Page 101 of Fearless

But when she cracked her eyes, it was Maggie’s face poised over hers, and Maggie’s hand smoothing her hair back off her forehead.

Hospital: white acoustic tiles, white walls, hum of AC, IV, machines. The pain, so much pain, and the memories tumbling back into her mind from the void, filling her with panic.

She blinked at the painkiller film over her eyes.

“Hi, baby.” Maggie’s lips trembled. “You doing okay?”

Her mouth was dry as cotton. She worked her lips, trying to wet them.

Maggie produced a cup of water and pressed it to her lips, gave her a small sip, just enough to dampen her tongue.

“The baby,” Ava said when she could. Her head was too fuzzy to form a proper question or worry about secret-spilling. She had to know.

Maggie glanced away and shook her head, her eyes glazing over.

Ava looked at a spot over her mom’s shoulder, a poster about hand washing during flu season, and wished she wasn’t so full of drugs, so she could feel something.

Mercy wasn’t sure there were any answers waiting for him on the pavement, but that was where he went, his Dyna splitting the atmosphere with knife-like precision, the wind howling down into his ears, drowning out his thoughts. He wasn’t ready to wrap his mind around it yet. And he damn sure wasn’t ready for the shitstorm he’d walk into at the clubhouse.

He and his full bottle of Johnnie Walker Red ended up at the empty cottage for rent in Moshina Heights, its windows black and slick in the dark, the moon laying over it like frost. He sat on the edge of the porch, unscrewed the bottle top and drank in long, slow draws, like he was drinking water.

He’d been lax. Instead of finding the man who’d used this house, finding the dealer at the core of this, he’d been distracted. He’d been full of desire and the forbidden thrill of finally getting his girl under him, and in his absence of thought, she’d nearly been killed. His unborn childhad been.

A few brave autumn crickets kept him company, and the moon offered its cold sympathy.

He drank until he didn’t have the strength to go on a killing spree.

Twenty-Four

Five Years Ago

Getting drunk wasn’t as easy as it used to be. At seven the next morning, Mercy had a window stool at the bakery below his apartment, some black coffee he spiked with leftover Johnnie Walker, and half a loaf of fresh sourdough, sliced, toasted, and buttered. On the TV mounted behind the counter, a reporter was describing the scene at St. Mary’s Hospital in Powell where former gubernatorial candidate Mason Stephens’ son had been dropped off last night anonymously, stabbed and near death.

Mercy felt a prickling up the back of his neck when Ghost walked in. He heard the bell above the door, and he knew it was his VP, before Ghost came around the table and rested a forearm on the back of the opposite stool.

Mercy was full to bursting with guilt, with remorse, with the kind of raw, familiar pain of Louisiana, but none of that was connected to Ghost in any way. He didn’t feel anything as his vice president fixed him with a freezing look, his jaw locked. He sipped his coffee with lifted brows, waiting, refusing to even hint at an apology.

The shock moved slowly through Ghost, first as he realized Mercy wasn’t going to speak, and second as he realized there was no regret to be found here, at least not the kind he was looking for. Something subtle passed across the table: master realizing his dutiful dog wasn’t so easily kept on a chain, as he’d always thought.

“Come with me,” Ghost finally said.

Mercy finished his coffee first.

Maggie, exhausted and red-eyed, left the hospital at nine-fifteen the next morning. When Aidan walked into the room at nine-eighteen, Ava had elevated her bed and was sitting up against the pillows, finger-combing her hair and full of plans. She could feel strange whirrings and clickings in her head, some insanely strong, detached logic picking up the pieces of her fractured heart and churning out ideas that seemed too commonsense to have come from inside herself at this moment. She didn’t care. She was thankful for the override, and she was leaping aboard.

Aidan paused in the act of setting a greasy bagged breakfast on the bedside table. His expression was so unlike him, careful and bland. “You’re up.”

“And surprised to see you.”

He opened the top of the bag and started pulling things out: hash browns, fragrant biscuits wrapped in paper. Two cans of Sprite came out of his inside cut pocket. “Your mom didn’t want to say anything to your grandmother.” Every so often he said “your mom” and reminded her that they were only half-siblings. Normally it bothered her. Today, she didn’t care. “So I said I’d come sit a while so Mags could shower.”

“How nice of you.”

He lifted what smelled like a sausage biscuit in offering. “Food?”

“Not hungry.” She pushed the covers down to her waist and frowned at her hospital gown. “When are they going to release me?”

More of that careful look from Aidan. He took a biscuit for himself, put the first on the side of her bed, and dropped into Maggie’s abandoned chair. “Probably when you’re ready to be released.”

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