Begging For Mercy

by Mataya, Tamara

  When was the last time I made such a rookie mistake? The 5th of never! Annoyed at my own stupidity, I stomp down the steps toward him. “What do you want?”

  He leans against the wall to let me pass, taking up more space than he should. God he smells good, like leather and fresh air. “Came by to see you.”

  Do not blow this by blurting out everything about your huge, throbbing crush, Andy. “Oh? You missed me that much already?” I take a few steps down the stairs past him.

  “That outfit alone was worth the trip.”

  Shiiiit. Self-awareness slams into me and I’m unable to speak, lost in the knowledge he’s seeing me scrubbed pink with damp hair, stompy motorcycle boots, shorts that have an adjective written across my ass, and a ratty old, tissue-paper-thin tank top with no bra. Not my best outfit for seduction. Luckily he speaks again.

  “Someone owes me a new fender.”

  I turn back, but his cheeky wink takes the edge off the words.

  “Please.” The smile I’ve been suppressing since he walked in tugs at my lips. “I should be charging you for a doctor’s visit.” I hold up my hand so he can see it, but resume my journey down the stairs.

  “I did that?”

  “Yup. So I’d say we’re even.”

  “Shit, I’m sorry.” He catches up at the bottom of the stairs and captures my wrist, getting a closer look at my finger.

  His innocent touch shouldn’t make my skin tingle. I give my arm a half-hearted tug, not really wanting it back. “I’m not a delicate flower. I can give back as good as I get.”

  “I hope so.” His lips are soft on my wrist and palm, stealing the air from my lungs with the gentleness of the kiss he leaves on my pinkie.

  Nine years of crushing on him crash over me like a tsunami, and I snatch my hand away from his mouth and replace it with my lips. He presses against me until my back hits the doorjamb and my bat hits the floor. His tongue tastes like peppermint and I suck it into my mouth and drag my teeth as he reclaims it. He plunges it deep in my mouth again and hauls me closer.

  Baby likes it rough.

  And I’m going to give it to him.

  His leather jacket is open and warm with his body heat, and I skim my hands over his chest and scratch down his back over his soft, gray t-shirt. He nips my lip, and his hands squeeze my ass on the way to my thighs, then I’m holding onto his neck for balance as he lifts me and wraps my legs around his waist like I weigh nothing.

  At five-nine with a large frame, I’m not used to feeling small. Matthew makes me feel goddamned dainty with the effortless way he moves me where he wants me. The girliest parts of me rejoice at this action. His fingers tangle in my damp hair, deepening our kiss while he walks up the stairs. He gets halfway up the steps to my door before lowering me, nuzzling his way down my neck like he can’t wait to get to my apartment before tasting my skin.

  Matthew does not see me as one of the guys. Amen for that.

  Cool air and a hot mouth battle across my body. Electricity heats my skin as he drags his teeth on my nipple over the thin fabric of my shirt and sucks it into his mouth. The sounds coming from my body encourage him, and he nibbles and works me harder, drawing shooting arcs of pleasure from deep inside my core that curl my toes and arch my back.

  He’s not the kind of guy you want to lick—that’s too gentle. He makes you want to sink your teeth and nails in and hang on for the ride.

  I pull his hair, and squeeze his hips as hard as I can with my legs, trapping him against me, grinding until he groans and crushes those lips to mine again. His hips circle over me, his jeans abrading my crotch through my shorts as he rubs himself against me, taking away all of my control. Matthew doesn’t touch me like I’ll break.

  I want more.

  I can’t believe he’s here.

  His big hands grip my hips and he traces wet circles down my belly with his tongue.

  Why is he here?

  Who cares?

  Why does Patch hate him?

  Piss off! I want Matthew right here right now.

  But the stairs digging into my back and the self-doubt about my allure let in the thoughts of caution I’m trying not to have.

  I pull back and stop him with firm hands on his chest to hold him at bay. “Hang on. You just stopped by for a visit?”

