by Lane Hart
“So, um, thanks for…that,” Mercy says. “I hope it was okay for you…”
“Yeah, ah, no problem,” I tell her, not used to having women thank me for fucking them like it was a chore or some shit.
She has all of her clothing clutched to the front of her body, hiding her tits and gorgeous, red pussy from me. I didn’t really get a chance to bury my face in those titties or suck on them like I would like to, and she’s dismissing me. What else did I expect? I’m one lucky son of a bitch because the classy woman let me touch her in the first place. I never expected her to let me eat her out or fuck her, but I know it was a one-time thing. Done and over. Too damn bad.
“I need to, um, go clean up in the bathroom,” she informs me with red coloring her cheeks, and I nearly groan thinking about my cum running down her thighs. Fuck, I wish I could see that.
When Mercy continues to stand stock-still, I eventually realize that she wants me to get the hell out of her house.
“Oh, right, I’ll get going,” I agree as I get to my feet and reluctantly tuck my semi-hard cock back into my jeans to zip up. “I’ll just lock the door on the way out,” I tell her.
“Okay, thanks, Abe,” Mercy says before she scurries off down the hall and I hear a door shut, signaling the end of my time in the gorgeous woman’s presence.
Am I disappointed that it’s over? Hell yes, because I would’ve loved to come inside of her a few more times even if it’s incredibly stupid. But I didn’t expect anything more. Fuck, I was lucky just to be able to get inside of her once. And usually, I prefer when the club sluts get dressed and leave my room right after we finish fucking. I mean, I’ll keep my mouth shut if they decide to stick around, but only because I don’t want to be an asshole. Getting off is all I really care about though with any woman.
So then why does it feel like my boots are filled with cement when I try to make my feet leave Mercy’s house? And why the fuck does it feel like I’m leaving something behind when I finally make myself lock her front door and pull it closed behind me?
Chapter Six
Mercy
As soon as I step out of the shower, I hear the faint sound of my phone ringing from my purse that’s still in the living room.
And I know it has to be either Sasha or my mother. My mother will worry if she calls and I don’t answer, so I wring out as much water as I can from my long hair and wrap my towel around me to go answer.
Droplets of water leak down onto my purse as I dig around for my phone and finally find it.
“Hi, Mom,” I answer after seeing her name on the screen. Then, I take a seat right there on the floor instead of sitting on my new microfiber sofa and getting it wet, just a few feet away from where I did the nasty with a man I just met.
“What were you doing? You sound out of breath,” my mother says in a rush.
“I just got out of the shower.”
“Why were you showering in the middle of the afternoon?” she asks.
Jeez, my mother is like a crazy, mad dog detective on one of those crime shows.
“It’s a hot, muggy day and I wanted to cool off,” I explain, leaving off the part about how my body was dripping sweat and other bodily fluids, not entirely my own, from the dirty floor sex. I would even question whether or not the unbelievably good fucking actually happened to me if not for the soreness between my legs from being impaled on the biggest dick I’ve ever seen. That’s all the proof I need that I really had a one-night stand.
I wait for the guilt and self-loathing to surface after doing something so crazy and out of character, but as of right now they’re still absent. Guess the endorphins haven’t worn off yet. Any time now I’ll be regretting my decision and wishing I could go back in time and stick the dime in my purse rather than in Abe’s pocket like he was a giant, walking, talking orgasm vending machine. Did he enjoy himself? I mean, I know he came inside of me, but that doesn’t mean it was necessarily good sex, right? It could’ve just been boring sex for him.
“Do you have a fever?” my mother asks. “Is that why you’re hot?”
“No, Mom,” I reply with a roll of my eyes. “I’m perfectly heathy.”
“Are you getting plenty of sleep? You need to be well rested to get rid of the bags under your eyes before the photo shoot.”
“I’m sleeping at least eight hours a night,” I assure her. “And I don’t have bags under my eyes.”
