Page 24 of Mercy

I exchange a quick glance with Kraken, who shrugs and tilts his head toward my old man.

"Duty calls, brother," he says with a wry smile.

Setting down my beer, I push away from the bar and follow my father out to the parking lot.

The night air is cool against my skin, a welcome relief from the stuffy clubhouse.

He heads straight for his massive truck, a behemoth that always makes me feel like a kid again when I climb into the passenger seat.

As I buckle up, I can't help but ask, "What's going on, Dad?"

He doesn't answer right away, just starts the engine and pulls out of the lot.

The streets of Tallahassee roll by, familiar yet somehow ominous in the gathering darkness.

Finally, he speaks, his voice low and serious. "Things are about to heat up again, son. We've got trouble brewing."

My muscles tense instinctively. "What kind of trouble?"

Runes keeps his eyes on the road, but I can see the worry lines deepening around his mouth. "Liam Mackenzie is on the warpath, hunting down the Culebra cartel."

I nod, remembering the Irish psychopath who'd nearly taken everything from us. "Good. Let him wipe those fuckers out."

"It's not that simple," Runes growls. "We owe the Irish now, and we’re workin’ with them. There's been some talk around here... whispers that another big player moved into Tallahassee."

My blood runs cold. "Another player? Who?"

Runes shakes his head, frustration evident in every line of his body. "That's what we need to find out. And fast."

I frown, my mind racing. "The only big player here is us. We run this city."

His grip tightens on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white. "Not anymore, son. Rati overheard a business owner talking about a group that came in, demanding money to keep the owner 'safe'."

My jaw clenches. "Isn't that extortion?"

"Damn straight it is," he growls. "And it shows these fuckers aren't afraid of the club. But they need to be, 'cause this shit isn't gonna happen in my city."

I lean back in my seat, processing this information.

The thought of someone challenging our authority makes my blood boil.

We've fought too hard, sacrificed too much to let some newcomers waltz in and take over.

"Why are we out here alone, Dad?" I ask, suddenly realizing the strangeness of the situation. "Why aren't we discussing this at the club?"

Runes takes a sharp turn, his eyes scanning the streets. "Being on bikes would draw too much attention. This truck doesn't have the club logo. We can ride around, see if we spot anything suspicious."

It makes sense, but I can't shake the feeling that there's more to it.

My father's always been strategic, always thinking three steps ahead.

But, I wonder what he's not telling me.

As we drive through a lower-class area of Tallahassee, my eyes are drawn to a commotion near a taco stand.

A group of men are roughing up two others, their angry shouts carrying through the night air.

"Dad," I say, nodding toward the scene.

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