by Brook Wilder
This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, events, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
Ruined Mercy copyright @ 2019 by Brook Wilder and Scholae Palatina Inc. All rights reserved. This is an Advanced Review Copy, and no part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews.
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BOOKS IN THE ROUGH JESTERS MC SERIES
BOOK 1: SAVAGE ANGEL
BOOK 2: BROKEN BEAUTY
BOOK 3: CORRUPT HONOR
BOOK 4: RUINED MERCY
BOOK 5: SINFUL HAVEN
BOOK 6: TAINTED DESIRE
BOOK 7: OUTLAW VIRTUE
BOOK 8: WICKED LEGACY
BOOK 9: SHATTERED GRACE
TABLE OF CONTENTS
RUINED MERCY
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
EPILOGUE
A Word from Brook Wilder
SINFUL HAVEN
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
OTHER BOOKS BY BROOK WILDER
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RUINED MERCY
Chapter 1
Sabrina
I folded the shirt and placed it into the suitcase, wondering if I really needed all this crap. It wasn’t as much as I had carried my freshman year, but it still was a lot of stuff. In three short weeks, I would be embarking on my final year of college, completing my study in computer science.
I know, really nerdy, right? Well, I was a nerd. I wore the glasses and spent most of my time studying versus going out and wasting my parents’ hard-earned money like other students I had seen time and time again over my last three years.
Truth be told, I didn’t want to be one of those people who got some crappy degree just to say they had graduated from college. I was looking forward to starting my career and finding a decent job so I could afford my own apartment. My parents had worked hard to provide a good life for me up until now and I wanted to show them their efforts were not in vain.
Which meant I had to rock this last year of college if I wanted to compete in the big city. Castillo, my hometown, offered no job opportunities in my current field of study. If I was going to truly do anything with computers, I would have to move to one of the larger cities, like Dallas or Austin. The thought made me extremely nervous but excited at the same time. I had lived in the same house, driven the same car, and hung out with the same people all my life. I knew Mr. Henderson down the road and how he liked to wear his faded blue robe to get the paper in the morning. I knew Mrs. Smith, my parents’ next-door neighbor, liked to water her garden at precisely six in the afternoon, rain or shine.
With a sigh, I sat down on my bed, looking at the collection of high school flyers and pictures surrounding my vanity mirror. I didn’t have a lot of friends growing up; the pictures were from the yearbook club and gave the illusion of fun and friends. In reality, I’d rarely interacted with my fellow club members outside of school.
Sad, wasn’t it? My mom had worried about my inability to be like the rest of the girls, so I posted the pictures on my mirror to ease her mind. She had enough to worry about without concerning herself with my lack of social existence.
For all she knew, I had a slew of friends in college, which was the reason I was so eager to go back. But honestly, I was just eager to have something to do again. I had been lucky enough to help out at the library this summer, but I was still restless.
There was something out there, something that kept me striving forward. I didn’t know what it was, though I hoped it would be the satisfaction from eventually completing my degree.
Because if it wasn’t, I didn’t know where to go next.
Pushing myself off the bed, I walked out of the bedroom and down the little hall to the living room, where my parents were eating dinner in front of the TV. My heart squeezed when I saw them seated in their separate chairs, with their little trays in front of them full of food my mom had made. It was a scene I knew I would remember for the rest of my life; it was the only routine they made sure they never missed.
Even when my mom had her appendix taken out last year, my father took her tray up to the hospital so they could eat dinner together. After twenty-five years of marriage, I knew I was looking at true love.
My love life, on the other hand, was non-existent.
“Sabrina,” my mom said, waving at me with her fork. “Come eat something, dear. I bet you don’t get food like this in that fancy college of yours.”
I grinned, knowing my mom liked to tease me about being the first of our family in three generations to actually go to college. “Of course not. No one can cook like you can, Mom.”
My father laughed, patting his burgeoning belly. “I can vouch for that. A few more good meals like this, Roxy, and I will have to up in a shirt size.”
My mom beamed under his praise and I rolled my eyes at his flattery. He would do anything to make her happy. My father was a branch bank manager, working his way up from a teller to his position today, all without a true formal education. “What are you watching?”
My mom made a face. “The news. They had two more shootings yesterday. I think that brings the total to ten for the week.”
