Cry Mercy (Blood Legion MC Book 1)

by Rie Warren

  “So throwing myself at you would be a bad thing?”

  “When you’re not ready, cher.” His hand rested on my belly, which was too hollow to be healthy.

  Then he chuckled.

  “What?” I nearly had a mind to kick him for laughing at my predicament.

  “Well, I just realized I’ve got this beautiful woman in my bed, and I don’t even know her last name.” He placed a whispery kiss on the crown of my head.

  And I melted into him.

  “I’m beginning to feel like a loose man here.” The grin was evident in his voice.

  “It’s Cooper. Mercy Cooper.”

  “Sleep tight, Mercy Cooper.”

  ****

  Instead of kicks and shouts and cursing, I woke to the trilling sound of birds, the feel of bright sunlight, the noise of raucous men who must’ve been working down below in the bar above Angel’s room.

  I woke alone.

  The imprint of Angel’s head dented the pillow beside me and, sensing I was still safe, I pressed the cushiony softness to my face so I could wallow in his scent.

  “Angel?” I called out, slipping the pillow aside lest I got caught acting like a fool.

  When no answer came, I stood and stretched. The usual aching weariness had eased somewhat, but the brand popped fire on my chest, and the swollen tissue on my cheek heated.

  Finding the bathroom empty, I took my time cleaning up. I luxuriated under Angel’s shower and exited to dry off. I ladled some cool water onto the poultice to dampen the bundle then strapped the healing herbs over the brand. Then I slipped Angel’s shirt on again.

  Hunger knotted my stomach—the kind of emptiness that never seemed to wane.

  I tiptoed to the door of the room and tested the knob. I’d been locked away so many times before, a breath of relief stuttered from my lips when the doorknob turned.

  I stepped out into an unfamiliar hallway, pulling up short when I saw Sol and a younger MC member sitting at the top of a staircase.

  Covering one foot with the other, I shrank inside myself.

  “Sorry,” I whispered. “I was looking for Angel.”

  Sol rose to his feet with what I suspected was an exaggerated grunt and groan. “Ange be doin’ errands. He be right back. You lookin’ brighter dis morn, Mizz Mercy.”

  The other man continued to stare at me, but not without kindness.

  “Do you know what time it is?” I shuffled back to the door. To safety.

  “It ain’t mornin’ anymore, that’s for sure.” The man who probably wasn’t much older than me hauled up a knee and tucked an unlit cigarette behind his ear. “I reckon it’s noon or thereabouts.”

  “Oh no.” Reality crashed down on me like a house tossed around by a tornado. “I need to go.”

  “Ange don’t want you to leave just yet.” Sol shuffled forward.

  And suddenly I felt caged again.

  Retreating, I pulled the door closed after me. I leaned against the wood, my heart chugging in my chest.

  I can’t stay here.

  I hurried to the bathroom, lifted up the T-shirt, and pulled off Sol’s poultice.

  My brand looked less red and inflamed.

  The swastika would heal to a white unmistakable scar I’d never be rid of.

  Just like my family.

  They’d come back.

  They’d kill.

  And the longer I stayed, the worse it would be.

  Anxiety gnawed much bigger holes than hunger in my belly.

  A loud BANG shot through the outer room. I dropped down to my knees and stayed there, praying.

  Please don’t let them come back.

  Please don’t let them hurt anyone else.

  Please let this be over once and for all.

  Please . . . I don’t want to live like this anymore.

  Another blast came right by my head, and I scurried backward ’til I hit the tub.

  “Mercy!”

  Angel.

  He hunkered down in front of me. “What’s wrong? What happened? Did I scare you?”

  I crawled into the arms he held open for me. “I thought . . . Gunshots. I heard gunshots.”

  “Merde.” He fell back to his ass, taking me with him. “I’m a grand beedé, Mamere always says so. That was just me booting the door open.”

  “Grand beady?”

  “Big, clumsy idiot. That’s what that means.” He smoothed a palm up and down my back. “I think I know what’ll make this all better.”

