Mercy's Angels Box Set (Mercy's Angel #1-3)

by Kirsty Dallas

  Shaking my head I grabbed my backpack and made my way to one of the spare beds at the furthest end of the room. The bathrooms were not handy at this end, but there appeared to be no one in the two beds beside me, which meant if I had nightmares I would hopefully not disturb anyone else. My nights were still haunted with visions of Marcus. I occasionally woke screaming, sometimes crying. I didn’t want these women who were battling their own demons to be witness to mine. I didn’t wish my nightmares on anyone, not even the blonde bimbo Selena. She didn’t realize how lucky she was. The fact she had looked at me with what I can only assume was jealousy was ridiculous, she certainly had nothing to be jealous about. No one wanted my life, not even me. She looked like one of those girls who had it all and it seemed as though she had Jax too. Though he certainly didn’t seem happy with her tonight, his tone icy cold, his eyes looked at her with frustration and anger. Not the same kind of anger Marcus was consumed with, just irritation. It’s all in the eyes. No one can hide what lies there, but it takes someone special to be able to see it. Most people look at the face as a whole, body language, gage the voice, the words. I blank all that out and concentrate on eyes and Selena’s eyes were fake. She was fake, and I couldn't understand why Jax would want a girl like that. Sighing I pulled the blanket over my head and closed my eyes, waiting for the inevitable tug into exhaustion, where images of Marcus continued to haunt me.

  Chapter 7

  Jax

  Once my shift began, I found myself sitting by a dim lamp in the common room, watching Ella. If it didn't feel so right, I might actually feel like some sick crazy stalker. This tiny woman had somehow become an important part of my life. I tried to examine it, look at the situation objectively, compare my need to help her to my need to help other women, the need I felt to save Sarah. At the end of a long hour of consideration, I decided my want for Ella must be simple, primitive male lust. Yeah, even that didn't feel right. Sure I wanted her, but not just that delectable little body, I wanted all of her, heart and soul included, and I had never felt that way about any of the other women who came to Mercy's, especially not Sarah. Shit, this is what the guys I served with called ‘pussy whipped'.

  With the sun up again I found myself in the kitchen getting breakfast started. Mary would be in soon, but I thought I'd surprise her and take the initiative to get the ball rolling. Porridge, toast, cereal and fruit, surely I couldn't screw that up. The scent of coconut teased my senses before I realized Ella stood beside me, tousled hair and rumpled clothes, reaching for the freshly brewed coffee.

  “Porridge, cereal or toast?” I asked. She grumbled and shook her head, taking a long sip of her coffee. She sighed. My girl wasn’t a morning person. My girl? I was not renowned for my possessive tendencies towards women so this claiming thing confused the hell out of me. Furthermore, Ella was not mine. "You're not leaving without eating, and you're taking that when you go." I nodded toward a brown paper bag sitting on the counter. Somehow I tried to convince myself that making her a sandwich for lunch was all about my concern for her wellbeing, and nothing more. It was a ruse. Sure I cared about her wellbeing but I also secretly hoped the gesture endeared me to her, just a little. Pussy.Whipped! Ella peered in the bag before gifting me a confused look, a little crease etched between her brows.

  “You made me lunch?” She was completely and utterly bewildered. The way her mouth parted with surprise and her eyes grew as large as saucers. Cute.

  “You’re acting like no one ever made you lunch before.”

  “Not since I was ten.” I glanced at her. She looked sad, another glimpse at the real Ella.

  “Your mother?” I gently nudged her into a conversation. Her eyes flared for a moment, anger simmering in those brown depths.

  “No. My mother didn’t do things like that.” I didn’t like the sound of hurt in that comment, so I tried to lighten the mood.

  “Well, if it makes you feel any better, it’s been a long time since someone made me lunch too. And it’s nothing to get excited over, just a sandwich, muffin and an apple. I didn’t have to cook a single thing, so you should be safe.” Her frown disappeared with a shy smile as she leaned against the counter, holding her mug of coffee in a death grip as if worried someone might try and take it from her.

