Mercer: Prophets MC

by Laura Day

  Shame was easy to fake for some men, and I had to wonder – could a man like Mercer actually have any shame? I knew he was involved in some shady dealings – some probably violent dealings – what more would a little domestic assault to keep a woman in line be?

  Even though I was worried and scared of everything that had just happened, and my emotions were churning wildly, my stomach growled noisily, begging for food. I debated about trying to make something out of the ribs in the freezer anyway but then worried about what would happen if they made me sick. I was in the house alone – as always – and I couldn't leave. I couldn't go to the hospital, not with Laila in tow, and if I were throwing up because of food poisoning, that would be even worse.

  I wouldn't be able to call Mercer, and even if I did – I wondered if he would come? Ricky never came home to help me when I was sick. Why would Mercer be any different? I stared down at my phone and then at the card that still lay on the ground, trying to decide what to do. Finally, I sighed and stooped down to pick it up. With my stomach still growling, I made the call.

  “One medium pepperoni pizza, please,” I said softly, feeling like my words weren't my own. “The name is Rosa. Rosa Willis.”

  As I hung up the phone after placing my order, I whispered, “I'm sorry, Ms. Rosa Willis.”

  Falling onto the couch, my mind a swirl of emotions, I waited. As I did most nights, I waited and waited and waited some more. I flipped on the television and because we only got local channels, all I had to choose from were some re-runs of Modern Family, talk shows or the news. I opted for Modern Family. I liked that show, always got a laugh out of it – but it always killed me a little bit inside.

  If only I could have a family like that, I'd think as I watched their supposedly dysfunctional family antics play out on the screen. If only my life could be more like that.

  But it wasn't, and from the looks of it, it was probably never going to be.

  Chapter Twenty One

  Mercer

  I waited for Jax outside an abandoned gas station surrounded by darkness. More or less. Given the outlandish neon and light displays, Las Vegas was never truly dark – not if you were within the city limits. Its lights seemed to shine all day and night, and could be seen for miles and miles thanks to the flat landscape. And because of it, the world seemed to exist in a perpetual state of twilight.

  I'd chosen that particular location simply because I wanted to avoid running into Bates. I was up for a quick run with Jax and nothing more. We were going to drop off the stash, pick up the cash, and then we'd take our cuts before parting ways. Nothing more, nothing less. The last thing I wanted or needed was more drama with Bates.

  The roar of Jax's bike had announced his arrival before I saw the lights of his Harley cutting through the not-quite-gloomy night. He pulled into the derelict gas station, stopping right next to the pumps as if gas might still filter through the empty lines.

  “Got the stuff?” I asked him.

  He nodded and pulled a bag out from his jacket to show me.

  “Good. Let's go.”

  The meeting spot was just outside of town, not far from where we'd met up. This was Jax's deal, one of his first solo ones. I was merely backup. The muscle. I was there to make sure everything went smoothly and according to plan. A plan that should have been simple enough – drop off the heroin with the customer, get our money, and get out of there. I'd let Jax handle most of the logistics and was there just be his backup in case things went to shit. Not that we expected anything like that, not on this mission. But sometimes, the things we planned and the things that actually happened were two separate things entirely.

  Jax was a younger guy – one of the next generation of Prophets. I thought he was a good guy. A smart guy. A guy with the potential to be a leader if he could stop fucking around so much. But I couldn't blame the kid – and yes, he was a kid, much like Val was – for cutting loose and having a little fun. He was young and stupid, just like I had been at some point. But at the core, he was a good kid, one who might have ended up going to college and joining a fraternity had he been born on the right side of the tracks. But like all of us, he was an outcast, and his path was set long before he ever actually put his feet on it.

  With a nod, we switched on our bikes and the roar of the engines echoed around the desert landscape. The growl of a Harley was a sound I never got tired of hearing. Without another word, we pulled out of the abandoned parking lot and hit the highway, rocketing off toward the meet.

  Twenty minutes later, we pulled up outside the nightclub, just as we’d been requested. A black Audi waited for us – some rich asshole with more money than sense. He was probably buying enough heroin to supply a whorehouse for weeks. We didn't ask what he did with it, or where he got the money – probably from selling the very same drugs we were passing onto him for a higher profit. But it wasn't our business. We did our deal and made our money. What the asshole in the Audi did with it after that was up to him.

  As we pulled to a stop beside the car, the window wound down and a hand shot out. Jax reached into his jacket, pulled out the bag, and started to hand over the drugs. It was his inexperience showing. Before he handed over the pouch, I put my hand on his arm and stopped him.

  “Money first,” I said, guiding Jax. “You know the drill. No dope without payment up front.”

  “I already paid Bates half, up front,” came the voice from inside the car. It was a rich, cultured sounding voice. Definitely an asshole. “The rest will be handed over after I inspect the goods.”

