Page 16 of Hellfire's Mercy

"I'd just gotten the job at the Gazette," she shrugs. "Besides, I love this town. Even with all its... complications."

She looks at me pointedly, and I can't help but chuckle.

"Complications. That's one way to put it."

"Your turn," she says, those green eyes on me. "Why did a man like you choose this life?"

I clasp my hands behind my head, studying her. There's something about her that makes me want to tell the truth – the whole truth, not the sanitized version I usually give.

"Might not look it now, but I used to be somebody important in the military. Special forces."

Her eyebrows shoot up. "You're right – you don't look it."

"Watch it, sweetheart," I warn, but there's no heat in it. "Did twenty years, made it pretty high up the chain of command."

She leans closer, her thigh pressing against mine. "What happened?"

I set my teacup down, the memories I usually keep locked away surfacing.

"Haven't talked about this in a long time," I admit. "Lost some men – good men. They were captured, and I got orders from above to stand down. Do nothing."

"You followed orders?" she asks softly.

"Yeah," my voice turns bitter. "Like a good soldier. They died in that hellhole, and I... I promised myself I'd never leave anyone behind again. Never take orders from someone who sits behind a desk making decisions about other people's lives."

Her hand finds my arm, small and warm through my shirt. "So you started the club? And your daughter?"

"Left the military not long after. Started Iron & Blood with some like-minded individuals – Butcher, Ruthless. Others joined along the way. Angel’s mother left us soon after. I don’t judge her. This life… is hard." I look at her. "We might operate outside the law sometimes. You know that. But we never leave our own behind. Never abandon someone who needs help."

"Like the trafficking victims," she says, understanding dawning in her eyes.

"Like them," I agree. "Like Mark. Like anyone who needs protection from bastards who think they can play God with people's lives."

She's quiet for a moment, processing. Then she says something that catches me off guard: "That's why they follow you. Not because they're afraid of you, but because they trust you."

"Both," I correct her, but something warm spreads in my chest at her insight. "Fear and trust aren't mutually exclusive in our world."

"And what about me?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. "Should I fear you or trust you?"

"What do you think?"

"I think..." she says softly, "I can trust you. But there's a line we shouldn't cross."

The oversized leather jacket has slipped off one shoulder, revealing smooth skin. Her chest rises and falls with quick breaths, those gorgeous curves straining against her blouse.

My cock throbs painfully against my jeans as I take in her parted lips, her flushed cheeks, and the way her curvy body seems to lean toward mine.

I shouldn't. I'm the president of Iron & Blood MC. The man who makes the rules, who maintains control, who keeps his head clear. But watching her bite her lower lip, I feel that control slowly slipping away.

Before I can stop myself, my hand is on her cheek. Her skin is impossibly soft against my calloused palm.

"And what line would that be, sweetheart?"

Her eyes flick to where my hand cups her face, her breath catching.

"This one," she whispers.

"Yeah," I agree, my thumb tracing her bottom lip. "This line." Her face looks so delicate, so small in my rough hand. "Thing is, I've never been good at following rules."

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