“Are you sure? I want you to put your best foot forward with the bachelors,” my mother says. “You’re running out of time. If you don’t get married before you’re thirty, then you may as well forget having kids. And you want kids, don’t you?”
“I have plenty of time,” I disagree as I stretch out on my back on the floor. “Who says women have to marry before thirty to have kids?”
“That’s just how it works.”
“Uh-huh,” I say to humor her.
“Now, the first men you need to get rid of on the show are the most handsome ones,” she tells me. “If a man is too handsome, he’ll cheat on you, just like your father did to me. So pick someone who isn’t classically handsome but not awful to look at.”
“So you’re saying that all handsome men are cheaters?” I challenge.
“Yes!” she exclaims. “They won’t ever stop looking for someone better. And when they find it, they’ll leave you alone to raise their kids while they start a new family.”
My poor mother. When I was six, my father moved out of the house. He divorced her, remarried, and forgot that the two of us ever existed. According to my mother’s gossiping friends down in Florida where my father lives, I have a half-brother and half-sister out in the world that I’ve never met. It’s a tough pill to swallow thinking that he didn’t give a shit about me but loves his other children enough to stick around. But I can’t imagine how hard it’s been on my mother losing the man she loved to another woman after they had started a family together. It was brutal finding out Blake wanted someone else, and we had only been dating a few weeks. How hard must it be to devote your life and love to a man and have him trample all over it like it’s nothing but dog shit on his shoes?
“Are you listening to me, Mercy? Don’t pick the handsome men. Keep the ugly ones around and see if any of them attend church regularly. If not, then you should finally go out with Joseph. He never misses a single Wednesday bible study or Sunday school.”
“I don’t think there are many single men out in the world who attend church other than Joseph,” I point out, cringing at the reminder of the dumpy, excessively sweaty man my mom always makes me talk to before we can leave the parking lot on Sundays. Not that I’m very spiritual myself. The only reason I go to church is because my mother guilt trips me into it. When we were traveling, she dragged me to some type of service every single, bright and early, Sunday morning. Then, she would spend the rest of the day complaining about how wrong they did everything that wasn’t exactly like her small, strict, uber-conservative Baptist church that she was raised in.
“Well, more single men should come to church! That’s what’s wrong with the world. People don’t talk to Jesus anymore. They sin too much and don’t never even bother to ask forgiveness!”
The reminder of how I sinned this afternoon causes a blush to creep up my neck and cheeks. My mother thinks I’m a virgin, which is insane. Even if she thought I hadn’t had premarital sex before the show, she should’ve figured it out by now. If she found out that I had slept with a man I just met, a tatted biker at that, she’d probably be on my doorstep with the preacher, ready to exorcise the demons he left in my body.
“You’re staying on the path of the righteous, aren’t you, Mercy?” my Mom asks, which is, of course, when that guilt and self-loathing tries to rear its ugly head.
“Yes, mother,” I reply so that she won’t worry about me burning in hell when I die.
“You’re such a good girl,” she says. “And some men still prefer good girls over those loose ones.”
“I bet you�
��re right,” I tell her as I close my eyes and grit my teeth to get through the rest of this phone call. “I need to go dry my hair before I get pneumonia,” I say to get her off the phone.
“You should. And take your temperature afterward to make sure you’re not running a fever,” she tells me.
“I will. Love you, Mom,” I say.
“Love you too, Mercy. I better see you at early service tomorrow! Don’t make your poor mother sit in the pew all pitiful and alone, Mercy Grace Daniels!” she replies before I end the call.
Sasha has never understood why I tolerate my mother’s craziness, but she wouldn’t understand since both of her parents are still happily married. After my father left us, I’m all that my mom has left other than her handful of elderly church friends who haven’t kicked the bucket yet. So, I put up with her judgment, ancient advice, and sermons to make her happy and think that I’m following all of her old school wisdom.
And yeah, it’s exhausting to pretend like I’m a good girl.
