Mercer: Prophets MC

by Laura Day

  North. South. East. West. They could be anywhere and have eyes everywhere.

  I noticed that a black car was behind me. It had been following me for a couple of miles. I noticed it pulling out of a gas station I'd passed. What if that was them? What if they had spotted me and were tailing me, waiting for reinforcements? What if they were waiting until I stopped at a light before they rolled up and shot me in the head? I glanced in the rearview mirror, my eyes widening slightly and a bolt of adrenaline racing through my veins. I tried to control the thunderous beat of my heart but was finding it more than a little difficult at the moment.

  “Please turn, dammit. Please, turn,” I prayed under my breath.

  There was a stoplight up ahead. It had just turned yellow, and my heart began thumping so hard, I thought it was going to bruise the inside of my chest. I contemplated speeding through it, knowing that it was about to turn red, meaning we'd be stopped. We'd be sitting ducks. If they wanted to get out of the car and shoot me in the head right then and there, nothing was going to stop them.

  The black car was staying behind me. Not speeding up and not slowing down. It just stayed a steady distance behind. I gave more thought to running the light, but there was a line of traffic coming out of a church parking lot just up ahead.

  I couldn't run it. I had to stop.

  My pulse raced, and it felt like a fire was burning out of control just beneath my skin as the seconds ticked by. I kept waiting to hear the crack of the shot and then for my world to go black as the bullet from some faceless assassin pierced my brain. I just kept praying.

  “I know I've made some mistakes, God – but please, if not for me, then for my daughter's sake, don't let this be the end. Please, don't let me die.”

  Given the fact that I wasn't much of a religious type, I was aware of how hypocritical my pleading was. But I was terrified and out of options – I was willing to do and try anything to keep us safe. Tears welled up in my eyes as I looked back on Laila, sleeping in her car seat, oblivious to how terrified and upset I was. Oblivious to the danger we were in. I was grateful for that. I never wanted her to remember me like this.

  Wiping the tears from my eyes, I let out a sigh of relief as the light turned green and I hadn't been shot in the head. The black car was still behind me, and a wave of thankful relief rolled over me when I saw them turn their blinker on. I watched closely as they turned into hotel parking lot. As they turned, I saw the driver – a blonde woman. She was alone.

  My hands trembled on the wheel, and I let out a nervous laugh over how silly I was being. My paranoia had made me fear some random car on a lonely stretch of road. But deep down, I knew it wasn't silliness, and I was probably right to be paranoid. The threat was very real. While that car might not be the one carrying my killers, sooner or later, one would be. Unless I got the hell out there anyway.

  Thankfully, I was almost there. I just had one stop to make first.

  ***

  “I need my last paycheck, Sherry,” I stammered.

  I was balancing Laila on my hip, bouncing her gently to keep her quiet as she stared wildly around the club. The club wasn't open yet, and I was lucky to find Sherry still here. Though honestly, I wouldn't call it luck so much as I knew she often hung out at the bar, drinking into the early hours of the morning before passing out in a booth or in the back somewhere. Sometimes it paid to pay attention to routines.

  I happened to catch her before she passed out, thankfully. Or maybe she'd slept it off already and had just woken up, ready to pour herself another stiff one.

  “You know I can't cut a check early, doll,” she said. “That's the rules. You'll get paid on Friday like everyone else.”

  Having not worked the last couple of weeks, I had none of the spare money I usually got from tips. Mercer had been paying for everything, so I didn't fret too much at the time. I still got a weekly check though – a measly one – from my job at the club. It was from the last week I worked – only a partial week, at that – but it would have to do. If I was going to get out of there, I needed every spare nickel I could scrape up.

  “I know that's the rules, but listen to me for a second. I'm in trouble, Sherry. Big trouble,” I said, trying to drive the point home with my eyes. “My baby and I need to get out of Vegas, fast. And I don't have the cash to do that.”

  My eyes welled up with tears, but I fought them back. I had to stay strong. I couldn't break down in front of Laila. She needed me to be strong and not give in to my fear or despair. Besides, crying wouldn't get me anywhere with Sherry. She'd heard it all before. She'd watched more than a few girls come to her over the years, crying their hearts out – most of them needing the money for a drug fix.

  But this wasn't about drugs. I was hopeful she knew me well enough to know I wasn't into that crap, and when I said I needed help, I meant it.

  Sherry sighed. “You know I'm not in charge of that, Val. Bill is, and he's not going to be in for a couple more hours.”

  A couple more hours? Did I have that long to wait? The better question being – did I have much choice?

  “Can't you call him,” I pleaded. “Maybe explain the situation to – ”

  Sherry shook her head, standing up from the bar and wobbling a bit as she did so. “No, sweetie. I call Bill at this ungodly hour, he won't answer. And even if he does, he ain't coming down here. Not for you, or for anyone, I'm afraid. He doesn't like to be disturbed at home at all, let alone at a time like this. He has a family and all. ”

  “So do I,” I mumbled.

