Beg For Mercy (Fate's Vultures, #2)

by Jami Gray

  Chapter 2

  Mercy wanted to snatch up the half-filled glass and brain the man staring at her with such contempt. But that was the exhaustion and dehydration talking. Contrary to the obvious opinion of the bruiser staring at her, she wasn’t an idiot. That she had managed to stay one step ahead of those hunting her, never mind surviving this long, was a minor miracle. If she wanted her luck to continue, she needed a game changer. One like the giant in front of her. And considering his obvious disgust for the Cartels, he made for a better option than the alternative trolling the street outside. Plus ditching his ass shouldn’t be hard. Use ‘em and leave ‘em, a personal motto that worked wonders as far as she was concerned.

  She folded her arms over her chest, and rolled the damn dice, praying for anything but snake eyes. ‘Does it matter why they’re on my ass?’

  The big man studied her before shrugging his thick shoulders. ‘Probably not, but colour me curious.’

  Yeah, he didn’t strike her as the curious type, or the forgiving type. Given his dark hair currently held back from the harsh angles of his face, equally dark eyes, and the coiled danger, all wrapped in a six-foot brawler frame, he was probably the strike first, ask questions later type. So she heeded her instincts, because time had proven their reliability, and shared. Besides, she wouldn’t be any less dead if he bailed on her. ‘They think I killed someone.’

  Instead of the expected shock, he continued to watch her as if waiting for something more. He rubbed a hand over the shadowed scruff lining his jaw, while his coffee-coloured eyes drifted from her head to her toes and back, his expression inscrutable.

  His silent perusal threw her off balance, igniting an unexpected heat and leaving her frowning in shock. A long forgotten hunger coiled low, spreading with wildfire quickness. What the hell? She stuffed her bat-shit crazy reaction into a dark corner to be bitch slapped later. If there was a later.

  Finished with his once over, his hand stopped at the dark trimmed beard covering his chin. He raised his brows, the right one bisected by a small curved scar, while his eyes lit with some unknown amusement.

  She had a sinking feeling what was amusing him was her. That added another layer to her frustration and left her gritting her teeth. Maybe she’d be better off taking her chances hitting the street solo-style. Survival instinct kept her feet locked in place. Determined to break his unsettling scrutiny and regain control of this unravelling situation, she muttered, ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ Another long second passed before he shook his head, pushed away from the counter, and came around until only a scant few feet separated them. ‘Whoever you didn’t kill had to be someone damn important for them to chase you this far north.’

  Her pulse gave a heavy thump as he crowded into her space, while her nerves stretched to a wary snapping point. His tantalising scent curled around her, triggering unwanted reactions. Damn adrenaline rush! Somehow, she managed to keep her mouth shut and her hands to herself.

  ‘Know I shouldn’t, but I’m going to,’ he muttered, his eyes narrowing. ‘Before I stretch my neck out, I have to wonder how much of a pain you’re going to be.’

  Her bark of laughter caught even her by surprise and she hoped she was the only one who heard the crumbling, brittle edge of despair buried in it. ‘It might kill us both.’

  Her brutally honest answer earned a fierce grin which tripped her pulse even as she wondered about his intelligence. ‘Maybe, but that answer makes me believe it might be worth it.’

  Not the reaction she expected, but she’d take it. Still, ‘You’re nuts.’

  ‘Aren’t we all?’

  Since the civilised world and Mother Nature decided to throw normal off the careening disaster ridden train seventy plus years ago and ride straight into crazy-town without brakes, yeah, she was pretty sure everyone qualified as crazy nowadays. It was just a matter of deciding which kind of crazy you wanted to be. While the devil on her shoulder urged her to lead the man in front of her on a merry chase, she couldn’t escape the grim voice of her conscience, warning against dragging another soul into the shitstorm she was floundering in. ‘Safer if you walk away.’

  ‘Safer for who?’ he pressed, his earlier humour wiped away by a startling seriousness.

  ‘You.’ She was too tired to play games. She needed … God, she had no idea what she needed. An escape route? A do over? A fucking miracle? Hell, she’d take any of the three at this point.

