Page 140 of Fearless

“Were you out there in that?” Nell asked. “You’re dripping wet, girl.”

“I’m fine.” She couldn’t look any of them in the eye; she was too full to bursting with shame.

She ground to a halt in the parking lot when she found Littlejohn waiting beside her truck.

Something like panic rippled through her. She’d forgotten all about her constant shadow; he had begun to fade into the background; she didn’t notice him as she drove, walked down sidewalks, shopped and strolled with Ronnie. She hadn’t even noticed him move, but he must have followed her before, and judging by the rain in his hair, he hadn’t managed to get to shelter soon enough. He’d seen her go into the office with Mercy. He was loyal to her father, above all else; if he thought it relevant, he’d rat her out.

She snapped. “Listen to me, prospect,” she said, charging toward him, her finger out in a threatening gesture so like her mother she would have laughed if she hadn’t been so desperate. “Whatever you saw, whatever you thought happened, you wipe it out of your mind right now, or I swear to God, I’ll put a bullet in you.”

Unfazed, he shoved his hands in his pockets and stared with open curiosity at her stabbing finger, where it wavered just under his nose. “My job is to make sure you’re safe; that no one in a Carpathians cut tries to jump you.” He shrugged. “Ghost never said anything about keeping tabs on your love life.”

She fumed silently, biting her lip. When she was sure she wouldn’t scream at him, she said, “I will not stir up a bunch of shit for the club right now with my personal drama. Iwill not. Do you understand me?”

He nodded once. “Yes, ma’am.”

“There is nothing going on with Mercy and me.”

“I didn’t figure there was, ma’am.”

“It’s really damn hard to rant at you when you keep saying ‘yes, ma’am.’ ”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Fuckingmen,” she muttered to herself as she climbed into the truck.

Mercy used the coiled garden hose on the side of the bike shop to rinse the deep scratches on his arms. They were vivid, angry marks, and there would be no hiding them without sleeves. Seeing them made him feel victorious: she could glare at him all she wanted, but when he got up under her clothes, she was still liquid and soft for him, melting and whimpering and clinging to him.

He could find no shame, no guilt, no remorse. He was too past rational thought for that. He was like a junkie who’d finally fallen off the wagon. He needed, badly, in his world of knife-points and gun-muzzles, to have something sweet and yielding, something that was all his, something that embraced his sharp edges, without fear or recrimination. He needed Ava, just like he always had.

She needed him, too, she was just fighting it right now.

Mercy entered the clubhouse through the back, popping into the dorm he was using to change clothes, finding a black long-sleeve to cover the claw marks. For a little girl, she scratched deep, when she was in the throes like that.

He wondered if her little boyfriend had had his back shredded. He wanted to search the boy for scars…and press a hot branding iron to them if he found any.

He made it all the way to the bar, and had half a roast beef sandwich shoved in his mouth, when Michael appeared at his elbow like a fucking ghost materializing out of thin air. He didn’t say anything, just stared, unblinking. A mannequin from hell.

“Hey,” Mercy said while he chewed, and figured his ironic tone was lost on the robot.

“We need to go over our plan for tonight,” Michael said.

“Yeah, well, planning’s not really my thing. I’ll leave that to you and Rottie.” He turned his shoulder toward him, taking another huge bite of sandwich. He didn’t have the patience for this weirdo right now.

Michael might have frowned; it was hard to tell with him. He said, “If you won’t take this seriously, then you can stay behind. I don’t need your help.”

“No, you need the muscle,” Ghost said, rearing up on Mercy’s other side. “This is at least a three-man job.” To Michael, he said, “You set everything up, and tell Merc what you need him to do.”

Michael nodded and left them, something almost like resignation tweaking his blank face.

“I’m like a missile,” Mercy said with a half-smile, reaching for another sandwich. “Aim me where you want me, and deploy, right, boss?”

Ghost wasn’t smiling. “Why are you so damn wet? What were you doing outside in the middle of that shit?”

He shrugged. “I got homesick for the swamp. Thought I’d go jump around in some puddles.” When he glanced over and down, he found Ghost’s stare to be too-knowing, his expression tight.

“You didn’t happen to see Ava out there, did you? She disappeared too.”

Mercy didn’t hold eye contact, because that felt like challenging, so he glanced away and said, “I figure she’s smarter than me; she probably knows to get in out of the rain.”

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