“Why’d you tell me the truth?” Ava asked him. “About the gun.”
He shrugged and the fabric of his shirt rustled as his wide shoulders lifted and dropped. “I never liked being lied to. I didn’t figure anyone as smart as you would like it either.”
It felt wrong, after what had just happened at Stella’s, but Ava smiled, just a little.
He smiled back, his teeth stunning against his dark skin.
Then Ava felt her face go slack again. “What’s going to happen now?” she asked. “You’ll have to find the people with the AK-47?”
Before Mercy could answer, a voice said, “Hey, don’t talk to her about that.” Hound smacked Mercy lightly on the back of the head as he strode into the room, Rottie in tow. “She’s a damn kid. Stop talking about guns.”
“Right,” Mercy said with a sigh.
“Ghost,” Hound said, as he joined his VP. “Shit, Mags, what’s going on?”
Maggie shook her hair back, composed herself with a deep, shaky breath, and recounted the tale of the drive-by at Stella’s to Hound and Rottie. Her voice shivered with nerves, her eyes were still glossy with moisture, but she didn’t shrink from the story. She told it plainly, honestly, not skipping any of the details, not even the wailing elderly woman and her dead husband the paramedics had zipped up in a black bag.
“Jesus,” Hound said. “The cops’ll be all over this, blaming us.”
“Don’t think I haven’t thought of that,” Ghost said.
Ava felt Mercy tap her shoulder. “Hey, come on,” he said. “You wanna go get a Coke?”
She’d long since figured out what the adults in her life were doing when they found reasons for her to leave the room during an important discussion. But Mercy had told her the truth, and he’d earned a special place in her tiny heart for that. She said, “Sure,” and followed him out of the clubhouse.
Mercy bought a Coke at the machine beneath the portico and handed it over like he was afraid his large hand would somehow hurt her much smaller one.
Ava sat down at one of the picnic tables and took a slow sip, letting the carbonation fizz against her tongue a moment before she swallowed. Mercy sat down across from her and stared out over the parking lot, toward the bike shop. His profile was regal, like it belonged on a coin. And a little cruel, if she was honest. She’d been raised by cruel-looking men; she found a certain comfort in the things other girls found frightening.
“You don’t have to stay with me,” she said, and Mercy’s head came around.
His eyes had amber striations in the slanted late-morning sun, full of a depth she hadn’t noticed before. “What do you mean?”
“I’ll sit out here and wait for Mom, but you don’t have to stay, if you don’t want to. I’ll be fine.”
His head tilted, in a way that reminded her of a dog.
“Nobody wants to be a babysitter,” she elaborated. “I get it.”
His deep voice softened to that gentle, patient note he always seemed to use with her. “I’m not babysitting. I like sitting out here with you.”
She lifted her brows to sayreally?
He nodded. “So.” His tone shifted again, signaling they wouldn’t spend any time talking about his motives. “Doesn’t school start soon for you?”
She made a face and sipped her Coke. “I don’t want it to.”
Instead of doing what everyone always did – instead of lying to her about how fun school was and how excited she should be – he mirrored her expression and said, “I always hated the idea of it. I’m not smart, not like you. ‘Course, being smart’s its own cross to bear, I ‘spose.”
“I’m a nerd,” she said with a sigh. And before she could catch herself, the whole Mason Stephens story was pouring out of her.
Mercy listened with silent fascination, scowling by the time she got to the end.
“I’m a biker whore,” she said. “The whole school thinks so.”
“That little shit doesn’t even know what a whore is. Somebody needs to beat his ass,” Mercy said, a darkness stealing across his face. “Did your mom complain to the school?”
She nodded. “Mason got detention.”