  ‘Why?’

  His relentless barrage of questions left her amending her earlier opinion on his curiosity. But telling him part of the truth would either see him backing away or finally shifting his ass in gear. And what a fine ass it is, a voice she long thought gone piped up with wicked intent. Refusing to allow her cheeks to heat with that last rogue thought, she laid it out for him. ‘Like you said, they wouldn’t be this far up my ass if it wasn’t someone big.’

  Her answer produced another long, slow blink. ‘So, who was it?’

  The name stuck in her mouth, but she choked out, ‘Tavi Suárez.’

  That got a reaction. Every one of those impressive muscles coiled and the air around him went ominously heavy with menace.

  Wisdom dictated she should back away. Slowly. Since she was more inclined to curl up and snuggle with that dangerous reaction, she mentally flipped wisdom the finger.

  ‘Tavi.’ The name escaped him on a low hiss and fell between them like spoiled meat. ‘That would be Guillermo’s youngest.’

  The fact he knew enough about the Suárez’s, one of the five ruling Cartel families, to identify who was who, sharpened her interest, and her worry. The sinister cloud clinging to him left her questioning her instincts and taking a closer look. Despite his inked and battle scarred body (and those intricate designs bore quite the collection of knife and bullet wounds), he wasn’t just some hardened road rider. Nope, if she was to heed her gut honed by years of unrelenting experience, there was much more to him. Enough so that she was beginning to think he might be more dangerous than what chased her.

  Before she could react and beat feet, his low voice curled around her. ‘You know who pulled the trigger?’

  Cautiously, she nodded. Not that she had proof, but yeah, she knew.

  He waited, a frown darkening his face as she remained mute. ‘Not in the mood for guessing games, babe.’

  Her hands curled into fists at his throwaway endearment. The combination of heat, lack of food, water, and no rest left her head aching and her thoughts scattered. Which in turn made her snarly. ‘Felix, or as you called him, dick weasel.’

  He stared down, unfazed by her bark. ‘I take it he’s not some random Cartel solider.’

  ‘Not even close.’ No way was she giving him more, because there was a difference between changing the game and throwing the game. And with one more move left to make, she held her cards close.

  Another indeterminable minute stretched by as he studied her, his thoughts locked behind a stony façade. Finally, he came to some internal decision and straightened. ‘Right. Let’s go.’

  Stunned, she watched him turn and head towards the opening in the back wall without looking back.

  He stopped in the opening, holding the faded drape in one hand and threw over his shoulder, ‘Move your ass, darlin’. Clock’s ticking.’

  Started by the unexpected break she sucked in a breath, before muttering, ‘I’m not your darling,’ as she followed in his wake. Habit kept her to the edges, near the shadows where she could pretend to hide, but it was a small back room.

  The shop’s owner was hunched over a table, his back to them. He didn’t bother looking up as he dropped another bullet into the small leather pouch to his right, the dull clink indicating it was one of many. ‘Finishing up a few more, then they’re all yours.’

  Her would be rescuer stopped behind him and squeezed his shoulder. ‘Thanks, Boomer. Keep those for next time.’ Then the big guy pocketed the leather pouch. ‘Heading out, see you around.’

  Boomer
didn’t turn from his worktable, deliberately ignoring her, and not looking at her bruiser. ‘Watch your back, Havoc.’

  Havoc? Hearing the name raised the hairs along her arms. She knew that name, but between her headache and exhaustion she was having a difficult time placing it. Tucking it away for later, she waited just inside the back room’s entry and watched Havoc.

  Moving to the metal gun cabinet taking up most of the right wall, he pulled open the doors, crouched down, and lifted something that gave a soft sigh. He shot her a look over his shoulder. ‘Ready?’

  To get out of here? Yep. Didn’t matter why he was offering, she wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. The more distance she could put between her and Felix the better. She came up next to Havoc, unsurprised to find an opening where the cabinet’s floor used to be. Nice, a tunnel. Considering everyone got a brutal lesson in looking out for themselves when things initially went to shit, such escape routes became routine additions to living spaces. It also helped to have an alternate route than wandering the streets when the massive dust storms that tore through here, hit. She crouched next to Havoc, trying to get a better look at how far down it went.

