Page 18 of Burned in Stone
“—I’ll call your mother.” She plucks the card with bony fingers. “Now scram before I show you how seniors handle peeping toms.”
I glance up at Mercy’s window one last time. “She breathes wrong, you dial.”
“Go.” Mrs. Yu makes shooing motions with the bat. “Before I add pretty-boy biker to my hit list.”
The walk back to my bike feels like retreating from a battlefield. Stoneheart’s streets are too quiet tonight—no drunk college kids spilling out of The Rusty Nail, no truckers idling at the all-night diner. Summit’s ‘urban renewal’ bullshit is sucking the life out of this town one boarded-up storefront at a time.
I kick-start the Harley, the engine’s roar splitting the silence like an axe, then I take off toward home, thinking about Mercy the whole time.
The Clubhouse lights burn bright when I roll in. Tank’s on gate duty, face lit by his phone’s glow. “Prez wants you in Church first thing,” he calls as I pass.
Fuck. Stone’s probably got another Summit countermove planned. I nod, parking beside Bones’ chopped Sportster. When I head inside, the place is mostly quiet. Just Bones at the bar with his laptop, because the man never sleeps.
“You look ready to kill someone,” he observes without looking up.
“Might be onto something there.” I grab a beer. “Need you to run a search.”
“On?”
“Mercy. Maybe Mercedes. Last name is Rogers, but she could be using something different. See if she was reported missing in the last year or two. I know she left a husband. So she’s probably still married. Likely filed for divorce. I wanna know who he is.”
Bones looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “You sure you wanna pull that thread?”
“She’s scared, brother. Someone’s terrorizing her, and she won’t say who.”
“Maybe because she knows what you’ll do when you find out.”
He’s not wrong. The rage building in my chest feels volcanic. But Mercy needs more than my anger. She needs answers. Solutions. Freedom.
“Just run it,” I say.
“I’ll see what I can find.” Bones closes his laptop. “But once you know, you can’t unknow. And sometimes the truth is worse than the mystery.”
“She’s worth the risk.”
“Is she?” Bones stands, studying me with that look that says he already knows the answer. “You’ve known her less than a year. And out of all those months, three of them she’s been giving you blue balls. Maybe you should go out and fuck someone before you decide to go to war for her.”
“Thereisn’tanyone else. There’s only her.” Simple. Direct. True. “She’s the first person since you who looked at me and saw more than my face.”
Bones’ expression shifts—understanding mixed with something that might be pride. He knows what that costs me to admit. “Then she’s lucky to have you.” He gets up and heads for the stairs. “I’ll let you know what I find.”
I drink my beer alone, thinking about Mercy in her apartment. About Mrs. Yu with her baseball bat and sharp eyes. About monsters wearing human faces.
I finish my beer in three hot gulps and still feel like I swallowed a fistful of thumbtacks. Sleep isn’t gonna happen tonight—not with my head rolling like a tumbleweed between what I saw in Mercy’s eyes and the ghost that keeps pushing her into panic.
So I do what I always do when shit gets loud. I fight.
The clubhouse gym is the size of a garage, full of battered weights and bags patched three times over. Most days, it’s empty after midnight. I flip the lights, peel off my cut, and wrap my hands for the heavy bag. When I punch, I picture every brokenthing I’ve ever loved and every asshole that tried to take it from me.
The first hit grazes my knuckles. Good. Pain on the outside matches the inside.
Thwack.
Nine years old. Mom’s passed out on the bathroom floor again, needle still dangling from her arm. The dealer’s at the door, and when I open it, his eyes crawl over me like I’m meat on a hook.“Pretty boy like you could make us both rich,”he says, reaching for me.
Thwack.
The bag swings. Sweat stings my eyes.