  There was no face, just tinted windows, and a voice. A deep voice. One that sounded powerful, influential. Maybe even famous.

  “Nah, you paid Bates jack shit, or he'd have told us. Nice try, though, buddy. You have yourself a good night.” I motioned for Jax to put the drugs away.

  “Would you like me to call him?” the voice asked. “And let him verify what I said?”

  “Sure, why the fuck not?”

  Jax and I shared a look; he was getting nervous. As the man spoke to someone over the phone, Jax turned to me and tried to make small talk.

  “What are you doing about the girl?”

  “What girl?” I asked, so caught up in what was going on that nothing else registered at that moment.

  “You know, the dancer?”

  Ahh. He meant Val. “I'm doing what needs to be done.”

  Not really a lie – I was doing what I had to do. It just wasn't what Bates asked me to do, but Jax didn't need to know that.

  “He wants to speak with you,” the man in the car said, holding his fancy smartphone out the window for me.

  Jax reached for the phone, but the guy said, “No, him. He expressly said he wanted to speak to the big guy.”

  The big guy. Yep. That was me. Not that Jax wasn't made of muscle, but he lacked the height. He was young and still had some filling out to do. What in the hell did Bates want with me? This was Jax's deal, not mine. I was there just to keep shit from going sideways.

  I took the phone. “Yeah? He says he paid half already.”

  “He did. It was my cut of the deal,” Bates said.

  “Half? When do you fucking get half?”

  Had things been on the up and up, Jax and I would have split most of the cash, and Bates would have gotten a percentage. That's how we did those deals. Always had. Bates wasn't out there with us, risking his life and freedom by running the deal. If we got popped, it was our asses on the line, not his. There was no goddamned half in it for him.

  “Since now,” Bates sneered. “Do you have a problem with that?”

  “Yes, I do,” I snapped. “Jax deserves his chunk, it's his job.”

  “And I deserve mine.”

  I clenched my jaw, prepared to let loose on him when I saw the man in the car hold out a gun, pointing it at Jax.

  “What the fuck, man?” Jax asked, backing up with his hands in the air.

  “Whoa, whoa, what the hell?” I hung up on Bates and moved forwar
d, the gun facing me now.

  “Do we have a problem with the deal we've made?” The guy’s voice was so calm, so well-spoken, and yet here he was, ready to blow our fucking brains out.

  “We didn't make this deal, asshole,” I spat at him.

  But Bates had. And it was unlikely Bates would return the cash, deal or not. I glanced over at Jax who stared back at me, looking lost. His first real deal and all hell had broken loose. Fucking Bates. He should have told us all this before sending us out on this goddamned deal. He'd put our lives in danger and let us take on all the risks – all because he knew we wouldn't have agreed to it otherwise.

  Now that we had a loaded gun pointed at us, we had very few options. The threat was on us, not Bates, and that son of a bitch had already taken half of the fucking money.

  “I don't care who made the deal, I want my product,” the man said. “Hand it over now and you get a slice of the pie, or else you both get a hole in your chest, and I take it anyway. Trust me on that, gentlemen.”

  I did trust him. I'd seen plenty of people who killed other people and those who pretended they could. Guys like the asshole in the Audi with his calm and almost detached demeanor – not even the slightest quiver in his voice – were the types to pull the trigger without a second thought. I knew this guy would kill us without thinking twice about it.

  I nodded at Jax who sighed, shook his head, and handed over the drugs. He was pissed, but considering our current circumstances, there was no other play. I'd expected the car to pull away without paying us, but the hand came back out the window and thrust a bag toward Jax – a bag that should hold cash, but only half as much as we'd anticipated.

  “Pleasure doing business with you,” the man said and quickly drove off.

  Jax counted the money. “All here – minus Bates' cut, of course.”

  If was he was bitter about Bates screwing us over, he managed to avoid showing it. Maybe he'd expected Bates to split his half with him anyway. Or maybe it was the adrenaline rush of making his first deal – or of having a gun pointed at his face. It didn't matter how Jax felt about it, though. What happened wasn't right. It wasn't fucking right at all.

  “I'm sorry, man,” I said, patting him on the back. “I'll have a talk with Bates about it and get you the rest of your money. That shit ain't right, man.”

  Jax gave me a tight smile but didn't look too sure of that. “Don't get yourself killed because of me, Mercer. It'll be fine.”

  No, it wouldn't be fine. “Bates wouldn't dare kill me over a disagreement like this.”

  Jax shot me a look that said he wasn't so sure about that either. Hell, truth be told, neither was I.

  “Okay, the old Bates wouldn't have killed me for arguing with him about pulling some shady ass shit like this.”

