“I heard my ears burning and smell steak cooking,” Mercy announces his arrival in the kitchen, and I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
I guess I’m still nervous Mercy doesn’t want to be Prez. I need this to work with him. The men need it. This Club is our home and without it, I’m not sure where we would be. I really need Mercy to stay. I don’t know what we would do otherwise.
“Sorry I disappeared. After you took off I got caught up in a phone call with Reaper.” Mercy takes the seat across from me and I.E.D pours him a cup of coffee.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah, everything is fine. I just had a few business questions is all.” He hums as he swallows the brew. “Good coffee, I.E.D.”
It’s one of the first time he has acknowledged someone that isn’t me or One. I.E.D’s brows nearly reach his hairline as he stares at me, then grins. “Thanks, Prez.”
Mercy leans his elbows on the table and folds them over one another. “Are you going to tell me why you left Church earlier?”
“You mean a meeting where you weren’t even saying anything to begin with?”
“I’ll let you have that one because I know I haven’t been a great leader but that’s going to change. I’ll ask one last time, why did you leave?”
I.E.D takes the moment to interrupt, like a damn waiter coming to check on you at the worst time, and places two plates of food down in front of us. Damn, I didn’t know he could cook like this. There’s a fresh salad, mash potatoes, and a steak so thick it's taking up half the plate.
Fuck, yes.
It better be medium rare, closer to rare. I like my meat to moo when I cut into it.
“This looks great, I.E.D. You want a job as the Chef?”
I.E.D. fumbles and drops a knife on the ground, fumbling over himself. “Seriously? Do you mean it? Oh man, Prez, I already have a bunch of ideas. I have a menu and everything for the bar I’ve been trying to talk to you about. I—”
Mercy holds up his hand to stop him from talking. “I don’t need to see it. I trust you. The job is yours. You can create whatever you want. We will hire a few outsiders to help, maybe some teens that need a job to give you a hand. You okay with that?”
“Yes, Prez. Whatever you want. Thank you so much.”
Mercy turns to face me again while Zip-tie and Anvil give I.E.D a high-five. I shake my head as I cut into my steak.
“You just made his day. Our old Prez didn’t let him cook because Prez’s ol’ lady ran things in the kitchen. I.E.D loves to cook.”
“Yeah, well, dreams are made to be reached, right? He has every right to be in the kitchen if that’s where he wants to be. Also, what’s his name stand for? I know there is no way it means what it usually means.”
The steak is perfect, and I moan as I chew. “Fuck, that’s good.” I begin to cut another piece. “And I can’t tell you that. He’ll have to.” I smirk.
“I think I can connect the dots,” Mercy utters.
“I placed a tracking device on her truck.”
Mercy stops cutting the steak and is about to ask why but he changes his mind and goes back to his meal.
“I wanted to make sure she was okay. She went home every day. It was like clockwork. Work. Home. But then I got an alert saying she was going to Lake Mead. It was unlike her, so I followed. And…” The mash potatoes become difficult to swallow, becoming lodged in the back of my throat.
At some point, I.E.D gave us two glasses of water and I chug mine, the ice-cold water soothing. I lick my lips after I set the red cup down and reach behind my back to grab the gun, sliding it across the table. “Found her with that playing Russian Roulette with herself.”
“No shit?” I turn to see One standing there in the entryway, staring at the gun with wide eyes. “Damn, it’s a good thing you left when you did.” One sits down next to me and steals my fork, stabbing a piece of steak I had precut. “She okay?”
“Hell no she isn’t okay. She would have killed herself if I hadn’t stopped her and talked her down. She was going to do it. I tackled her to the ground before she could.”
Mercy whistles. “Does she know the truth about Kenneth?”
“No. I didn’t want to tell her when she had a gun to her head.”
“Makes sense,” One agrees.
“She’s upstairs in one of the rooms, right?”
“Yeah, Prez. I hope that’s okay.”
“Of course it is. That’s what this place is for. Well, you have to tell her before Monday when they start working again,” Mercy says. “It’s the right thing to do. Poor girl. I want to kill that guy.”
“That can be arranged,” I sneer, stabbing my fork into my steak so hard, a river of red flows from it.
“I’m sure it isn’t going to be easy for her. She’s going to need support. We need to make sure we are there for her. This is her home now unless she says otherwise. And no one touches her,” Mercy shouts so everyone can hear, but his eyes are focused on me.
“I wouldn’t touch her unless she wanted me to,” I hiss, offended that he would think such a thing.
“Even if she did, she might be thinking it is what she really wants but it isn’t. You need to be the smarter one in this situation, Whistler.”
“I know that. That’s all I’ve been thinking about, okay? This type of situation isn’t new to me. Remember, my sister is here for the same damn reason.”
“There’s a big difference between the two. You want Charlie, I see it every time you look at her. Want can make you tease a very fine line of what’s right and what you should do.”
“I’m leaving,” I slide my plate to One. “You can finish it.”
One gets up so I can leave, and Mercy lifts a brow at me. “I’m not meaning to piss you off. I’m telling you the harsh truths.”
I slam my fist on the table. “I know the fucking harsh truths. I don’t need to hear them.” I snag my coffee cup and top it off, then grab the lonely bottle of Jameson sitting on top of the microwave and pour a hefty amount in the mug. “Have a great fucking night everyone.” I lift my cup in the air and kick the door open with the steal-toe of my boot.
The warmth of the coffee and the burn of the whiskey go together perfectly for a nightcap. I’m going to finish this, take a hot shower, and climb into that recliner.
First, I slither through the tables and go out the back door and search for my bike. When I see her next to One’s, I drag my feet toward her while thinking about Mercy’s words. I’m so fucking pissed. Not at him, but at the damn truth.
It’s something I’ve told myself a hundred times but hearing it is like a gunshot to the damn chest.
I dig through my saddlebags until I find my plastic bag of spare clothes and toiletries. “Fucking idiot,” I say, feeling sorry for myself.
I always want the ones that can’t want me back.
The gravel crunches under my boots as I go inside and make my way through the bar and up the stairs. I’m finishing the cup of coffee and the taste of whiskey is on my tongue. The floorboards groan under me as I tiptoe into the bedroom. The bottom of the mug clinks against the dresser as I set it down gently.