  “Toast, with jam,” she muttered. I shoved two pieces of bread in the toaster.

  “You’re a very talented artist, you ever think about doing something more with that?” She got that whimsical faraway look and smiled. This was good, a topic she liked to talk about.

  “I love to sketch, portraits and landscapes especially.” She blushed at her confession.

  “You’ve never thought about going to university to study, maybe trying to pick up work in a gallery?” She looked at me like I’d grown an extra head. “It’s not impossible, you do have options.” I buttered her toast and added the jam before sliding it towards her.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, “And no, art is not in my future anymore. In fact I am very careful not to think about the future at all. My plans usually don’t stretch beyond a few days and keeping safe and having somewhere to sleep. My life is about survival, not fancy dreams of art.” She was so matter of fact about it but there was no missing the disappointment in her words. Mulling this over I continued to get breakfast ready before turning to face her.

  “You’re not safe here in Claymont?” I asked, the thought she might be in danger bugging me. Ella shrugged and emptied what was left in her mug into the sink and washed her plate.

  “Thanks for this,” she held up the last slice of her toast. “And this,” she grabbed the lunch I had prepared for her and pushed it into her backpack.

  "Not a problem, just make sure you eat it. You don't need to faint to get me to fuss over you." She blushed, and I pretended not to notice as she quietly snuck away.

  “Jax, come take a look at this." Mercy called from the doorway a few minutes later. I followed her down the hallway and into her office where she promptly shoved a piece of paper in my face. It was a receipt for the electricity I had paid two days earlier. I shrugged.

  “Uh-huh. And?” I knew she was going to be pissed that I paid the bill, but I also knew the shelter struggled to make ends meet and relied heavily on donations.

  “Jax, I don’t need handouts.” I laughed, throwing the bill back down on the crazy-ass clutter that Mercy called an organized mess.

  “Mercy’s Shelter survives on handouts, don’t be petty.” She scoffed and looked away.

  “My son shouldn’t be paying my bills. The shelter is mine. I started it; it’s my job to keep it running.” Stubborn woman.

  “Yeah well, consider it a donation from Carter Constructions.”

  "Carter Constructions has already given several hefty donations this year. It's a small company and I'm sure they can't afford to make another one." I shook my head. My company was doing more than alright. It was making a comfortable profit, and I hardly had to stick my head in the door. I could knock together bits and pieces in my shed and drop them into the factory as I pleased. My best friend Charlie was manager, and with several other great employees the place ran like a well-greased motor. Money wasn’t something I worried over in a long time. I earned descent money in the forces and invested well. I also recognized how lucky I was to have substantial funds behind me, and I was more than happy to give them away to good causes, like Mercy’s Shelter.

  “You know what Mom, I love this place just as much as you do. I want to be a part of it and I can afford to pay some of the bills and if you don’t like it then tough titties.” Mercy just stared at me. She knew I meant business when I called her mom, it was like playing the guilt card.

  “Did you just say tough titties?" She stammered, and I tried not to laugh but hearing the word ‘titties’ out of her mouth was about as unnatural as Miley Cyrus wearing a bra. Once I started laughing she couldn’t help the smile that crept across her stubbornly pissed features.

  “I did say titties, so suck it up and
take my money, or I’ll open my own damn shelter.” Her face broke into a full blown grin. My mom was so beautiful when she smiled.

  “So, tell me all about your Ella.” My Ella? I sighed and rubbed my stiff neck.

  “For starters, she’s not my Ella. But, she’s definitely different, special. I’ve been able to create a bond with her and she seems to trust me. She has scars, she showed me.” Mercy nodded, eyes solemn and understanding. Mercy was well acquainted with stories like Ella’s. My dad had been one A grade asshole who beat her regularly. How anyone could take a hand to someone they supposedly loved was beyond me. As far as I was concerned it took a real man to be gentle with a woman and give her what she needs.

