Page 34 of Vendetta
“But you were one of them,” she said.“Or close enough.”
“Close enough to know the truth.”His voice was low, careful.“Jared didn’t run.Yeah, he had gambling debts, and from what I heard, he and Eli didn’t get along.”
She released a slow breath, already bracing for the answer.
Vendetta kept his eyes on the road.“Eli killed him.”
When he spared a glance at Dylan, she looked like she’d been slapped.She looked away, but her voice still held.“Why?”
“Jared crossed a line,” Vendetta said quietly.“He wanted Eli to bail him out of debt.When Eli wouldn’t, Jared tried something else.Razor is the president of the Mercy Hounds.His daughter came back to Mercy after her grandmother died, and Babyface saw an opportunity.He always thought she was Eli’s kid.He used that as an excuse.”
Dylan’s gaze dropped.Vendetta was pretty sure she didn’t really want to hear the rest.
“Babyface grabbed her off the street,” Vendetta continued, voice flat with disgust.“Sold her to a Cottonmouth hangout.Tried to turn her out like she was nothing, but the Hounds got to her in time… Babyface figured Eli would take notice, and he did.But the girl wasn’t Eli’s.And when Eli found out what he’d done, embarrassing him and causing trouble in his name with the Hounds, he didn’t hesitate.”He cut her another glance.“Eli shot him.Right there in the Hounds’ clubhouse in Mercy.No trial or fight.Just a bullet.”
Dylan stared at the dashboard, her voice cracking as she whispered, “He killed his own son.”
It wasn’t a question.And all he could do was nod in answer.
They still had a half hour to go, every minute building tension in his chest like storm pressure.Still, with every mile they put between Dylan and Oak Grove, he felt a sliver of relief.
Just a little longer.Mercy was waiting.
* * *
Dylan
“Welcome to Mercy,” Josh said as they passed its city limits sign.
Dylan sat shaking in the passenger seat as the van turned off the main road and rolled through a gritty corner of Mercy.The streets were older than those in Oak Grove, narrower, and cracked.It was the kind of place where every brick had a story.Josh slowed the van in front of a corner building in a run-down strip mall.At first glance, it didn’t look like much.But as they pulled up in a parking lot across the street, the storefront came into view.
Graffiti-style murals covered the outer wall.Dark, expressive artwork stretched across the brick like a tapestry of rebellion.Skulls, wings, serpents, and flames danced together in an eye-catching but chaotic symmetry.Its bold neon signage glowed above the door in fiery red and cool white:No Mercy Ink, the shop making its presence known against the overcast morning.
Tinted windows shielded whatever was inside, but the glass was lined with displays.Elegant tattoo designs of snakes coiled through roses, broken clocks, battle-worn angels.A wrought-iron bench sat beneath a rusty metal awning out front, with a beat-up bucket on the ground serving as a makeshift ashtray.
Dylan’s eyes lingered on the sign.“This is it?”
Josh nodded, one hand resting on the steering wheel.“This isNo Mercy Ink.Deva, Razor’s old lady, runs it with Outcast, her brother.They know we’re coming.”
The van ticked as he shut it off.Outside, it was quiet, but it wasn’t peace she was feeling.It was pressure, like the street held its breath whenever strangers arrived.
Josh glanced her way.She didn’t miss the concern that had bled into his expression.“Just let me talk, all right?”
Dylan gave a slow nod.“Yeah, okay.”But her eyes stayed fixed on the glowing sign as if it might blink out and leave her in the dark again.
Opening his door first, Josh scanned the street one last time before stepping out.Dylan slowly followed, but her anxiety was spiraling.The wind pulled at her jacket as they crossed the street toward the tattoo shop.
Josh opened the shop door and the sound of a motorcycle revving growled overhead.The smell of ink and antiseptic hung thick in the air.The walls were lined with black-framed tattoo designs, each piece more intense and expressive than the one before it.Dylan heard the low hum of a tattoo machine vibrating from the far corner where a gorgeous young woman with vivid purple hair worked over a client’s arm, steady and focused.
She didn’t look up.“We’re not open yet unless you’ve got an appointment,” she said coolly, not missing a beat with her needle.
But someone else stepped into view, tall and broad-shouldered with nearly black hair framing his face in loose waves.The man had calculating blue eyes and the unmistakable bearing of a man who’d led through fire.
Josh knew him, approaching him with a nod.“Outcast.”
Recognition hit.A flicker of surprise crossed Outcast’s face, followed immediately by suspicion as he turned those bright blue eyes on her.
“Vendetta,” Outcast said, his voice low.“I knew you’d be calling sooner or later.”