  I half hoped he’d save me forever. Half prayed he’d make me go back where I could be at peace with what would ultimately be my death.

  Pressing my face into his shirt, I let the shivers work through me. “Lord, I’m a mess.”

  “Oui. A cute mess. And I do have the cure for messes.”

  Standing, he offered his hand to me.

  He boosted me up and guided me out to the balcony.

  The sun hit my skin with the most glorious warmth, and I shaded my eyes against the glare. He pulled out a delicate chair from the small green-tinged, wrought iron table.

  I sat and watched as he took the chair across from me. Angel produced two cardboard cups from which the scent of rich coffee emanated. Then he placed a paper bag on the table between us.

  “Beignets,” he announced.

  “Beignets?”

  “Mmm. How to describe heaven in your mouth?”

  His irises shined cornflower blue today. Beneath, purple smudges marred his skin. I didn’t know how much was lack of sleep or how late he’d stayed awake last night watching over me.

  He ripped open the brown bag, and the mouthwatering smell of hot pastries drifted up.

  Golden brown puffy pastries coated in powdered sugar.

  I was hesitant to just grab one no matter how much I craved the doughy sweet.

  “Better get one before I eat them all.”

  I lunged hungrily, one of the warm pastries in the palm of my hand in an instant. I took a huge bite, powdered sugar fluffing out like rare snow.

  Not the kind of flakes I was used to.

  I turned off that dark thought, instead savoring the sweet, cloud-like confection.

  “Oh my lord. It’s pure bliss!” I spoke with my mouth half full, my lips covered in sugar.

  “Told ya.” Angel rocked back so his chair balanced on the back two legs, and I devoured the first beignet then gulped half my coffee.

  “Take another.” He nodded.

  At the rate I was going, I’d demolish the lot of them before he even had one.

  He didn’t even seem to care.

  He seemed to like my appetite.

  When I finally patted my stuffed belly, wiping my lips with a napkin, he lowered the front legs of his chair.

  Angel reached across the table to draw my hand in his. “Um. Brought you some other things too.”

  And he actually blushed.

  He looked so bashful, I would’ve called him adorable if not for the sculpted planes of his face or the beautiful big muscles that made him large and formidable all over.

  “Did you?”

  He placed another few bags beside me. “I’ve never gone shopping for a woman before.”

  Chapter Five

  ANGEL

  GODDAMMIT. I WAS FREAKIN’ blushing. There was just something so completely different about Mercy. I mean, I’d had the woman in my bed and I hadn’t even made a move on her. I’d been too concerned about her to do anything that might scare her off. And now I wanted to bury my head in my hands or crawl under the fucking table.

  Then Mercy smiled widely. “You bought stuff for me?”

  And she shined with such innocent pleasure she made another crack in the heart I’d hardened years ago.

  “Yeah. For you. Do you see any other gorgeous woman sitting here?”

  Her turn to blush, which I enjoyed a hell of a lot more than my own face heating.

  “Let’s take the bags inside, huh?” I took her hand and the packages and ushered her fr
om the table.

  I placed the bags on the bed, and she stood there rocking back and forth on her bare feet.

  Eagerness radiated off her like sunbeams.

  “Go on then.”

  With an unlikely squeal, she bounded onto the bed—a total one hundred eighty degree difference from the girl I’d found cowering and shaken in the bathroom.

  Mercy tore into the bags like a kid on Christmas morning. She ripped through paper, tossing scraps aside, nutmeg-colored eyes growing bigger and bigger with each item she held up. Like the new toothbrush, a hairbrush, and a pair of flip-flops were never-seen-before bounty. And the few tops, a couple pairs of jeans, and a floaty skirt were the most precious treasures she’d ever been given.

  I fidgeted, tapping my lighter on top of the dresser, shifting my weight from foot to foot, watching her.

  When she got to the bag from the lingerie shop, I definitely felt sheepish.

  Scratching at my chin, I muttered, “Took a gamble and guessed size small for most of the stuff. And . . . well . . . I noticed you weren’t wearing a bra so . . .”

  Jesus. I felt like a teenaged tool.