  “The old Bates,” Jax said, laughing and shaking his head. “I don't think I ever met the guy. The legend, the one everyone raves about – the only Bates I know is the dude he is now. Sounds like two totally separate people, if you ask me.”

  “And yet you still wanted to join us, I don't get it.”

  Jax shrugged. “Bates is only one guy, one part of The Prophets. Maybe a big chunk of it, but he's not the only person in the club. It's the club I joined, not Bates.”

  “Aww, shucks, man,” I said, slapping him hard on the back hard. “It almost sounds like we're having a moment. Let me wipe the tear from my eye.”

  “Fuck you,” Jax said, but he was chuckling.

  We both were. This was brotherhood. This was the way it was supposed to be.

  Bates had it all wrong.

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Valencia

  Mercer walked through the door, and I shot him a quick glance. My full attention, though, remained with Laila, who was sprawled out on her belly on the floor. She was smiling and making gurgling noises as we played with a few toys on a blanket before breakfast.

  “You're home early,” I said dryly to Mercer. “Or should I say, you're home late instead?”

  He didn't say a word or bother to look at me. He just walked in and went to the fridge. I rolled my eyes, waiting for the familiar sound of a beer can opening, but was surprised. Instead, he closed the refrigerator door and turned to me.

  “Damn, there's nothing to eat here,” he said.

  Mercer moved around the kitchen and opened up a cabinet that contained some cereal he'd picked up for me days ago.

  “No, not really,” I said, still not looking at him.

  He walked into the living room and sat down on the couch. He just sat there, watching us and not saying a word. It felt weird, but I didn't want him to know I was uncomfortable, so I continued playing with Laila whose eyes kept drifting over and focusing on him. Eventually, she watched him carefully, no longer interested in the toys in front of her.

  “She has your eyes,” he said after a moment.

  “I know.”

  Another few minutes of silence enveloped the room, and the tension was thick in the air. Mercer picked up a rattle shaped like a lion and tried handing it to Laila. My little girl looked at it with wide eyes, whimpered, and looked as if she might cry.

  “I'm sorry,” he said, pulling his hand back.

  As I looked at him, I realized that Mercer actually looked a little hurt by my daughter's rejection of him. That made me chuckle to myself. A huge man like him was sad that a baby didn't like him? Who'd have thought it?

  I picked her up and held her close, comforting her. Eventually, her whimpers died down. Although, the somewhat hurt look on Mercer's face hadn’t eased up much.

  “I know I can be a little scary,” he said, scratching the scruff on his face. “Maybe I should clean up a bit.”

  I looked over at him and cocked my head, trying to picture what a cleaned up version of Mercer would look like. If he were clean-shaven, his hair short, and wearing normal clothes – as opposed to grease-stained jeans and a leather jacket – he would look incredibly different. He'd look so – normal. And I had to admit, I wasn't so sure I'd have liked it much. There was something about the way Mercer looked now that attracted me to him.

  “It probably wouldn't matter,” I said, trying to mollify him. “She just doesn't know you, that's all. That's why she's afraid. It has nothing to do with your appearance.”

  Neither one of us really knew him, to be honest. I knew that I probably should have been more afraid of him than I was, but it was too late for that. For reasons I couldn't even begin to explain – not even to myself – I trusted Mercer. And for the most part, I felt safe around him. Although his moods had radically altered and he was – well – different, I never truly felt like he was going to hurt me.

  “Good,” he said. “Because I really didn't plan on changing.”

  He laughed and tried to turn it into a joke, but it wasn't working for me. It wasn't working for me at all. His laughter tapered off, and he cleared his throat. When he looked up at me, I could see something in his eyes I couldn't quite put a name to.

  “Listen, Val,” he said, his voice softer, “I'm sorry if I'm not the best with the baby. I've never really been around kids, so it's all a little weird for me.”

  He'd already told me that back when I'd first moved in, but at that time, it had felt more like an annoyance to have my child staying there with us. This time, it almost sounded like an apology.

  “I know,” I said, placing Laila back down on the floor.

  She reached for the rattle that Mercer had set back down on her blanket after she'd rejected him. Mercer watched her and smiled, ever so slightly, as Laila lifted the rattle up and gave it a good shake. A smile spread across her face too, as her lips pursed and she blew tiny bubbles.

  “And it's fine,” I said. “I'm used to taking care of her myself, honestly. I've never had any help with her before.”

  Mercer looked at me; the weight and intensity of his gaze were heavy. He felt something for me, I could tell – was it pity? God, no, please don't let it be pity.

  “I'm
a single mom, Mercer. It is what it is. I made my choice, and I'm willing to live with it,” I told him, trying to make it seem like it was no big deal. “I left Ricky because Laila is better off without him. She's better off with a single mother than with a father like him. We're both better for it. I never want my child to have to live in fear.”