  “They’re all special Jax and they all have scars, some are worn on their skin, some deeper. I know you feel as though you let Sarah down, but you didn’t. You don’t need to use Ella to make amends with Sarah’s death, Sarah was well beyond our reach when she came to us.”

  Was I using Ella to assuage my guilt over Sarah? I’d spent hours talking to Dave about Sarah, I’d made peace with her death as much as anyone could make peace with death.

  "Do you really think some of the women who walk through that door are beyond our help?”

  “Sarah came here because she wanted somewhere warm and safe to end her pain, we did what we could for her, we tried to reach out to her but her mind was already made up. Her death hurt my heart too, Jax.”

  I took a deep breath, trying to ease the frustration building inside me. “I'm not using Ella to make amends. I'm just trying to do what I’m meant to do and be there for her, help her, like all the women." I hesitated a moment. "You know, she reminds me of you. I mean, not in a motherly kind of way, she's just small like you and I know she has a stubbornly strong backbone, just like you.”

  Mercy grinned, “I’m not stubborn.” Shaking my head I smiled too, before memories of Ella’s scars filled my mind. Those scars had plagued me every moment since she had shown me.

  “She has lots of scars, all over her arms and wrists and god knows where else. No doubt plenty of the psychological kind too."

  “She tried to kill herself?” Mercy asked, her smile long gone and worry firmly in place.

  "She says she didn’t and she was pretty insistent about it, it mattered to her that I believed her. She was definitely a self-harmer at some point, most of the scars are faint and thin, classic self-harm cuts. But the scars on her wrist are pretty deep, and she says they were forced upon her ‘him’. She said she didn't try to commit suicide because she didn't want to give him that satisfaction. Apparently she sees this as some kind of a game and she doesn't want him to win." Mercy considered that for a moment.

  “She’s confiding in you, that’s good Jax. She needs someone she can trust, someone who will do the right thing by her.” I didn’t miss the reproach hidden in Mercy’s words. My relationship with Ella needed to remain professional. Ella needed that, she deserved that and I’d damn well give that.

  “I heard Selena dropped by last night.” Mercy said changing the subject and I groaned, loudly. “I also heard she left pretty soon after looking pretty angry. Jax, the women and children who stay here don’t need your personal life played out before them like a bad soap opera.” I couldn’t agree more.

  "Yeah, sorry about that, I sure as shit didn't invite her to drop by last night, and I made sure she knew it wasn't cool. She won't be dropping by anymore, ever."

  “It wouldn’t be a problem if she had some interest in the shelter, in the people who come here for help. I get the feeling that little tramp would only drop by for one thing and it would likely include this desk and her back on it.” I shuddered, my mother talking about my sex life was just wrong on so many levels.

  “Don’t say another word. You, me and my sex life is totally off limits. But just so we’re clear, Selena’s back has never graced this desk or any other piece of furniture in this shelter, nor will it. Not just because that is completely unprofessional and yes, I know there might have been a time when old Jax thought differently, but new Jax doesn’t behave like that. And I called it quits with Selena, for good.” I took a deep breath. God this conversation was almost as uncomfortable as the sex talk she had forced me to have with her when I was fourteen.

  “Good, on all counts. And Jax, I’m proud of you, always have been, even when you were old Jax, though I do like new Jax much better. Go home and get some sleep. Or better yet, go do some real work and make up that money your company ‘donated’ to our shelter.” I didn’t miss the ‘our shelter’ bit. My heart swelled just slightly at her words.

  "Thanks, Mercy," I said quietly as I stood and wrapped my arms around her shoulders.

  “You’re a good son Jax. I love you more than you’ll ever know.” She hugged me back, her little arms holding me tight.

  “I love you too mom. And if this chick flick moment is over I’m going to The Pit Stop to have Benny serve my heart an unhealthy dose of grease.”

  “Oh, that sounds good. It’s been too long since I’ve had a Pit Stop breakfast. Dave and I might stop in after our shift tomorrow for one.” Mercy was suddenly captured in a greasy breakfast fantasy as I snuck out of the shelter.

