Mercy and Havoc would make sure that Heathens didn’t rise from the ashes, stronger than they’d been.
Linc swam languidly back to the dock, not rushing, not wanting another run-in with Mercy. He’d contemplated swimming for hours just to avoid another face-to-face but he was still not at a hundred percent.
“Nowhere fucking near,” he muttered, just before yanking his aching body up onto the dock. Swimming was the only thing these days that gave him peace of mind. In the water, nothing else mattered except keeping his body moving, like a shark. Move or die. Plus, he’d always believed water had healing properties that were damned near unmatched.
By the time he allowed himself to look up, Mercy was gone.
“Good,” he said out loud, even though it felt anything but. Because, since Mercy’s visit yesterday, Linc had been restless. Irritable. He’d made Bram go to Havoc to visit Sweet, because Bram had been fussing over him, and then he’d alternately paced and brooded the rest of the evening, thinking about their first time together.
It was the same night Mercy had posted his bond. Linc had gotten arrested for fighting outside of Bertha’s and Rush had called in a favor to Mercy.
After an hour of sitting in a cell in the sheriff’s office, Linc had looked up to see Mercy, in his Havoc rocker, at his cell door.
That had been the beginning of a roller-coaster ride that Linc had never wanted to get off. Because Mercy was insatiable, and had been Linc’s match in every way. Linc’s body thrummed for him. And now, dammit, he was hard as fuck, and stayed that way even after diving back into the chill of the lake. Instead of letting the memories drown him, he put his head down and swam and swam until he could barely breathe . . . and when he looked up again, Mercy was still gone.
Hours after Mercy left and Linc jerked off in the shower—twice—he was still restless as fuck. Before the sun went down, he decided to go back into the lake for another swim, hoping to tire himself out enough so he could sleep through his nightmares.
When he looked up halfway through his swim, he noted that this time, it was Castle who was waiting for him on the dock. Still, he didn’t rush his swim, took his time finishing—because routine soothed him more than anything else these days—before making his way over to the man whose house he was taking advantage of.
Castle would be unperturbed at having to wait. His patience was endless, unlike Mercy’s. The men were opposites in many ways, but it was apples and oranges, because Linc’s relationship with Castle was past . . . in every way except his job.
Because of that, he’d visited Linc in the first several days of his hospitalization, and offered him a way out of the sterile environment.
“There are too many eyes and ears. There’s a lake house—just say an old military friend offered it up.”
“And you’re that old military friend, aren’t you?” Linc asked.
Castle’s eyes were soft with memories. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you again.”
“None of this is your fault.”
“I brought you into it.”
“I’m a big boy, remember?”
Castle shook his head, his lips pressed together, and Linc could see how angry he was about Linc’s capture. “I remember everything, Linc.”
“You want me back to work.”
“I think you want yourself back. But let’s get you healed up first and then we’ll talk.”
Linc was angry, dizzy, and fully unprepared. But fuck, if he ever wanted to work this way again, he had to protect the covers he’d cultivated. So he took the keys and the papers and told Bram about the house.
Bram was no fan of hospitals himself, and he was just as eager to get Linc to a more normal location to heal.
“Hey,” Linc said now, hands on the dock.
“Hey yourself.” Castle was sitting in one of the deck chairs, mirrored glasses on, looking handsome. “Glad you’re making use of the lake.”
Linc heaved himself out of the water. Every day, it because easier. He flopped into the chair next to Castle, letting the sun warn his body. The scars—the ones he hated the thought of showing Mercy—were on full display, and he noted Castle cataloging them.
“The house is awesome,” he said, as a way of taking Castle’s attention off them.
He didn’t say thanks about the house, because it wasn’t a favor. More like a barter. The FBI owed him, and this wasn’t a bad form of payment. And the distraction hadn’t stopped Castle fr
om staring hard at his scars, his expression tight.
“I’m fine,” Linc said quietly.
“You’re strong,” Castle agreed, then paused, his face serious. “I want you to rest assured that Matlin’s been taken care of.”
The last time Linc had seen his old handler was in Texas, when his family and friends thought he’d run again and his attitude about that had always come down to, fuck it, there are worse things for family and friends to think about me . . . until it came to bite him in the ass when he’d been captured and his handler had totally and utterly failed him.
Because a handler was supposed to keep track of their charge, and keep them safe, on and off their ops.
That failure had gotten Linc reassigned to Castle, who’d apparently thrown a fit when he’d learned what’d happened to Linc. Considering they used to hook up when Linc was in the Army, he supposed it was good to know the guy was still in his corner.
He also supposed it was more serious than just hooking up, especially after Castle left the Army for the FBI and their weren’t rules against their relationship.
Castle had recruited Linc early in his Army career, after Linc had taken an E&E training seminar with him. Castle had been impressed enough with Linc’s skills—and his other high scores—and had discussed the possibilities of black-ops jobs with him. His sleeping with Castle hadn’t depended on the jobs—and vice versa—but for various reasons, they’d kept their relationship on the down-low.
“Are you thinking about getting back to it?”
Linc shrugged. “Guess it depends.”
“On how much you can explain to Mercy?” he asked and Linc nodded. “I don’t see him here, though.”
“You just missed him.” But he figured Castle knew that, probably waited for him to leave. “Don’t bullshit me like this. Say what you came here to say.”
