Bad Boys Teaser: A Sizzling Bad Boys Anthology

by Warren, Rie

“Unless broads are involved—”

  “Shut it, Revenge. As a matter fact, ladies are involved.”

  I curled on my side, listening while Angel filled them in on the frightening situation.

  I had no choice but to put my trust in this band of biker brothers.

  One of the last voice’s I heard was Slade’s. “You think it’s time to call in the Storm Troopers yet?”

  “Very funny.” That was Angel again. “I’m not asking for Storm’s help. We can handle this.”

  I remembered Storm—or Nash—was Angel’s brother.

  The loud stomp of many booted feet rushed away from the cabin at a fast clip.

  My eyelids felt heavy, adrenaline soaked out of me.

  Sleep descended like the darkness outside.

  Every so often, I flittered half awake.

  I didn’t hear the men.

  Someone moved around me.

  I was gently rolled from one side to the other, the sheets on the bed efficiently changed without dislodging me.

  “What?” My tongue was thick in my mouth.

  The noise of the IV hook clanged when the bag was changed.

  “Hush now. Hush . . .” A hand that smelled of roses touched my brow. “Back to sleep, Mercy.”

  I was in and out.

  Out and in.

  I remembered bits and pieces in flashes and shadows.

  Overdosing.

  Hectic van ride.

  Angel carrying me.

  Angel shouting at me to live.

  An older woman ridding me of the clothes I hated and telling Angel to burn them.

  The woman with deep lines on her tanned face asking me to live for her grand bébé.

  Then letting me know it was okay to let go if that was what I needed.

  “Memaw?” My voice sounded like it came from far away. “Memaw, is that you?”

  A woman’s form glowed in shuttered dimness, and the mattress shifted beside me.

  The bed was so downy and soft and snugly warm. The linens smelled of rosewater and something else hard to place . . . there . . . chicory.

  “I’m not your memaw. I’m Angel’s mamere, p’tite cher.”

  My eyes shifted into clearer focus although my body was sore all over, and the affects of the hot shot still hummed through my veins. “I’m sorry. I got confused.”

  “As you would, darlin’.” She pulled my hand in between both of hers, and I felt the tough callouses of a hardworking life. “Your memaw passed some time ago?”

  “I miss her everyday.” I shuddered with memory or the spirit passing through me. “You tried to save your daughter, didn’t you?”

  “Oui. My Joséphine.” Those very soft blue eyes closed for a moment. “But instead I saved you for my grand bébé.”

  “You miss her too. Joséphine.” A current of understanding ran between the sage woman and me.

  “Mebbe she found your memaw up there in the great big sky. Wouldn’t that be such a thing to wonder at?” She squinted at me. “You an old soul, ain’t you, Mercy girl?”

  “Sometimes I just feel old. Not with Angel though.”

  “Love’ll do that to ya. Yes it will.”

  She rocked back and forth soothingly, and I realized belatedly I was taking up her bed.

  “Oh my lord. You must be exhausted. Just stick me on the couch or the floor. I’m putting you out of your own bed.”

  Mamere ssshh’d me. “You ain’t puttin’ me out. And I’ll do no such thing as throw you out of this here bed, so quit that nonsense.”

  “But it’s late.”

  “Or early, dependin’ on how you look at it.”

  I glanced at the window to see dawn beginning to break across the bayou in light pinks and dusky purple rays.

  My stomach growled at that exact moment.

  “Ya hungry, my girl?” Her eyebrows lifted, and she wiped her hands on the apron hanging between her knees. “That’s a good sign.”

  A few minutes later, Mamere carried a tray into the room. “Just some broth for now. Homemade. Good for the soul an’ good for the bones, yes’m.”

  She didn’t try spoon-feeding me, just held the bowl steady while I slowly ingested the broth.

  As soon as I finished, I fell back to the pillows.

  “And that’ll tide you over, m’dear.” Mamere covered me up.

  Sleep found me again.

  I woke groggily sometime later, my head pounding, my mouth dry as parched earth. A peek out through the gingham curtains, and I could see the sun had risen.