It was sad, really. Castillo used to be a town to raise your kids in, but lately it seemed the violence had gotten out of hand. “Maybe the new police chief can stop all of this killing.” A former FBI agent had just become the new chief of police of Castillo, and she was a woman at that.
“I hope so,” my mom agreed, patting my father’s arm. “You’re fortunate they haven’t gone after the bank, Joaquin. It seems they are content with shooting each other.”
My father didn’t answer but I noted the visible tightening of his mouth, his jaw clenching. Was my father worried about them hitting the bank? “Have there been any threats?” I asked softly.
He seemed to shake himself out of his thoughts, giving me a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Of course not. The bank is secure. Quit worrying about me and your mom. Focus on your school.”
I mirrored his smile, though inside I felt like I was missing something. My father was an easy man to read and I could tell he was worried about something.
What, I didn’t know.
It wasn’t until much later that evening when I walked into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water that I had a chance to talk to him. He was seated at the kitchen table, his head in his hands and I plopped down in front of him, unscrewing the cap.
“What’s bothering you, Dad?”
He looked up, surprised to see me sitting there. “What? Nothing, Sabs. I’m fine.”
Sabs was his pet name for me, short for Sabrina, for as long as I could remember. “You don’t look fine.”
He blew out a breath, exhaustion rimming his eyes. “I ha
ve to go and do something, Sabs. I have to leave for a while.”
“Okay,” I said slowly. “Does Mom know?”
He shook his head. “I need you to tell her I’m going on a business trip. I’ll be back before you leave for school.”
He was scaring me. I reached across the table and grabbed his hand. “What’s going on, Dad? What’s wrong?”
He withdrew his hand from mine, something he never did, not once. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small clear case, sliding it across the table toward me. “I need for you to hold on to this for me, Sabs. Don’t let your mom see it.”
I took the case, noting the SIM card nestled inside. “What’s on it?”
He shook his head. “Nothing for you to be concerned with. I need for you to learn a number for me. Can you do that?”
“You’re scaring me,” I replied, my stomach in knots.
“I’m sorry,” he said in a rush, glancing at the clock on the stove. “I have to go, Sabs. Repeat this after me. 4TP85AQ91N6L.”
“Dad…” I began, “Please.”
“There’s no time,” he said, pushing his chair away from the table and standing. “Repeat the number, Sabs, now.”
I did as he asked, my photographic memory allowing the numbers to be etched into my brain.
“Good,” he said, wringing his hands together. “Now put that card in a safe place. I will be back for it.”
“Tell me where you are going,” I urged as he picked up a duffel bag tucked by the table. “Are you in trouble?”
My dad reached in and pulled me close, his hand rubbing my back. “Be good and don’t follow me, Sabs. Watch out for your mom, alright? If anyone comes asking for me, you get your mom and you run. Go to your aunt’s in Tucson.”
He hated my aunt. I clung to him, a shudder of fear and dread sliding down my spine. “Please, Daddy.”
He pushed away, walking toward the back door and opening it softly. “Do as I say, Sabs.” Then he was gone.
I fought the urge to go after him, to stop him from whatever was going on, but my feet were rooted to the floor, tears clogging my throat.
Why did I feel like it was the last time I was going to see my father? Clenching the case in my hand, I ran to the living room, watching as my father pulled his trusty Honda out of the driveway and onto the street, his headlights illuminating the windows briefly before he pulled away.
But his car wasn’t the only one on the road. A car from the opposite side of the street turned on their headlights and followed my father down the street, confirming my worst fear. My father was in some sort of trouble.
I looked down at my hand, at the SIM card he had given me. There was something on there he wanted me to protect, something that could cost him his life. Holding back my tears, I walked back to my bedroom and looked around at all my father had provided for me. I could do this for him. I could make sure I upheld the last thing he wanted me to do and hope he would come back home.
Spying my phone, I grabbed it, sliding the SIM card out of its case. Like everyone else on earth, I kept my phone on me constantly. Pulling off the case from my phone, I fitted the SIM card against my cell phone before sliding the case back on with a final click. If someone did come searching for this card, they would never think to look in my own phone case.
I threw the now empty case into my open suitcase on the floor, shoving some clothes on top of it to hide it. I wanted to alert my mom so badly I could taste it, but the thought of putting her in danger worried me, too. If my father had wanted her to know, he wouldn’t have come to me instead of her.