  Except, my family was right there with me. My baby. That's all the family I had in the world. And it was my job to keep her safe. While Bill Moyers, owner of the Ace of Hearts, was sitting pretty in some penthouse apartment or a house out on Lake Las Vegas with his wife and three kids, I was there begging for my measly paycheck, so I could get the hell away from the men trying to kill me.

  Yet I knew Sherry was right. There was no way to get Bill there before his usual time. And there was literally, nothing I could do about it. I didn't have a single dime to my name – well, except for what little I had managed to squirrel away. I didn't have nearly enough for a train ticket for myself, much less food for the both us. I didn't even have enough money for gas to get to the train station.

  I was scared. Frustrated. I felt the clock ticking away – only I had no idea how much time I had left on the timer.

  “Tell me, doll – what kinda trouble you in?” Sherry grabbed a bottle from underneath the bar and poured herself a tall glass of something foul smelling. “Because if there's one thing I'm no stranger to, it's trouble. Dealt with trouble in one form or another all my life, if I'm bein' honest.”

  Sherry was an ex-stripper, older and retired now. Dried up and with little to no viable skills for a job outside of the club, this was her life. At one time, she'd mentioned getting involved with men like Mercer. She'd warned me against it, and yet there I was, coming to her for help because I'd done exactly what she'd warned me not to do.

  She was a woman who had so very little to give already. Even though she was our stage mom, the person who took care of us while we worked here, I had little hope she could help me out of this mess I was in. So I kept it brief and to the point, avoiding mention of Mercer and the fact that they wanted to kill me entirely.

  “My ex from back in California. The one who used to beat the hell out of me… He found me, Sherry,” I said. “He found me and wants to punish me for leaving him.”

  Sherry didn't look too surprised. I probably wasn't the first abuse victim to step foot through that door. And I probably wasn't the first woman who'd confided into her about this type of stuff either. I was sure that she'd heard it all a million times before. I doubted that there was little that could surprise her.

  “I'm guessing that you haven't called the police yet?”

  I shook my head. Biting my lip, I asked myself the same question. Why hadn't I called the police? I racked my brain and had no real answers. Mainly it
came down to not trusting them. My ex had friends on the police force back home. The one time I called, they never came. Instead, his friend alerted Ricky to the fact that I'd called them and tried to get help. That little incident had led to one of the worst beatings of my life. From that point forward, I didn't trust the police.

  And that brought another more disturbing and sinister thought to the forefront of my brain – what if he knew people out here too? What if that's how he'd found me somehow?

  “I can't, Sherry. I just – can’t.”

  There was also the part about Mercer. As much as I despised him for covering up everything about Ricky and the fact that he'd hired somebody to kill me, I couldn't turn him in. After all, I truly believed he meant well. Had he wanted to kill me, he'd had plenty of chances.

  I just couldn't be sure where his true loyalty, when tested, would lie. For that reason, I didn't want to get him arrested and thrown in jail, but I also never wanted to see him again. Just in case I was wrong about his good intentions.

  He did, after all, lie to me. And he was tied to a group who wanted me dead. That was reason enough to run – but to turn him in? I couldn't bring myself to do that either.

  Sherry didn't argue with me on that point. Women like her know that it's often more complicated than people would like to think it is. Most of us knew that while the majority were good, that not all police officers could be trusted. We knew that corruption was inevitable. And we knew that the law so often failed people like us – whether they intend to or not.

  Sherry got up, stumbling and wobbling a bit as she walked toward the door.

  “Where are you going?” I asked her.

  “To move your car,” she said with a sigh. “Can't have it out in the open, can we? Not if you're going to be hanging out here for a few hours. I'll lock up the doors. You and your baby should be safe here. Ain't no one getting past these locks and bars.”

  Smiling, I felt a sense of relief so powerful that tears filled my eyes once more. This time, they were tears of gratitude. I knew I couldn't stay there forever. I knew that they'd have to open the club eventually, but for now, I was safe enough. I could hang out there until Bill got in and I was able to get my last check. Maybe the time at the club, with not having to worry about the car behind me would bring me a little peace of mind. And maybe, it would give me the time I needed to figure something else out. To come up with a plan.

  Sherry was right. No one was going to get through these doors. And with my car hidden, maybe it would be okay to stay here. Maybe we'd be safe. At least until Bill came in for the day and I had to go.

  It was just a few more hours. That was all. Then everything would be okay. Or, at least, as okay as they could be under the circumstances.

  Back behind the dressing rooms, there was a sitting area for us dancers. It was private, no customers were ever allowed back here, and it remained locked throughout the night, giving us a safe haven if things got out of hand on the floor or before our shift started.

  I'd never brought my daughter to the club before. This was not a place I wanted her to be. I never wanted her to be exposed to what I did to earn money. At least this back room was secure, private, and comfortable with a large sofa – large enough that some girls would nap on it before their shift began, girls that probably had nowhere else to sleep.

  Girls like me.