  “Angel?” My voice croaked.

  Mamere swished into the room wearing a floral patterned housedress. “They aren’t back just yet. It’s only bin a few hours, and I reckon they had some plans to cook up.”

  She propped me up in the bed and fluffed the pillows behind me. She held a cup of cold water to my lips and let me drink my fill.

  I envied Angel still having his grand

  mother in his life. She was a wise woman with a kindly lined face, but I sensed she took guff from no one.

  She clapped her hands together. “Let’s get this IV out now. And I think you’d ’preciate a shower.”

  I hadn’t felt clean since I’d left the Thunder Road Bar. “That sounds like heaven.”

  Within minutes, she had me off the saline drip and in the small wood-paneled bathroom.

  “Angel installed these old-people bars in the tub here, so if you git to feelin’ unsteady you jist grab on and gimme a holler.”

  She left me wrapped in the sheet—my only protection against nudity—and I turned on the taps. Cold water rushed over my open palm before turning tepid then blissfully hot. I dropped the sheeting and stepped carefully into the tub.

  The cleansing spray washed down over me, clearing all the grime and dirt and filthy feeling from the White Lair from my body.

  I stepped out to find a stack of clothes balanced on the small vanity. I dressed slowly, and discovered Mamere had also set out a hairbrush, a new toothbrush still wrapped in plastic, and the toothpaste.

  Her kindness touched my heart.

  When I left the bathroom, I was better able to inspect the small but well-appointed cabin. One bathroom. One bedroom. Big porch. An open area that comprised a living room and kitchen.

  Mamere nodded from a rocking chair. “There now, ain’t that better? That’s a shirt Ange left out here, and I figured you could cinch in the shorts.”

  “Thank you.” I smiled shyly.

  She motioned me to sit on the couch then set about serving more broth along with a large slice of what had to be homemade bread slathered in butter.

  I ate with a new appetite, trying not to slurp too loudly. “What time is it?”

  “’Bout noon.”

  “Shouldn’t they be back by now?” Worry began to gnaw at me.

  She reached over, patting my hand. “They’ll be fine. ’Sides, ain’t it nice and peaceful without all those menfolk stompin’ around?”

  I tried to hide my smile. She had a bit of a point. Sitting here with her reminded me of the sweet quiet days with my own memaw.

  “Say, your lovely memaw didn’t happen to teach you Bourré, did she?”

  “Boo-Ray?”

  Her husky laughter filled the cabin, and she grabbed up a deck of cards. With practiced motions, she shuffled the two halves over and over again in a high bridge before smacking the edges on the coffee table between us.

  She set about explaining the rules, which reminded me of Spades. And I giggled when she told me if I thought she’d messed up dealing, I was to shout out, ‘Shitter!’.

  Even though I was weak and slightly nauseated with the feeling of a great big hangover, I took to the game, raising the ante of toothpicks she supplied for the pot.

  The distraction worked.

  I found myself laughing more and more.

  Mamere was very theatrical, slapping her cards down with a flourish, sighing with an almighty grumble when I won a trick, grinning until all her teeth showed
when she picked up the trick herself.

  Once, I bourréd out, and she jumped up from the rocker to preen around in a circle like the top hen of the chicken coop.

  We were on the fifth hand when noise outside alerted us, then:

  “MERCY!”

  The masculine shout pulled me right up to my feet as if a marionette’s string connected me to Angel.

  “There he is now. All bellerin’ and bellyachin’ for ya just like a man.” Mamere stomped up to the door and shouted back, “It ain’t like we moved much, and I ain’t so hard of hearing, p’tit boug.”

  Then she sat back down in her rocker. “’Least that one called Slade had enough sense to figure out my tripwires before he set my alarms off.”

  Barging in with as much impatience as I felt, Angel rushed to me.

  I threw myself in his arms. “It took you so long. Is everyone okay? What about the dogs?”

  He settled down with me on the couch, the other men entering the cabin less hurriedly.

  They all acknowledged Mamere with respect and even made sure they weren’t leaving dirty boot marks on the floor after Slade elbowed them.