  She flushed pink, spreading out the plain cotton bikini panties in various colors. No lace, nothing sheer, and I couldn’t imagine anything would ever be sexier on her than just my T-shirt and the plain panties.

  I’d spent one mostly platonic night with her, and she already had me hook, line, and sinker.

  “I wasn’t wearing a bra because of the brand,” she whispered, glancing up through the thick fringe of her eyelashes.

  I blushed again too. Goddammit. The gamine was wreaking havoc with my emotions. I didn’t know if the courteous thing would be to get her measurements and offer to buy her a couple bras, or . . .

  Fuck.

  Instead of making more of a fool of myself, I retrieved a box from where I’d hidden it beside the bed.

  “Got these too.”

  Her irises turned liquid and luminous, and she lifted the lid of the box.

  “Boots!” She pulled out a new pair, not as chunky or clunky or just plain old as the other ones.

  The boots were tan leather and low-heeled and would come up to mid calf. They had two straps and brass buckles, and I’d just thought Mercy deserved something pretty even if they were basic.

  “They’re my size.” She hugged them to her tummy.

  “I would’ve got you sandals or somethin’ but—”

  “They’re perfect.”

  Again, her smile knocked the wind right out of me.

  I struggled to find my voice, looking at her amid the torn paper and the new clothes with her honey-toned hair so soft and long.

  “There’s somethin’ hidden in the tissue paper.” I leaned forward, poking at the box in her lap.

  She dug through the layers to uncover a wicked blade with a handmade grip in a hand-tooled leather sheath. She unclipped the hilt, drawing out the weapon that glinted lethally.

  “Thought a blade might be more effective than the garrote.”

  She balanced the fine blade in the palm of her hand. “So I can defend myself?”

  I nodded, hoping to high hell she’d do just that if given another chance.

  Dropping everything to the bed, she launched herself at me. “No man’s ever been this kind to me.”

  I savored her hug, hauling her closer to me. I shut my eyes when she peppered kisses along my cheek to my jaw.

  Before I could get carried away, I set her back on her feet. “It was nothing.”

  “No, Angel. It is everything.” She twisted the hem of my shirt she wore between her fingers. “I don’t know when I can pay you back.”

  Dieu. I expected nada in return, but I bet Mercy wasn’t used to getting something for nothing.

  I took her hand in mine. “I know how you can pay me back.”

  “How?”

  I wanted to tell her she could repay me by promising to stay here forever and never fucking ever going back to her clan.

  I thought that might be pushing my luck just a little bit.

  Bringing her palm to my lips, I brushed my mouth over the flesh littered with callouses. “You can let me take you out to dinner tonight.”

  She twisted her palm around to shake my hand. “Deal.”

  Fire had returned to her eyes. Color to her cheeks.

  Taking care of her last night had done a damn number on me in more ways than one. The brand—that goddamn ugly thing alone made me see the red rage of bloody revenge.

  Her cuts.

  All the bruises scattered across her skin.

  The haunting reality of her life turned my heart inside out.

  Bathing with her had been much more pleasure than pain. I’d tortured myself to the point of blue balls, seeing her naked for the first time.

  Bien sur, she was underfed, but fuck me running. The stunning star tats on both her arms. The lushness of her body just waiting to be filled out a bit more. The long legs that seemed endless, only to end in the prettiest pussy topped by a soft strip of blonde fluff.

  All that dewy wet skin. Her nipples puffing up to turn a darker shade of pink when I got her off on my fingers, while I slowly explored her slippery cunt.

  I’d given her an orgasm that made bath water slop all over the floor, holding back my own release.

  Beads of sweat suddenly broke out at my temples, and I hoped the beginning of my latest erection wasn’t visible through my jeans.

  Mercy looped her arms around my waist. “You’re really sweet.”

  I shrugged, keeping my groin away from her. “Guess it goes with the name. Now, if I’d been called Diablo all bets would be off.”

  I definitely didn’t tell her I’d been out to bag her fresh beignets no less than three times before she finally woke up at the crack of noon. Chase and Sol had watched me with increased looks of dude got it bad each time I journeyed out to Storm’s and my favorite bakery.