…
Abe
My head was all over the place after I left Mercy’s house, still thinking about the mistake I made by not using a condom, while having a hard time regretting it. Sure, it felt fucking amazing to be inside of the first pussy ever without a barrier, but the consequences aren’t worth a few minutes of ecstasy.
So then why is it every time that I run through the memories, I wouldn’t do a damn thing differently except beg to stay for a few minutes longer.
When it starts to get dark, I leave the same pier as the restaurant where the mob of people with cameras were after Mercy and head back to the clubhouse. Tonight, the Kings are gonna bang some heads together at the Aces' bar, so I need to get over the shit that happened this afternoon and get ready.
That’s the only reason why I turn down Cynthia’s offer to come downstairs with me. Right?
Or maybe it’s because I still taste and smell Mercy’s mango scent on me and don’t want anyone fucking that up just yet.
“You’re here early,” Chase says when he walks into the chapel and sees me already sitting in my chair.
“Ready to get this done,” I tell him as he takes his seat next to me and leaves the chair at the head of the table empty for Torin.
“How did things go with Mercy?” he asks, holding out his palm for my cell phone to put in the bucket that always stays outside the room during our meetings.
“Fine,” I mutter as I pull the device from my pocket and hand it to him.
“Fine?” Chase repeats. “That’s it. Just fine? You were pussy-whipped before you found out her name,” he adds with a chuckle.
“No, I wasn’t,” I declare.
“I thought you were gonna drag her out of the restaurant by her hair,” Chase jokes. “And I think that’s what Sasha was betting on when she asked us to show up.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“My old lady was obviously pimping you out,” he replies with a smirk. “So, did you show her best friend a good time or not?”
“Yeah, we had a good time,” I agree.
“No shit?” Chase mutters. “Sasha said you would, but no offense, I didn’t think you had a chance with Mercy.”
“I didn’t either,” I agree. Then, surprising even myself, I tell him, “I want more.”
“Hell, we’re men. We always want more,” he replies.
“No, I mean, I want to see her again,” I explain.
“You sure about that?” Chase asks. “Sasha says the girl has a ton of baggage. Why don’t you just forget her and find Cynthia when we get back tonight? Less complicated.”
“Right,” I agree, even though I don’t want Cynthia or anyone else. I just want to go back to Mercy’s house and crawl into bed with her tonight. Nah, that’s too pathetic. Maybe I could buy her some flowers or some other shit and go by tomorrow. I mean, not to be a pussy or whatever, but should I keep an eye on her in case she was wrong about the shot thing and I knocked her up? If so, I want to be the first to know that shit. They make those Plan B pills for fuck-ups like mine. If I got her one of those, would she take it just to be absolutely sure?
One by one, our brothers start wandering in, dropping off their phones and taking their seats at the table. I wasn’t sure who all would be involved in our assault tonight, but it looks like everyone is here…except for Dalton.
Could he be our rat? Doubtful since he’s been around the MC almost as long as Chase has. His father was a founding member of the Savage Kings and Dalton now handles our dirty money, funneling it through the legit businesses to cover our asses. It wouldn’t make sense for him to fuck us over.
The door opens and in walks the blond bastard. “Fuck. Sorry I’m late,” Dalton says, sounding out of breath. “Cynthia was insistent, and you know how good her mouth is,” he adds with a grin in my direction before he shoots his phone into the bucket like it’s a basketball.
And yeah, I do know, but I’m not the least bit jealous that, when I turned the redhead down, she approached Dalton, the biggest manwhore of us all. We share her, like most of the other girls upstairs. Then, I try to think about how I would feel if one of the guys touched Mercy, and I can feel the vein in my head throbbing in rage at just the idea.
Even more surprising than Dalton coming is late is when the door opens again and Torin comes in. While he hasn’t shaved his thick, dirty-blond beard, he at least looks cleaner, missing the sand that was covering nearly every inch of him earlier.