  “Slow down, cher. I can feel your heart beating a mile a minute.” Angel brushed damp hair back from my cheeks.

  “But where is everyone?”

  “Couldn’t hardly camp them all out here, could we?”

  “I guess not, but—”

  “Got the dogs. Got the girls,” he assured me.

  “Where—”

  He pressed a finger across my lips to silence me. “Mamere has a house in town too.”

  I glanced at his grandmother. She laced her fingers across her lap and nodded her head.

  “You’d let them stay there?” I asked her.

  “Been known to need a hand myself a time or two. The least little thing I can do is help out some fallen upon women. ’Sides, I don’t use that big house anyway. That was all my Nash’s idea.”

  My eyes teared up at her unfailing generosity. “Thank you. Thank you so much, Mrs.—”

  “You can call me Mamere too.” She winked. “I think you’ve earned it.”

  “And they’re not alone.” Angel cupped the side of my face. “Lennox and Chase are with them for now until we can find out if they’ve got anyplace else to go. Saint here took a photo of each of them, so maybe you want to make sure no one’s missing?”

  Saint stepped forward, casting a large shadow over me.

  He did something with his cell phone then handed it to me. “You can just scroll through their pictures.”

  I quickly swiped through the photos, more and more relieved as I recognized the girls who’d been taken advantage of for so very long.

  Until I got to the final photo, and there wasn’t another one after it.

  “That’s it?” I looked around at the gathered men.

  Angel frowned as Saint retrieved his phone. “Those were the only women we found.”

  “Then where’s Grace?” I popped to my feet. “I didn’t see Grace.”

  Slade stopped rolling a cigarette to look at me. “Who’s Grace?”

  “Grace!” Hysteria welled inside me. “She’s the only person I could ever count on! Where is she?”

  Angel tried to wrap his arms around me, but I pushed him away.

  “How could you just leave her there in that . . . in that cesspool?”

  “We didn’t leave her there. I promise you, Mercy.” Angel held his hands out calmingly. “She just . . . she wasn’t there.”

  My whole body trembling, I slumped back onto the couch. Mamere reached over to press my hands between hers.

  Angel kneeled beside me, and the other men formed a big ring. A protective circle.

  Only Grace didn’t have any protection anymore.

  And I had no way of knowing what my kin might’ve done with her. What they might’ve done to her.

  A lone tear coursed down my cheek to be caught on Angel’s fingertip.

  “Mercy, if there’s any chance this Grace of yours is out there somewhere, I’ll do my damnedest to find her for you.” Slade—the strong dark-haired man—vowed.

  I looked at him through watery eyes. “You will?”

  “I give you my word.”

  Now that I was less combative, Angel swung me up into his arms. “C’mon. You’re all tuckered out.”

  The bikers created an aisle between them—a big black leather pathway—and Angel carried me back to the bedroom. He placed me down, tenderly touching his lips to mine.

  Leaving me, he spoke to the other men in hushed rumbling tones I couldn’t quite make out.

  Coming back in, he shut the door. “What’d Mamere have you getting up to anyway?”

  I opened my mouth to speak, but a yawn came out instead.

  And he smiled adorably. “No. Lemme guess. She taught you Bourré, didn’t she?”

  “I’m afraid I wasn’t very good.”

  “That’ll just make her like you more.” Unselfconsciously he stripped off his shirt and kicked off his boots and socks. “Is that my old flannel you’ve got on?”

  “Mamere gave it to me.”

  “Hmmm.” He hummed. “I like it.”

  Then he lifted the sheet and crawled right in next to me.

  “Angel! We’re in your grandmother’s bedroom.”

  His nose then his lips tunneled beneath the hair at the nape of my neck, creating a network of chills. “Yep.”

  He blew against my sensitive skin.

  I swatted at him as he rolled us both to our sides. “No funny business. Not in your mamere’s bed.”

  Chuckling, he embraced me in his arms. “Don’t think you’re up for any funny business anyway, cher.”

  I fell asleep to the scent of my man mixed with wood smoke and what had to be the smell of Sol cooking over an open fire outside.

