Page 49 of Burned in Stone
I’m out of bed before she finishes the word.
An hour later, we’re sated, dressed and ready. Mercy’s wearing jeans, a Devil’s Bar T-shirt and a denim jacket under her new cut, my patch visible to anyone who looks.
“You look good in my leather,” I tell her, unable to resist running my hands over the vest.
“You’re biased.”
“Extremely.” I kiss her, longer and deeper than I should when we need to leave. “Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
Bones and Steel are waiting in the clubhouse lot, bikes already running. Bones is on his murdered-out chopper. Steel’s on his Sportster that looks rough but never quits.
“About time,” Bones says, but he’s eyeing Mercy in a way that reads approval, not suspicion. “Heard about the patch, darlin’. You look good as an old lady.”
She flushes, but she doesn’t fold. “Thanks.”
Bones shifts his attention to me. “Congratulations, kid.”
I just nod and help Mercy onto my bike, checking her helmet and making sure her jacket is zipped. “Stay close,” I tell Bones and Steel. “And keep your eyes open.”
The ride to Josie’s is tense. Mercy’s arms are tight around my waist, her body pressed close. At every red light, I’m scanning mirrors—rooftops, parked cars, reflections in windows. Looking for Gabriel’s cruiser or anyone I don’t recognize. Bones sits behind us, Steel takes point. No one cracks a joke, no one relaxes. Everyone knows what today means.
Josie’s office is in the good part of town, all glass and steel and money. The receptionist takes one look at our cuts and her smile pinches, but she leads us back without comment.
Josie Bright waits inside, immaculate in a navy suit. She’s early-forties but looks like she carved a deal with time itself. It tracks that Stone has a soft spot for her.
“Cash. Mercy.” Josie stands, offering her hand, grip firm and professional. “And you brought back up.”
“Bones. Steel.” I nod to my brothers, who settle into chairs flanking the door. “Hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.” Josie’s smile is casual. She’s used to dealing with the MC. “I appreciate men who understand the value of overt displays of support.” She gestures for us to sit. “Coffee? Water?”
“We’re good,” I say, though Mercy accepts water with shaking hands.
“All right.” Josie settles behind her desk, pulling out a thick folder. “Let’s talk about Gabriel Rogers and what we’re dealing with.”
Mercy’s pulse is jumping under my palm when I lace our fingers together.
“First, the good news.” Josie flips open the folder. “I’ve reviewed your case. You filed the papers thirteen months ago, whichmeans we’re well past the mandatory waiting period. The failure to sign is clearly malicious. Which means we have grounds to petition the court for a default judgment.”
Mercy’s grip on my hand tightens. “That’s great. Right?”
“It is. But,” Josie continues, “Gabriel is a police officer with family connections in the Ailington justice system. His father was a captain, his mother worked in the DA’s office. He’s got relationships with judges, prosecutors, and court clerks. If he decides to fight this, I expect he’ll use every connection he has.”
“So what do we do?” I ask.
“We make jurisdiction work for us.” Josie looks at Mercy. “Where was your residency before Ailington?”
Mercy blinks. “Millbrook County. Why?”
Josie’s smile is sharp. “Perfect. Did you live there before the marriage?”
“Yes. And I kept a PO box in the city for a while after.”
“Even better.” Josie makes a note. “We’ll file there.”
I lift a brow. “That’s allowed?”