  “What? I’m not feeding her stale beignets.” I’d glared at them. “That’s fucking sacrilege.”

  My three trips to the bakery had been worth it. Watching Mercy devour the pastries was probably the highlight of my year.

  And I was falling.

  Falling bad.

  Falling hard.

  For a woman whose entire clan was out to get me.

  Storm would laugh his ass right off at my predicament just like I had about him going loco over his boss lady.

  Mercy completely unspun my thoughts and sapped my control when she backed out of my embrace to take the hem of her shirt in both hands. She tugged the fabric up to her hips, revealing that little pink pussy and the gold fluff on top.

  Oh shit.

  She began stripping off right in front of me. A thousand times less reserved than she’d been the night before.

  I coughed behind my hand, swiftly turning my back when the T reached the sloping undersides of her tits.

  In danger of springing an even bigger boner, I bit off a groan. “So I’ll leave you to it. Just come down to the bar when you’re ready.”

  I stalked to the door.

  My hand was on the knob when she asked, “Are the guard dogs still going to be out there?”

  Looking back to reply, my tongue got stuck to the roof of my mouth.

  Unabashedly naked, Mercy bent over with her ass in my direction to rummage through the new clothes.

  “I’ll make sure Sol and the prospect are gone.”

  I rushed out the door and shut it much more quietly than when I’d banged it open earlier.

  You bet your ass I’ll get rid of Sol and Chase.

  Didn’t want anyone getting a single glimpse of Mercy before I did again.

  ****

  “How’s your stowaway doing?” Slade slugged down a shot of bourbon in between swiping at the tacky surface of the bar with a damp rag.

  “Fine.” I took a shot of bourbon too—the good stuff we for sure didn’t serve to the pussy hipster crew.

  “You’re gonna pay a hi
gh price for her.” Saint ambled up, knocking his rings against the bar. “Slade filled us all in on that whole White Lair horror story.”

  “Bloodbath,” Lennox coughed-said-coughed behind his fist.

  “None of that was her fault. She wasn’t even in the city at the time. ’Sides, you don’t know the half of what her kin have put her through.” My teeth ground together, and I turned steely eyes on them all.

  Revenge yanked out a stool and took a seat. “Shit. Not as high a price as I paid for bedding that Demi chick the other night. Coulda warned me or something.”

  “What was the other one’s name? Hemi?” Sailing a beer to Revenge, Saint stirred up the usual shit. “Two for one?”

  Snickering, I sank my bourbon, motioning for another.

  “Shit. I’d rather have a Hemi. Gimme a big block engine and squealing tires any day over a screeching woman,” Revenge grumbled.

  “Mess with Demi, and you’re bound to get a whole lotta mess.”

  “Maybe even an STD.”

  Revenge spread his thighs and scratched at his balls worriedly. “Pic kee toi. All y’all.”

  Chase entered the bar, rolling the mop/slop bucket on wheels, hands clad in pink rubber gloves.

  “See now, Revenge?” I tipped my glass in Chase’s direction. “The prospect’s got the right idea. Glove up before you love up.”

  “Don’t wanna damage those delicate hands, right?” Saint made a limp-wristed gesture at our probie.

  Slade, who could kill with just one look, merely smirked at the powder pink rubber gloves encasing Chase’s hands up to the elbow.

  The prospect flipped his middle finger all across his higher-ranking officers, including me. “Maybe wanna hit the john when you piss next time?”

  “Where’s the fun in that?” Revenge asked.

  Chase looked like he was about ready to throw the dirty mop at us when Mercy quietly entered the room.

  My breath held.

  Everyone went still.

  The mop freaking dripped into the bucket with a plip plop.

  Mercy stood uncertainly just inside the door, hair brushed to a pretty sheen. Her tatty T-shirt and baggy jeans replaced by a peasant skirt with some kind of dainty flower embroidered in a chain along the ruffle that flounced to mid thigh. She paired the skirt with a silky black racerback tank top I’d purchased because I selfishly wanted to see more of those shooting star tats.