Page 35 of Mercy

She's standing with a group of the other club women, their faces etched with concern.

I give Meghan's hand a quick squeeze before making my way over to them.

Fern's eyes are blazing, her jaw set in a hard line.

Before I can even open my mouth to greet her, she cuts straight to the chase.

"What the hell is going on, Tor?"

I hesitate, weighing my options.

Dad would probably want to handle this himself, fill Fern in when he's ready.

But I can see the determination in her eyes, the way she’s squaring her shoulders.

She's not going to let this go.

"Come on, spill it," Fern presses, crossing her arms. "I know something's up. Your dad’s barely been talking to me today, and all I’m getting are short answers."

I run a hand through my hair, buying myself a few more seconds. "Look, Fern, I'm not sure if?—"

"Tell me, Tor." Her voice is firm, brooking no argument. "Now. I already know you’re probably flappin’ your jaws to Meghan, so have the decency to fill me in on it too."

I sigh, knowing she’s making one hell of a point. "Okay, okay. You remember that run into the city Dad and I went on?"

Fern nods, her eyes never leaving my face.

"Well, we ran into some trouble. There was this taco stand owner, a good guy, just trying to make an honest living. But these thugs were there, trying to shake him down for protection money."

I can see the anger flashing in Fern's eyes.

She's always had a soft spot for the underdogs, the ones who can't fight back.

"Dad and I, we stepped in. Couldn't just stand by and watch, you know?" I continue, my fists clenching involuntarily at the memory. "We roughed them up pretty good, sent them packing."

Fern's expression softens slightly, a hint of pride creeping in. "Good. Those bastards deserved it."

But then her eyes narrow again. "But that's not all, is it? What aren't you telling me, Tor?"

I take a deep breath, bracing myself. "Dad... he really went to town on one of them. The guy started talking about his boss, saying we’d regret it. The normal type of shit."

Fern's eyebrows shoot up. "His boss?"

I nod grimly. "Yeah. Apparently, these weren't just some random thugs. They answer to someone. Someone who calls himself the Patriot."

The name hangs in the air between us, but I look and see if she recognizes the name like Dad did.

I can see the wheels turning in Fern's head, piecing together what this might mean for the club.

"Jesus," she mutters, shaking her head. "I’ve never heard of him. Did your dad seem worried?"

I shrug, trying to project more confidence than I feel. "What does it matter? We'll handle it, Fern. We always do."

Magnolia, her usual fiery demeanor amplified by the news, breaks the uneasy silence. "Of course, we can't have more than a couple weeks of peace before something else is fuckin’ happening."

I feel my jaw clench, the weight of responsibility settling on my shoulders.

Despite the anxiety churning in my gut, I force my voice to remain steady.

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