  Stop thinking, Andy!

  “Yes.”

  “There’s no such thing as a coincidence. The men in my life get all bitchy and overprotective and then you show up? Something’s going on and I want to know what it is. How are you involved?” What are you doing? He’s right here and wants you too. I unwrap my legs from his waist, and he pulls back farther.

  “I’m not. And I don’t know if there’s anything going on with your dad and brother. I just wanted to see you.”

  He doesn’t flinch from my intense stare, but it still feels like he’s hiding something and it’s enough to kill the mood.

  “Why are you back in town?”

  “Do I need a reason?” He gets up and offers me his hand.

  I don’t take it. “How long are you staying?”

  “What are you, my mother?”

  I stand and walk back downstairs, crossing my arms and giving the front door a pointed look. “Wrong answer.”

  He sighs and walks slowly back down, pausing when he reaches me. “I don’t know how long I’m staying, and it doesn’t matter why I’m back. Give me a chance. Let me take you out.”

  God I want to. But the Mercys have a reputation for lurking in the shadows, waiting for an angle and exploiting it hard. Does he see me as an angle, somehow? Do Dad and Patch see me as the weak link people can use to exploit and that’s why I need to be protected? But how? For what? I lean against the doorway, hoping Matthew will deny my next words, walk back over here, and finish what we started.

  “Are you helping out your family? I saw your uncle at the race. If you’re into anything like he is, you should stay away from me.” I cross my fingers behind my back. Laugh like the words are silly and come back over here.

  He lowers his head and stalks to the door. “I’m not, actually.” He turns back, and the starkness in his eyes makes me feel an inch tall. “I’m more than my last name, Andy. I wish...”

  My breath catches in my throat, choking me with desire and hope. “You wish what?”

  He shakes his head and leaves without another word.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Matthew

  If you’re anything like your family...

  Days later, the implication of her words still consumes me. Anger and an all-too-familiar resentment tighten my jaw, and I rev my bike at the start line, eager for the race to begin. In the illegal races there are no warm-up laps, just me and twenty-seven of my closest competitors crowding the grid waiting for the flag to drop. I wasn’t able to get a spot at the front, so I’m going to have to make it up on the track and hope that some of them crowd hard and take each other out in the first turn.

  I can hold my own, but I’m still hoping that weapons don’t get pulled.

  ‘...stay away from me.’

  The assholes on either side turn my way, but I don’t care what they think. Andy’s words crowd everything else out, having singed themselves onto the one raw nerve I still have about myself.

  The past six years have been hard, unlearning a lot of what I thought life was about, while I made—and make—an honest living doing small engine repairs and custom paint jobs. The market’s smaller than the town, but I do okay. Best of all, I don’t have to look over my shoulder worrying about last night’s crimes catching up to bite me in the ass.

  I thought I’d left it all behind me, made peace with who I was, but Andy’s words have crawled under my skin and stirred all kinds of shameful things up.

  I stole my first car at fourteen, robbed my first store at fifteen. Juvie was my second home—hell, it provided more stability than Roland Mercy. Dad saw me and Luke as baggage until we were old enough to be useful to him and the lifestyle in which he
wanted to become accustomed. When the guy teaching you right from wrong is crooked, your moral compass doesn’t point to true north.

  By the time I grew up enough to know that I didn’t want to follow in my family’s footsteps and be a local thug, always scheming and finding the angle, I’d already made a name for myself as a tough guy. I’d been to juvie and not jail, though it wasn’t because I’d kept my nose clean once I hit eighteen. Luckily for me I don’t have a permanent record tarring the clean future I want to make for myself.

  I crouch lower and rev my bike until it makes a high-pitched whine. Why isn’t Andy here? She rode like she lived for this shit. Shaking her from my head, I focus on the guy with the flag.