“Glad you made it,” Chase says before everyone else welcomes him back. It’s been weeks since he’s even stepped foot in the building.
“Let’s do this,” he says before he takes a seat on the floor with his back against the wall and knees raised, refusing to sit in his chair at the head of the table.
Chase looks slightly disappointed but shakes it off when he places the phone bucket outside the door and shuts it. Torin’s the only member Chase doesn’t ask to pony up his phone since it’s not like he’s the rat, and I’m guessing he doesn’t want to rock the boat by asking for it.
Addressing the rest of the table, Chase says, “Sorry to call everyone in so late, but we need a full table tonight. You all know that Hector Cruz and his crew skipped town after…what happened.” Chase pauses, glancing over at Torin to make sure he’s holding it together. When Torin gives a slight nod, Chase continues. “Reece has been doing everything he can to try to track him down.”
Reece leans forward and raps his knuckles on the table; then waits for Chase to acknowledge him. “These Cartel guys are spooks,” Reece says. “When they draw too much attention to themselves, they fade away; then pop up with a new identity in another part of the country. I’m using every trick I know to get a hit on Hector or one of his associates, but it’s a slow process. I talked to Chase about it, and we thought that this situation might call for a more direct approach.”
“We know that these Cartel cunts approached the Ace of Spades MC,” Chase continues. “They were using them as distributors in our town. Abe and I put a stop to that shit. But with the recent events, I think it would be a good idea to revisit their clubhouse and express how unhappy we are with their choice of business partners.”
“We’re going to burn that fucking place to the ground,” Torin declares.
Every one of my brothers slap the table in agreement and roar in approval before Chase raises a hand for silence. “We’re gonna burn that fucking place to the ground,” he agrees. “But first we’re gonna ask some questions. Here’s how this is gonna go down, and even more reason why we have to do it tonight. Reece has been keeping an eye on the Aces and has found out that they still have a functioning meth lab in a trailer they’ve been moving around. That trailer is parked at their bar right now.”
“Meth labs blow up all the time,” Sax laughs, before a glare from Chase shuts him up.
“Yeah, that’s kind of the point,” Chase sighs. “Now, we also know that four of their members rode south earlier today. Reece pinged them
at a gas station in Florida this evening, so they’re not coming home tonight. Finally, we got a call from Jade just giving us a heads-up that the local police are setting up a big ass check-point on both ends of the strand late tonight, looking for drunks. They will be at least fifteen minutes away when any calls come in about the hell we’re going to raise out at the Aces' bar. Here’s what I need from each one of you.”
As Chase lays out the plan for our raid tonight, I’m finally able to push Mercy to the back of my mind. I know she’ll come storming back as soon as I have some quiet time, but right now I’ve got work for my fists and brains, not my cock and heart.
Once all of my brothers have confirmed they know their roles, Chase points to the wall clock.
“It’s almost midnight now,” he tells us. “Grab what you will need, get a drink, and be ready to ride at one. I want to be at their bar right after closing.” Casting one more worried glance at Torin, Chase picks up the gavel and slams it down.
Most of my brothers jump to their feet in excitement, then pause to watch as Torin storms out of the chapel. As the rest of us begin to file out, I hear Chase tell War, the sergeant-at-arms, “Stay by him, man. Don’t let him get himself killed tonight or do anything else stupid.”
“That’s what I’ve been doing for years,” War grumbles good-naturedly. “I’ll stay close to Torin, just like we planned. You keep Abe with you, and everything will work out fine. This is going to be good for us, brother. I’m proud of you.”
I see Chase slap War on the back before I start down the hall towards my room. Chase detailed my part in tonight’s activities for everyone else to hear, but he never had to explain it to me. I stand by him, wherever we go, just the way it’s always been since I was a prospect and he was my sponsor.
Out in the hallway, Gabriel stops me with a raised hand, bringing me up short. Things are always awkward with my little brother, and my head’s not in a good place for a heart-to-heart with him right now. “What’s up?” I ask him.
