Page 21 of Mercy

Someone stronger.

But sitting here, with my past quite literally walking up to our table, I feel like that scared, helpless girl all over again.

Tor leans back slightly, his expression a mixture of concern and frustration. "Try me," he challenges gently.

I open my mouth, then close it again, the words stuck in my throat.

How do I tell him about the things I've done?

The things that were done to me?

About the things my father made me do?

The shame burns hot in my chest, threatening to consume me.

CHAPTER FOUR

Tor

I take a long pull from my beer, the cold liquid sliding down my throat as I stare at the Raiders of Valhalla logo painted on the far wall.

The horned helmet with engraved axes and a sword seems to be watching me, judging my every move.

I can't shake this feeling of unease that's been gnawing at me lately.

A heavy hand slaps me on the back, nearly making me choke on my drink.

I turn to see Kraken's weathered face grinning at me.

"You're being awfully quiet," he says, sliding onto the stool next to me at the long, curved bar that Magnus carved with intricate knarrs.

I shrug, wiping foam from my mouth with the back of my hand. "Just got a lot of shit on my mind."

Kraken lets out a deep belly laugh that echoes through the cavernous main room of our clubhouse. "That's the way of the life we live, brother. You want to talk about anything? Let a load off?"

I consider his offer for a moment, my eyes drifting over the scattered tables and pool tables, the lounge area where a few of our brothers are shooting the shit.

The clubhouse has always been a sanctuary, but lately, it feels like the walls are closing in.

"I don't know, man," I admit, running a hand through my dark hair. "It's just... everything, you know? The club, the city, Meghan..."

Kraken nods sagely, signaling the prospect behind the bar for a beer. "Ah, the lady troubles. Thought things were going well with you two?"

"They are. They’re going great," I say quickly, maybe too quickly. "It's not that. It's just..."

I trail off, not sure how to put my jumbled thoughts into words.

How do I explain the constant worry that gnaws at me?

The fear that at any moment, everything I care about could be ripped away?

Kraken doesn't push, he just sips his beer and waits.

That's one thing I've always appreciated about him—he knows when to let the silence do the talking.

"I guess I'm just on edge," I finally continue. "Ever since I got shot, it's like I can't relax. Keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, you know?"

The memory of searing pain in my chest, the metallic taste of blood in my mouth, flashes through my mind.

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