  The white flag falls and we’re off, bikes screaming toward the first turn. This is the most dangerous part of the race. I hit the foot pedal to brake with the rear wheel and use the momentum to swerve abruptly around a rider when his tire blows out and he bails right in my path. My thighs are tight, working to keep my seat and avoid other riders still on bikes or the ones who have been thrown to the ground.

  The track is dry and packed hard and we’re going to be able to get some serious speed, but it’s going to be a bitch for anyone who falls.

  Eight riders don’t make it through the first turn. The rest of us slalom around parts and people, jostling for position when we get within kicking distance. I’m not here to lose, but I keep my limbs to myself, focusing instead on riding and avoiding hits left and right. If I steer clear enough, maybe the rest will take each other out and thin the pack for me.

  The rush of adrenaline roars through me, and I find myself grinning inside my helmet. Man, I forgot how much I love this. I tuck on the straight to build speed and clear the corner fine, but the guy to my right comes in hot and almost T-bones me. My back tire leaves the track as I squeeze the front brakes, slowing but not stopping, and I gun it as soon as my rear wheel hits the ground again, forced to hug the inside to make up speed.

  The inside’s more coveted—and dangerous—but it’s become necessary if I’m going to win this thing for Luke.

  I crest a jump with dangerous velocity, but carry control through the landing, carving to the left through another turn. Ahead and to my right, two riders engage and one loses, sliding into the tires on the outside of the track, crashing heavily, likely cracking ribs or his shoulder.

  Because we’re racing in an abandoned warehouse, the track is shorter and we’re doing three laps instead of one. More time to entertain the spectators by fucking each other up. By the time I finish the first lap, I’m in third place and there are only twelve of us left hungry for a win. The fifteen thousand dollar take-home will put a nice dent in the debt Luke owes.

  I tuck tighter and ride. By the time I start the third lap, there are only eight of us left and there’s no one ahead of me.

  This is what I’ve missed about racing. The way adrenaline sharpens my thoughts and reflexes, making me feel like I’m more than just a man. I missed this feeling and didn’t realize it until now.

  A guy on a sweet red Honda swerves toward me. His foot swings out and knocks me, but I grip tighter and manage to stay upright and in the lead. Prick. A jump puts some distance between us, but he comes at me again, this time leading with his foot.

  But I’m a damned good racer. The finish line’s in sight, and I’m in first place—if I can hold on. The time for clean fighting is over when the asshole comes at me again. Instead of trying to knock him directly from his bike, I kick his handlebar, pulling the hit, and he swerves to the left, braking to miss the tires set up as a perimeter.

  It’s not as dirty as I could have been, and it’s enough to get me the victory.

  Race over, I take one more lap around the track, slowly this time, taking in the damage. People’s friends took the injured riders out right away and have gone. The place is emptying fast. There’s no adrenaline rush like there was the other night. Am I too old for this shit, or is it something more?

  Andy was here last time. Man, when she took off that helmet and her hair came flowing down... she fucking shone like she was made of light, something pure. Ironic since she’d been fighting as dirty as the guy I just beat.

  Fuck Andy Perris. Wouldn’t you like to do exactly that?

  I would. I did want to, but she kicked my legs out from under me when she said I was like my family. Fine, maybe I lost control a bit, came on too strong on the stairs, but she didn’t even give me the chance to take her on a date.

  You’re not supposed to want to date her. You’re supposed to be seducing her.

  Maybe I can do both.

  Last night I stayed home while Dad and Uncle Kingsley went out boosting cars, stealing, stripping, and selling everything they could within twenty hours. If they applied that dedication to legal pursuits, there’s no telling how successful they’d be. The pressure they applied to get me to join in made me twitchy, but I’m better utilized in the races and didn’t let them forget that if I get injured now—or worse, thrown in jail—they’re basically up shit creek.

  No matter how far I’ve come since I left, I’m right back where I was, doing illegal races to make a quick buck, only this time it’s not for myself, it’s for Luke. My ego clings to that fact; it’s the distinction that makes this all okay. Doesn’t mean I have to like it. You don’t realize what pride in yourself—or at least, lack of shame—feels like until that starts slipping away. It’s hard to embrace this when it’s not who I want to be, regardless of the motivation and necessity for it.

