Page 117 of Price of Angels

He let out a long, unsteady breath.

“Michael.” Mercy’s voice became cold, serious. When Michael met his gaze, the dark eyes were a perfect match to it. “Holly’s not welcome here anymore.”

He had expected as much, but still it sounded cruel.

“She’s a sweet girl,” Mercy said, “and it’s not often Ava takes a liking to new people, but I will not allow anyone, even defenseless little waitresses, to endanger my wife and child.”

Michael had never been present when the man was this determined, this ferocious, this insistent. It was a portrait of intimidation that far outshone the Cajun goodtime boy he presented under normal circumstances.

“I don’t know if you understand that, do you?” Mercy asked. “That brick came throughmywindow, intomyhouse, into the roommygirl was standing in. That can never, ever happen again. I will not allow Ava to be put at any risk. Not for the sake of a brother, or the club – not for anything.” Face flushing dark with fury, he said, “I won’t watch her lose another baby.”

“I don’t expect you to. I understand.”

Mercy’s eyes narrowed. He flicked the cigarette away into the damp gutter. “Do you though?”

“Yes.”

The big man stood, turning to go up the steps. “I’ll send Holly down.”

“Mercy.”

He paused, glanced back over his shoulder.

“I’m sorry about what happened. I never meant for Ava to get hurt.”

No response. Mercy went up the steps and disappeared inside.

Holly came out a moment later, and her face crumpled when she saw him standing at the foot of the stairs. She came down to him in an unsteady rush, and his arms were open for her when she launched against him, twining her arms around his neck, pressing her face into his shoulder.

He hugged her hard, and whispered into her hair, “I’ll make it right. I promise I will.”

**

It was a long time before she stopped shaking. Even hours later, as she carried trays to tables, she saw the occasional tremor in her fingers. She had three near-accidents with full drinks, nearly sending them into customers’ laps.

“Sit down for a second,” Michael ordered gruffly as she passed his table. “You look like you’re gonna fall down.”

“I’m fine.” But she eased down on the edge of the seat opposite him and let her tray rest against her knee. “The anxiety takes a long time to go away,” she explained.

He frowned at her. He’d had no interest in his dinner, and at this point had shoved the plate to the side. His glass was empty, and she pushed to her feet to get him another.

“Just sit, damn it.”

“I can’t. We have a full house tonight. I’ve gotta check on three tables, and you need a refill anyway.”

“Coffee, not whiskey this time,” he said.

She froze, hand resting on the table. “Why?”

“Because I’m going hunting and I want to be good and awake.”

Not hunting for wild boar, she knew. “Michael, you shouldn’t–”

“Do what I said I’d do? No. I shouldn’t. I shoulda already done it.”

She started to argue with him, and decided she’d get nowhere, judging by the harsh set of his jaw. “Coffee, coming right up,” she muttered, and headed off to the kitchen.

She made her rounds, and then went back to Michael’s booth. He made an unmistakable gesture for her to sit, which she resisted.

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