  As if hearing her thoughts, his voice rumbled by her shoulder, ‘About a nine foot drop. Doable?’

  Please, even half dead she could manage that. Add in the hanging ladder and this was a freakin’ breeze. Without answering she slipped into the hole, kept a grip on the opening’s edge until her legs hung down, then bypassed the ladder as she dropped, landing with bent knees and a soft thud. She didn’t waste time scooting out of the way as Havoc’s long legs dropped down, even as she rubbed at the bruising bite left from the hilt of the blade strapped to her thigh. Then he was standing next to her. He reached around her, grabbed the thick rope dangling from the trapdoor, and pulled it closed, sealing them in darkness.

  A tiny show of dust and gravel rained down from above as the heavy scrape of metal over wood indicated the cabinet being moved back into place. Another soft scratch of sound, then the warm glow of solar camp light pushed the darkness back. The glow added a devilish cast to Havoc’s face. ‘Hope you can handle tight spaces.’

  Behind the thin protection of her scarf, she grinned. ‘Not an issue.’

  His brow furrowed and before she could utter a protest, he tugged the tail end of her scarf free and removed her covering. She reached up to stop him. ‘What the hell?’

  He batted her hands away. ‘You’re not going to need it.’

  While one hand went to her hip, the other circled her face. ‘Hello, disguise?’

  His lips twitched, but he turned and tossed the scarf to the far corner. ‘We’ll get you another one.’

  ‘Right,’ she muttered. ‘Because they’re so easy to come by. We’ll just swing by the store and pick one up.’

  He turned back to her. ‘You always this much of a smart ass, babe?’

  ‘It’s Mercy,’ she corrected, ‘And no, I can get much, much worse, if you’d like.’

  ‘Great,’ he muttered. ‘Just what I needed.’ Then he lifted the light high, illuminating the small space. Two openings, one to the left and one to the right, stretched before them. ‘Well, Mercy—’ he stressed her name, ‘—let’s get.’

  He stepped around her, and in the confined space, she could not only feel him, but caught his faint scent of honey-laced wood smoke that curled around her like a pet. Kind of reminded her of winter torched mesquite. Wrinkling her nose, she shook off her momentary whimsy and followed the intriguing, yet compelling man as he bent his head, curved his shoulders, and moved into the tunnel.

  The tunnel was impressive, considering the soil here in the high desert was a bitch to dig through. Of course, necessity was the mother of all stubbornness. Once upon a time, huge cities sprawled across what once was the United States, technology ruled over physical labour, and the necessity of escape routes were only for those with less than legal intentions. Civilisation’s fairy tale began unravelling when weather patterns went from predictable to savage, forcing humanity to retreat further into overcrowded cities for protection. That, of course, opened the pandemic floodgates of viral infections further thinning out humanity’s numbers. Toss in shrivelling food and medical supplies and it wasn’t long before the economic cracks widened into canyons, and known civilisation slipped into the darkness, taking another huge chunk of the population with it.

  Years later there wasn’t much left of the old world besides rusted out remnants of what used to be. Yeah, a few bigger cities still stood, New Seattle up north, Mendocino further south, and Boulder to the east, but they were mini-kingdoms where gangs ruled at the whim of powerful individuals and survival meant keeping your head down. Towns and communities still dotted the landscape, but they weren’t exactly opening their gates with a welcoming smile. Some were created by those with like-minded beliefs, others gathered under the protective shadows of larger groups.

  Which was the case here in Page. When things started tumbling downhill, the Native American tribes banded together into a nation of many and became the Free People. They considered themselves the last line of protection between man and Mother Nature. Here in the Southwest the Free People held the water rights in a ruthless fist, and since water was crucial to survival regardless of who you were or how you lived, the Free People were a force to be reckoned with. A fact Mercy was banking her life on.

  Ahead of her Havoc disappeared, taking the soft glow of light with him and snapping her out of her wandering thoughts. She scurried forward to find him hanging the lamp on an iron spike impaled in the stony wall.

