Maggie closed her car door with her hip, juggling purse, umbrella, grocery sack, and keys as she tried to keep dry beneath the onslaught of drumming rain. It was a murky night, colors and shadows running together in an underwater gloom. Standing in her driveway felt like being at the bottom of the river, the wind like water currents, the visibility almost zero.
Poor Dublin: as one of the newest, youngest members, he had been designated her tail for the day, and was slopping through the rain on his bike. She couldn’t imagine how he was seeing through his nighttime riding goggles in this mess. The headlamp of his Harley cut a dim swatch through the inky black; the raindrops flashed silver in the beam.
“Thanks,” Maggie called, tossing him a wave.
He started to swing his leg over the bike and she sighed and headed up the front walk. She didn’t need him to walk her in, but whatever. She was tired of arguing with bikers. Her feet hurt; her back hurt. She was exhausted, and sick to death of walking through her daily life worried that an AK muzzle would sprout from a car window and bullets would pepper the air. Her steps were dogged by Dogs, the irony hilarious and terrifying at the same time. The club was at war, and as a general, Ghost was needed on the front lines. Which meant the underlings were on watch dog duty. Which meant as she sold pansies and pallets of sod at McMurray Nursery, a Dog was never too far off, waiting and watching, guarding.
In the dark, she almost ran into the bike parked in front of the garage, and the rain boots she’d worn to work splashed through the sidewalk puddles. She turned up her nose at the pale, bloated worms that wriggled in the larger pools of water.
Dublin followed her, ducking beneath the stoop and waiting as she unlocked the front door.
“Go on,” she told him with a shooing gesture. “Go get out of this weather. And be safe.”
He dipped his head. “Yes, ma’am.” And jogged back to his bike.
Maggie elbowed the door open, snapped her umbrella closed, dropped it on the front step, and entered the house shaking raindrops from her ponytail.
Slowly, as the paychecks rolled in and the club’s legitimate interests expanded, she was adding flavor and comfort to their modest ranch house. In the narrow entryway, she’d just added an antique hall tree, with spotted mirror, coat hooks, bench, and storage cubbies. She set her grocery bag on the bench, toed off her boots, hung up her soggy hoodie, then grabbed the bag and headed into the living room. She halted in her tracks as her eyes fell on the scene before her.
On the living room sofa, the TV throwing blue panels of light across them, Mercy sat with his socked feet on the coffee table, one hand on the remote, the other resting on Ava’s tiny shoulder; Ava lay on her side, curled up like a cat, her head resting on Mercy’s thigh. It was a familiar pose, one that Ava usually took up with her father. Tonight, it was her watcher and protector that she slept against. And Mercy, for all the terror of his face and form, had the air of a great beastly mastiff as he encircled the girl with one large arm and looked both relaxed and ready to eliminate anything that dared threaten her. The still shot of them together like that spoke to so many things: a protectiveness, a sweetness, some deep tenderness in him that was touched by his small charge. Something wicked and primal in the misunderstood man reacted with pure delight to Ava’s childish wonder and instant acceptance. Maggie had heard them talking together, Ava usually sounding the adult and Mercy the awkward kid.
It was a cute picture, and Maggie smiled a moment, lingering in the shadowed foyer. But she’d been jailbait. She’d been a mom at seventeen. She knew what it was to have a heart that sang a siren’s song to deeper waters, and older men. She knew what it was like to get tangled up in the confusing feelings of age difference.
Mercy had heard her come in, and he glanced her way, his eyes dark and flinty. Maggie saw the way he reared back from her in his mind, the way he wondered what she’d say to him.
“I know it’s past her bedtime,” he said, “but she fell asleep and I didn’t want to wake her.”
Maggie nodded on her way through to the kitchen where she put her bag and purse down. When she returned, she half-expected to see Mercy getting to his feet, but he was still planted squarely on the sofa, still holding Ava against his side.
Sweet boy, Maggie thought fondly, with only a touch of worry for the future fate of Ava’s emotions. Right now, she was glad to have a six-five monster watching over her baby.
She settled into her favorite little chair and pulled her feet up beneath her. The empty pizza box on the coffee table told her neither Mercy nor Ava was hungry. She’d reheat leftover meat loaf for herself later.
“Aidan’s not home yet?” she asked, taking the elastic out of her hair and running her hands through her damp locks.
“Nah. He and Tango were on cleaning duty last I heard. James told ‘em to wipe down the weight room floor to ceiling.”
Maggie sighed. “Those boys…I swear. Neither one of them’s gonna graduate. I told Ghost he couldn’t prospect them until after they were done with high school…” She pursed her lips and silently cursed the situation. This new threat from the Carpathians had sent panic rippling through the club. Aidan and Tango had been begging to prospect since they’d obtained their driver’s licenses. Two weeks ago, they’d gotten their wish. Now, they had old beat-up bikes of their own; they wore cuts with Prospect bottom rockers. And instead of calculus homework, their evenings were filled with club housekeeping and strategizing revenge.
“Aidan has his books with him,” Mercy said, clearly trying to console her. “He’s a sharp kid; maybe he can keep up with both.”
Maggie twitched a smile for him, her gaze lingering on his massive hand where it rested on Ava’s shoulder. “He’s so wild,” she murmured. “Sharp, yeah, but restless.” She leaned an elbow on the arm of the chair and propped her temple against it. “My mother thinks I ought to kick him out of the house if he won’t keep up with school.”
Mercy’s dark brows jumped.
“I’d never do that. That’s the kind of mothershewas. That doesn’t accomplish anything. I mean, look how I turned out.”
He grinned. He had one of those truly happy grins, one that didn’t seem to belong on his harsh face.
Maggie changed the subject. “You’re good with her.” She nodded toward Ava. “She doesn’t take to new people right off most of the time. She likes you.”
There were people who feigned modesty, suck-ups who wanted to appear gracious. The way Mercy’s face twitched held nothing fake. He wasn’t a man who’d had many compliments in his life; he didn’t know what to make of them. In the pale wash of blue light, his cheeks darkened slightly. “Well, she…she’s smart. I don’t ever spend any time with kids, really, but I don’t guess most of them are smart and quiet.”
Maggie snorted. “God knows I wasn’t.”
Mercy’s returning smile was polite; his eyes went to Ava, the little sleeping cat-like creature she was at his side.
It wasn’t just the children who were smart, Maggie acknowledged; her husband was a quick-thinker too. He’d perceived that vacant spot in Mercy, the cold loneliness. She wondered, though, if Ghost had ever anticipated that Mercy would grow to love his little charge. Because that’s what it was, the type of love that an uncle or father or big brother would have shown. Ava – who’d had so much trouble making friends at school – had captured this big biker effortlessly.