I fell onto my bed, tears gathering in my eyes. I couldn’t lose my father. I couldn’t imagine life without him, and it would devastate my mom if something happened to him. He was the backbone of this family and we would be ripped apart at the seams if he was no longer here.
I had three weeks before I was due back to college. My earlier excitement about going back vanished now with the thought of my father not living to see it. I had to find out what was going on, but I had no idea where to start. I didn’t know what he was involved in or how I would even find him.
In an instant, my life had just become super complicated. Gripping my phone, I shook my head. I could do this. There was a reason he had come to me, a reason he had trusted me with this SIM card. He might have thought all of his options were exhausted, but I was tougher than he realized.
After all, he had made me the person I was today, and I wasn’t about to let him down.
Chapter 2
Harrison
I drummed my fingers along the scarred tabletop in no particular rhythm, watching the action unfold in front of me. The bar was a shitty hole-in-the-wall type, where I was certain that A rating on the door was likely bought and paid for.
There’s no way an inspector would pass this place without a hefty bribe.
But I wasn’t here for the food. No, I was here for an opportune moment that I had been waiting for for weeks. Hell, it seemed like months.
My target was a wiry little Mexican currently saddled up to the bar, one who had evaded my capture for the last three weeks. I had thought I cornered him at least three times before this, but he’d danced away at the last moment.
I couldn’t complain. I loved the hunt. The others, they’d made it too easy, honestly.
I gave a gentle nod to the woman waiting at the table with me, a woman I was paying a shit load of money to aid me in his capture. While others would try to continue to stalk him, I had noticed the Azteca commander had a fondness for blondes. It wasn’t hard to walk down to the seedier side of El Paso to find a willing blonde prostitute to help me out.
The wad of hundreds stuffed in her bra spoke her language and sealed the deal, though it seemed she was a bit disappointed when she found out I wasn’t her intended client.
She got up from the table and sashayed to the bar, beginning the stalk of her prey. If she wasn’t so money-hungry, I might have offered to bring her back to Castillo with me once this was done and over with, and hand her over to the Hell’s Bitches.
For the last three months I had been stationed in El Paso, with an order to track down any and all Azteca commanders, or other personnel considering siding with the cartel, and make them reconsider.
However I needed to do that. Just get it done.
Ninety-nine percent of the time, I wiped their blood off my blade at the end of the day. The cartel had put an offer out to take in any remaining Aztecas, disbanding the club to likely bring in a bigger and better one to replace them.
It was the Rough Jesters’ worst fear. We had already lost so much in the wars with the Aztecas and the cartel, devastating our ranks and the Hell’s Bitches’. Another war could cost us our fucking lives.
Which would be alright with me. I lived for this shit and this shit alone. I had no one waiting at home for me, no one interested in if I lived or died.
Was I miserable?
Nah.
The blonde was draped over my target now, her fingers stroking the hairs on the back of his neck. Another ten minutes tops and she would have him in a dark alleyway where I could take care of business. I wasn’t worried about being caught either. I was too damn good to be caught. People called me a ghost, a man who could slip in and out unnoticed, and I prided myself on that.
I didn’t wear any flashy clothes or jewelry, my hair was cut in a non-descript fashion like every other dude in this place. I favored a black long sleeved shirt rolled to my elbows, hiding all of my tats on my upper arms though the barest hint of one licked the side of my neck.
No, nothing about me caused people to give me two looks, which was the way I preferred it.
My phone buzzed in my pocket and I fished it out, holding it up to my ear. “Go.”
“Crankshaft.”
“Chains.”
The president of the Rough Jesters chuckled into the phone. “I’m assuming you aren’t busy?”
I grinned. The last time he had called me to check in,
I had been, well, cock-deep in a beautiful redhead. “I’m good man. Is this my weekly check in, Ma?”
“Well, you’re still alive,” Chains said, likely shaking his head. “But I got something else for you.”
I sat up in the chair, a familiar prick of adrenaline snaking down my spine. “Who do I have to kill?”
“Not kill,” Chains replied. “But kidnap.”
Shit. “So, you want me to fucking babysit? I don’t think I’m cut out for that shit, Chains.”
“You are gonna have to figure it out, man. I got fuckers everywhere since that new chief of El Paso PD took office and I need you back in Castillo. Wrap up your shit and come home.”
“Fine, whatever,” I muttered. “Who’s the mark, I mean, the victim?”
“The target,” Chains ground out. “I need this guy alive. I can’t stress that enough.”
