Page 9 of Stitch's Mercy

“Do you know how messed up that sounds?”

“Yes.” Tears glimmered in her eyes, and she tried to get off me.

“Stay.” I gripped her hips and held her in place. “Tell me why you wouldn’t take my calls or reply to my texts. I want to know why you pulled away from me after the shooting.”

“I was protecting myself. I can’t lose another person I care about.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “If I let myself love you, I’ll lose you too.”

“Baby, I’m not going anywhere.” Cradling her beautiful face, I kissed her softly. “I promise. I’ll never leave you.” Jesus, all this time, I had no idea she loved me. What a damn idiot I’d been.

“I know the dangers of being in a biker club. If you were only Doctor Hayes, it’d be fine. But Stitch isn’t someone I want to be with.”

“They’re one and the same.”

“I can’t be with a biker, Brady. I’m sorry, but I just can’t.”

This conversation had taken a wrong turn, and I felt her slipping out of my grasp. “But you have been with me. You just admitted you’d die if something happened to me. That means you care. That you love me.”

She shook her head rapidly. “No. I don’t love you.”

“I call bullshit.”

“Let go of me.” She tried to get away, but again, I wouldn’t let her loose.

“We’re talking this out now.” I put her on her back, pinning her against the sofa. “I am Brady Hayes and will always be the man you love.”

“I don’t love you! I will never love you!” she yelled in my face. Clearly fired up, she planted her hands against my chest and pushed with all her strength. “Get off me!”

“Why are you like this, Mercy? Why do you fight what nature has brought together? We are perfect for each other. Don’t you see that? Don’t you feel how much I love you?”

“Yes, and it scares the crap out of me!” She wilted under me, and tears streaked out of the corners of her eyes. “I can’t be with a biker, Brady. Can’t you choose me and quit the club?”

“Jesus, baby. What the fuck happened to you to make you hate bikers so much?” I had to ask, though I was terrified to hear her answer. If she’d been assaulted, I would search for the fucker and kill him.

“Don’t ask me that.” She hid her face behind her hands and sobbed.

My innards twisted into knots in my stomach. Fuck, I’d never been so afraid, but I had to know what had happened to the woman I loved.

I lifted off Mercy and picked her up. I sat back in my spot on the couch with her on my lap. This time, I held her tightly against my chest and gently shushed her. “It’s okay, sweetheart. You can tell me anything. Nothing you say could ever change the way I feel about you. I love you, Mercy. I love you so fucking much it hurts to breathe. Tell me,who hurt you?”

“Bikers.” She buried her face against my chest.

Fuck! Bikers, plural?

Rage pumped in my veins. I’d kill every one of them, slowly. Cut off their limbs one by one. Watch them bleed out and writhe in pain. But before they passed out or perished, I’d chop off their dicks and feed their limp sausages to them. It’d be messy, and oh so gratifying.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I will make them pay for hurting you.”

She raised her face to look at me. “What do you think happened to me?”

I swallowed thickly. “You were violated.”

“No, I wasn’t.” She sniffled and wiped the wetness off with her sleeve. “You have it wrong.”

“Then what?” Relief crashed down on me, but the sadness in her eyes told me something horrible had still happened.

“Eleven years ago, my brother Noah was murdered by three bikers in a cornfield in Iowa. I was forced to watch and would’ve been raped if another group of bikers hadn’t shown up.”

“Jesus Christ,” I muttered.

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