  He raised his arms and twisted, stretching out his spine. Leaning a shoulder against the tunnel’s entrance, she took in the view because it was one any breathing female could truly appreciate. The man was seriously built—thick shoulders supported by a heavily muscled chest that led to the flat planes of a stomach even the t-shirt couldn’t disguise, tucked into a trim waist, and ending in long, long legs. Legs that ended in thick-soled boots which were currently standing right in front of her.

  Fire scaled her cheeks as she raised her gaze, only to be caught by his. He studied her, giving nothing away before asking, ‘You’re not going to pass out on me, are you?’

  ‘I’m fine.’ Deciding it was best to redirect his attention from her sleep-deprived weirdness, she shifted to peek around him. If she was calculating right, their tunnel route managed to cover a couple of blocks. ‘Where to next?’

  ‘Up.’

  From her position, the shadows were murky, making it hard to see much of anything outside the light. ‘Up?’

  He turned away, made his way to the far side and tilted his head back, his focus on the tunnel’s ceiling.

  Following in his wake, she watched him leap up, hand extended.

  When he landed, another rope ladder unravelled next to him. He turned back to her and kept one hand on the dancing ladder. ‘Ladies first.’

  Recognising his invite for the dare it was, she held his gaze as she reached under her oversized shirt to free the knife strapped to her thigh and draw it out. His eyes narrowed as the light played over the blade, but other than that one small move, he continued to watch her. With a provocative smile, because she found teasing this dangerous man exhilarating, she brought the blade to her lips and used her teeth to hold it in place. Granted, not the best way to transport a sharp blade, but it left her hands free to climb and meant one less bruise to carry.

  The ladder stopped about waist level, so she gave a small hop to grab the rungs a little higher up and, despite the protest of her exhausted limbs, pulled her body up. When her foot hit a lower rung, a large hand curled over her ankle, drawing her attention back down. ‘Should be quiet above, but watch your back.’

  Blowing air out her nose since her mouth was full, she nodded and managed to pass a couple of rungs before the ladder swayed under her with the addition of Havoc’s weight. Once it steadied, she continued. Above, a wooden trapdoor came into view, and she crowded close
until she could curve her shoulders and upper spine against the surface. Havoc’s arms came around her waist as he pulled his big body behind hers. Letting her hips and ass brace against his chest, she let go of the rope and used her arms and shoulders to lift the trapdoor.

  Cooler air rushed in, drying the sweat on her face and curling airy fingers under the heavy braid of her hair. Her nose wrinkled as a strange combination of skunk, coppery rotten eggs, and faint burn of gas hit. Keeping one hand on the edge of the trap door, she managed to climb out, before setting the door carefully on the ground. Straightening, she transferred her blade to a hand and looked around. Late afternoon sun drifted through holes dotting the metal roof. Tiny rays of light poked among the looming stacks of corroded steel and other unidentifiable objects. Havoc wasted no time following her up. She took a moment to settle her blade back into the sheath strapped to her thigh. ‘Where are we?’

  ‘Old steel yard.’ Havoc stepped around her and began winding his way through the metal maze. ‘Come here.’

  She followed and found him yanking open doors on a set of dilapidated lockers. When one of the doors screeched in protest, she winced, her gaze jumping around for any incoming visitors. Only the soft whisper of an occasional breeze sounded bringing her attention to the quiet. No sounds of life. Comforting, but a bit disconcerting. Craning her neck she found a set of metal stairs one stiff breeze from collapse leading up to a platform. Wandering a few feet in the other direction and peeking around another stack of beams, she realised why Havoc didn’t need to be sneaky. The place was deserted. Three walls made up the towering structure, with a massive opening at the far end.

  Havoc’s grunt brought her back to his side. He emerged from a locker with a faded baseball hat and hitching a faded blue, grease-stained shirt over one big shoulder. He tossed the hat to her.

  She caught it one-handed, then held it between her finger and thumb, raising her eyebrows. ‘Let me guess, my disguise?’