  * * *

  The next thing I knew, Angel shook me awake, keeping one hand pressed over my mouth. He pointed up at the corner of the bedroom where a red light flashed on and off.

  I didn’t know what that meant until Slade yelled from somewhere beyond the bedroom, “We got company!”

  Angel had me out of the bed and into the open area just as Saint muttered, “And it ain’t the kind you’d invite for Sunday dinner.”

  Full darkness had fallen outside, broken only by the red and orange blaze of the fire.

  Mamere—a shotgun bracketed in her arms—hurried around, dousing the lamps. “Someone sure’s hell triggered the alarms.”

  “You negro lovin’ pigs manage to revive our Mercy, or do you got that little slut’s body hidden out here somewheres?”

  I recognized Uncle Ned’s ugly voice as soon as it echoed through the bayou. And hate immediately curdled in my belly.

  He continued his vile tirade. “First you steal my cunt of a niece. Now you come back to kidnap the other bitches?” A shot fired off somewhere in the swamp. “Hope y’all are ready to meet yer makers!”

  Fifteen

  Angel

  “HOPE Y’ALL ARE READY to meet yer makers!”

  Mercy glanced at me with a ghost white face. “It’s them. It’s my uncle and the others.”

  I nodded, pressing her toward Mamere while the rest of the dudes hurried around outside. Within seconds, they had the bonfire smothered and, though they were quiet, I knew they were arming up to their teeth.

  Then I pulled Mercy back to me, giving her a hasty kiss. “Stay put. And don’t you dare even think about handing yourself over to them.”

  Sol lingered near the two women, pulling out his old revolver and making it clear he’d remain with Mamere and Mercy.

  Mamere pumped her sawed-off shotgun then took Mercy from my embrace. “Don’t you be worryin’ about me or Mercy.”

  Jaw tight, I grabbed my own shotgun and made sure my knife was sheathed. I headed to the door.

  “Don’t go out there, Angel!”

  I couldn’t look back at Mercy as I prowled onto the porch then down the steps.

&nb
sp; This fucking thing would finally end tonight.

  “What’s the plan?” Slade asked, lethal KA-BAR in hand.

  That was when the first rumbling sound of an ATV roared through the cypress trees.

  “Split up and fuck them up for good.”

  “Can do.” Saint wore the most un-saint-like grin.

  Our numbers slightly depleted with the prospect and Lennox back in town, we’d hold our ground.

  These cunts weren’t getting Mercy.

  And more than likely, they weren’t getting out of this swampy area alive.

  I felt motherfucking rejuvenated.

  As Saint and Revenge slinked off in one direction, another pair edged to the back of Mamere’s cabin. Two more snaked toward the dock. Slade and I stuck near the front porch.

  “How the hell did they find us out here?” Slade reached down, grabbed a handful of dirt, and rubbed the brown mud all over his face just like Storm had once taught me.

  I did the same. “Doesn’t really matter now, does it?”

  “Time to hunt us some traitors to true America!” One of the jackhole’s hollered.

  Another one whooped in reply.

  A third screamed out, “One white nation under the only God!”

  These fuckwits obviously knew jackshit about stealth.

  Complete darkness and uneven terrain was to our advantage because the assholes screamed around on their ATVs with headlights blazing and high beam MagLites acting like tracers.

  Glowing dots bounced around.

  Revving engines roared across the swamp.

  Their racist taunts fell on flat ears, because the fuck with the so-called supremacists.

  And I was ready for a good old blowout in the bayou.

  Heavy gray smoke from the smoldering remains of the fire provided good cover. Cover splintered apart by a yokel mounted on a four-wheeler.

  He spun around the dampened fire, doing donuts like Mamere’s front yard was a motocross track.

  It was Revenge who yanked the Aryan ass-monkey right off his saddle and onto the ground. Revenge hopped on the ATV, hit reverse, and ran straight over the skinhead.

  Popping the four-wheeler into a wheelie, Revenge revved forward again. He nailed the trailer trash in the chest just as he scrambled to his knees. And Revenge buried him beneath the tires when he slammed the ATV back onto the ground.