  Chapter 8

  Ella

  Jax had made me lunch, and stunned me into a stupefied silence. As I walked to Bouquets I stared at the brown paper bag in my hand, my surroundings and walk was a complete blur. Once at work, I sat trimming thorns from rose stems and couldn’t help but cast curious glances at the innocuous bag. I barely remembered my daddy making me lunch for school. Such an innocent harmless gesture, but I found myself wanting to save that simple brown paper bag and tuck it away in the bottom of my backpack with my most prized possessions, the sketches of my daddy and the phone Rita had bought me. It was a paper bag for goodness sake!

  "You hiding the crown jewels in that bag?" Rebecca teased. Her hair was in another difficult looking twist inspired by the fifties, and she was dressed in a figure-hugging dress with a skinny belt sitting high on her waist. The black apron with the word ‘Bouquets' in a stylish yellow cursive across the front didn't detract from the sexy look she was today rocking. I, on the other hand, had donned my best pair of khaki cargos, the only pair that didn't have a single stain on them, a grey long-sleeved thermal with my best blue t-shirt pulled over top and black converse sneakers. I wore the mandatory black apron and today, my hair was neatly held back with a blue scarf. Rebecca was all class, and I felt like a hobo standing beside her. My gaze left the thorn I was about to snip and landed on that damn brown paper bag again.

  “No, just lunch,” I murmured. Rebecca was great with the customers. She smiled and laughed like she was old friends with everyone who walked through her door. Me, not so much. Rebecca said I needed to work on my smile, but my life had never given me much reason to smile and it felt almost foreign when I did. So I stuck to cleaning, pruning and checking stock. When an elderly gentleman came in to order flowers for his wife’s funeral, Rebecca slipped effortlessly into compassionate mode and it wasn’t an act, she genuinely hurt for the man. She helped him plan a simple arrangement of lilies, his wife’s favorite and Rebecca held him in a warm tight embrace before he left. I blinked away the stubborn tears that threatened to spill at the sight of the old man’s grateful weeping when the shrill of the phone snapped me out of my solemn moment. Rebecca turned and reached for it as my attention returned to the fickle thorns on the rose stems before me.

  “For you,” said Rebecca, the hand-held phone in her outstretched hand. It took me a moment to move, I was stunned into an imbecilic trance. Nobody called me, ever, and Jax and Rebecca were the only people who knew I worked here. “Don’t worry, it won’t bite,” Rebecca said with a smile, her eyes twinkling with laughter.

  Taking the phone, I pressed it to my ear. “Hello.”

  "I couldn't wait until you called, I had to ring and check in, how are you?" Rita's cheerful voice erased any trace of apprehension.

  “You scared
the shit out of me,” I muttered, putting a little distance between me and Rebecca.

  "Sorry honey. Rebecca called me last night, said you were working for her. She’s is a good person hon, and you'll be safe there, and a florist, what a great job, I’m jealous."

  “I like it here. The store is warm, it smells pretty damn good and she puts caramel in her coffee, or whiskey depending on who she’s expecting in the store. Oh god Rita, caramel and coffee, it tastes like heaven.” Rita laughed.

  “You and that darn sweet tooth. You should be the size of a house!”

  “How’s BJ and Larry?”

  "There both fine honey. My little girl is home from college for the weekend, and we've declared war on BJ. He refuses to wear his hearing aide, so Renee and I are not speaking to him as punishment. He can't hear a bloody word we say anyway. God, it must be freezing there, please tell me you have somewhere warm to stay?"

  “I’ve got somewhere warm, it’s a shelter,” I whispered, embarrassment making my cheeks burn. “It’s clean, and they even serve meals with real meat.” I never hid the truth from Rita, no matter how good or bad it might be. She had earned my trust and honesty.

  “I wish you didn’t have to live in a shelter, sweetheart,” Rita sighed. “But I’m glad you’re warm and safe.”

  "It's okay Rita, honestly. The owner, Mercy, is amazing and I've been helping out around the place. Jax even made me lunch today." I chuckled at the memory of that little brown bag.