  I pull up and stop, waiting for the organizer to take care of the financials and find me. It’s not long before a seedy little guy who reminds me of a mangy ferret hands me the cash prize. There’s no handshake or celebratory lap in street races. You get the prize and get the fuck out.

  You also don’t count it. Every dollar will be there unless you’re stupid enough to offend the guys putting on the race, or flash that much cash around resentful racers who lost. I’m sure a few of these guys would love to put the prize money to use buying new bikes, or repairing the ones that just got jacked up. Hell, maybe some of them have equally noble reasons as I’ve got and need would have them do something desperate.

  Either way I hate making enemies, so I track down the guy on the viper red Honda who played rough at the end.

  Younger than I thought, he scowls at me through his visor. “The fuck you want?”

  I idle beside him for a second before I offer him my hand. “No hard feelings?”

  He raises his visor. “Fuck you, Mercy piece of shit. Watch your back.” He spits at my feet.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Benny Sims.”

  I add him to the list of people I have to find out how my family pissed off, and ride away to load my bike onto the truck and head back. Twenty miles later, I still can’t outrun thoughts of Andy Perris.

  No matter how wrong about me she is, I shouldn’t care what she thinks.

  The fact I very much do is disturbing.

  “WHO’S BENNY SIMS AND why does he hate us?”

  Uncle Kingsley grunts. “Little piss ant. He fucked up a deal we had with another garage. Bought a cheap part, wasn’t happy with the quality and didn’t understand the no refunds policy.”

  “You ripped him off?”

  He drains his beer. “Buyer beware, kid. Couple weeks after, the cops busted the shop, and we lost a lot of inventory. A couple of our partners got banged up and will be there for some time. No prizes for guessing who ratted us out.”

  “But you don’t know it was him for sure?” Great, these assholes probably pinned something on Benny that he didn’t even do.

  “We suspect.”

  “Where’s Dad?”

  He grins. “You don’t want to know.”

  I probably don’t. “Any word from Luke?”

  “They’re weaning him off the morphine and he starts physio tomorrow. He’s hurting pretty badly. You should go see him.”

  I nod. Sometimes Kings
ley surprises me by caring.

  “You’ve been gone a while. How’s it going with the girl?”

  Images of Andy’s mouth on mine flood my brain and I fail to push them away. “Fine.” My voice is tight. I need her to give me a chance, but what can I do to prove I’m not like these assholes? Worse, I damn well know I’ve got no right to drag her into my family’s bullshit.

  Kingsley glares and stabs the air between us with his index finger. “Better be more than fine if you’re going to help your brother.”

  “Hey, I’m laying the foundations. Give me a week. Maybe she’ll forget how to ride a bike.”

  “She will if you ride her right.” He winks lecherously like we’re buddies talking scores over drinks.

  Maybe I’m into Andy a bit too much, but the way I’m talking about her feels seven kinds of wrong, so I change the subject to make it seem like I don’t care. “I need a shower and some food.”

  “I’ll order something.”

  Annoyance flashes through my gut. “We’re supposed to be saving money.”

  “A twenty isn’t going to collapse the house of cards. Besides, I’ve got something lined up for tonight.”

  I head to the bathroom. “Don’t tell me what it is. I don’t want any part of it.”

  “You’re right about that, Matt.”

  Curiosity doesn’t kill the cat. It makes it an accessory to its crimes.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Andy

  My aching nipples nag me about last night’s choice to not let Matt devour me on the stairs when I had the chance. I don’t have balls, but plenty of other body parts feel blue about the whole situation. My body was uncharacteristically all for it. What’s wrong with me? I never jump into anything that fast. It had to be temporary insanity, brought on by years of fantasizing about him when I was a teen.

  And then I pushed him away because...adulting?