  I laid down with Laila, curling up with her and immediately felt my eyes grow heavy. Sherry had gone out to move my car, and I figured she was back inside by now and the place all locked up for the day. With my car out of sight and locks in place, I felt like maybe I could sleep. Maybe.

  My heart still raced at every sound – even if it was just the air conditioning kicking on or an airplane flying overhead. Every sound made me fear for my life. I supposed that was natural when you were running from men who wanted to kill you. I couldn't imagine being mellow about it all.

  But eventually, that fear wasn't powerful enough to keep me from falling asleep and my eyes closed. The softness of my daughter's cheek against mine comforted me, as did her soft baby smell. She wasn't scared, she was tired. Just like her mama. It was early, much too early for both of us. Or much too late, depending on how you looked at it.

  I drifted off with my ears still listening.

  At least I could rest for a bit before we sped away from this city and set out for an unknown future once more.

  Chapter Thirty One

  Mercer

  I knew it wasn't safe to ride my bike around town. While maybe they weren't specifically looking for it, my Harley wasn't one that blended into the landscape. I needed another plan, another way to get around that wouldn't be recognizable to Bates and the Prophets.

  There was a truck in the garage at my place. But getting there and getting it without being seen might prove to be something of a problem. The truck wasn't one the guys would recognize thankfully. It was one I rarely drove and was just an old beater for towing and shit. It was just a relic from my old days of towing people for some extra cash, and I'd had it since long before I fell into the Prophets and found a new income stream entirely.

  There was a reason I never took Val to my actual home.

  I was careful to still keep my face and tattoos covered, my eyes taking in everything around me.

  The thing working in my favor was that it wouldn't be hard to spot my guys – even around here. The neighborhood wasn't the most beautiful or friendly. And the people around there tended to stay indoors and keep to themselves for the most part. Crime was most definitely present in this neighbourhood, and most would consider it the “wrong side of the tracks,” but it suited my purposes. It was the kind of neighborhood where nobody ever saw anything and they rarely – if ever – called the police.

  Sure, I probably could have moved at some point, but I didn't see a point. I didn't fear a damn thing, and nobody really bothered me anyway. So, why should I pay more for a shitty apartment in a neighborhood that was nicer, but one where my neighbors would be watching every move I made?

  Now, because I knew the place so well, and knew who should and shouldn't be hanging around, I could easily keep an eye out for anyone. I could easily spot anybody that looked out of place. Not that many of the guys came over to my place. Hell, I don't know if anyone from the club actually knew where I lived. But you could never be too careful.

  As usual, the street was empty. Cars were parked along the road – most I recognized. But there were no bikes to be seen. Although, if they were really looking for me, I was reasonably sure they'd hide their bikes. Still, I didn't see anything that struck me as out of place, and none of my instinctual warning bells were going off. Still, I kept my head down and walked down the sidewalk toward my house. I passed one of my neighbors, who was sitting on his porch with a forty of beer. He watched as I walked past, but we didn't say a word or acknowledge one another in any way. That was how it was done in my neighborhood.

  My house more or less looked abandoned. It was a place I hadn't been back to since taking Val to the safe house. I much preferred the nice apartment, honestly. As much as I liked the apartment, it just didn't feel like mine. It belonged to my sister still – even if I'd probably never see her again. But technically speaking, it was still hers.

  The house, though, was my home. I owned it, paid in full. Didn't owe anyone shit for rent. I could come and go as I pleased and didn't have to worry about anybody or anything.

  I looked around and didn't see any sign of anyone lurking around outside. I checked the windows and didn't see movement inside. Not saying there wasn't someone in there, but still, it looked pretty clear. And just had the feel of abandonment about it. As quietly as I could, I unlocked the front door. Pushing it open gently, I stood in the doorway and listened. Everything was quiet inside. There was a pizza box on the table from the last night I'd stayed there, and a few empty beer bottles littered the floor. I kicked one with my foot by accident as I walked through the living area, cringing at the racket it made.
>
  When the clanging of the bottle finally stopped, that was when I heard it. Movement. Someone was in my goddamn bedroom. I reached for the gun in my back pocket, holding it steady as I walked down the hallway, doing my best to move silently.

  A loud crash came from the room. There was definitely someone in there. Likely one of my guys lying in wait for me. Possibly more than one. I didn't want to hurt anybody, but it was looking more and more like they were taking the choice out of my hands. You did not break into a man's house and not expect that there would be consequences. Sometimes fatal consequences.

  The walk down the hallway was agonizing as my mind swirled around the decision I was going to have to make. Would I be able to shoot one of my own men if it came to that? What if it was Jax or one of the guys I was close to? Could I do it? Could I pull the trigger? Would they kill me if I didn't?

  I knew the answer to that last question. I knew what I had to do.

  As I turned the corner and stepped into my bedroom, I raised the gun in my hand and looked everywhere. No one. The bed was a mess, blankets were strewn all over the place, along with more beer bottles – but nobody waiting for me. Nobody I could see, anyway.