Chapter 12 Cash
CASH
Ten minutes later, she emerges wearing last night’s clothes and my shirt over the top, tied at the waist. She looks like a fucking dream, like she belongs with me. Her hair is a tangled storm of red and her chin is tilted up, defiant, but I see the way her fingers clench the strap of her purse.
“Ready?” I ask.
She nods, following me out to the bike. I hand her the helmet, our fingers brushing, and the spark is still there, sharp and immediate.
I swing a leg over the seat, waiting. As she settles behind me, her arms circle my waist, hesitant at first, then firm.
I cover her hands with mine. “Got you,” I murmur, and kick the engine to life.
The ride to her apartment is tense. She’s pressed against my back, but I can feel her every muscle coiled tight.
I take the streets slow, my eyes scanning every parked car, every face on the sidewalk.
Looking for him. Looking for trouble. The words ‘property patch’ echo in my helmet, and I curse myself for mentioning it.
I glance in the mirror, see her reflection, small and fierce in the dark helmet.
I have to prove it to her. Prove this is different.
Prove I’m nothing like the man she ran from.
When we pull up to her building, I kill the engine. The silence that follows is heavy, broken only by the distant hum of traffic. The street looks normal, but every window feels like a pair of eyes.
“Stay here,” I say, swinging off the bike. I do a slow three-sixty, scanning the parked cars, the alley across the street. Nothing. But the feeling persists, a low-grade hum of wrongness.
I turn back and offer Mercy my hand. She takes it, her fingers cold in mine.
“Stick close. Let’s make this quick.”
She just nods, her grip tightening on mine as we walk toward the building and climb the stairs.
When we reach the top, I test her door. It’s locked. Relief sweeps over me as I hold out my hand. “Keys.”
She hands them over. The lock turns smoothly—no signs of tampering. But when we step inside, Mercy makes a small, hurt sound.
“This isn’t how I left things.”
“What do you mean?”
“My bags.” She moves through the living room like she’s in a daze. “I’m not this tidy…” She heads straight for her bedroom.
I follow, noting how pristine everything is.
Mercy stops in the doorway, frozen. The room looks perfect, everything in its place. But I’m guessing that’s exactly what the problem is.
“You OK?”
“I was packed,” she whispers, her hand covering her mouth.
“Last night. I had everything ready. I was going to tell Kya I had a family emergency and then just... leave. Drive to Colorado, maybe. Somewhere far from here. From Gabriel. From—” Her voice cracks.
“He unpacked it all. He knew what I was planning, and he unpacked it all. Put it away.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. She was leaving. While I was falling for her, while I was claiming her to the club, she was planning her exit.
“You were going to run.” My voice comes out flat.
“I was protecting you.” She still won’t look at me. “Gabriel destroys everything I touch. Everyone I care about. I thought if I left before he found me—”
“Before he found you? Mercy, he was already here. He was just biding his time before stepping out of the shadows.” The anger bleeds through despite my efforts to keep it contained. “And your plan was to just disappear? Leave us to wonder if you were dead somewhere?”
“My plan was to keep you safe!” Now she turns, her eyes fierce and wet. “You don’t understand what he’s capable of—”
“Then tell me!” The words come out louder than I meant. I force myself to take a breath, lower my voice. “Stop making decisions for me. Stop deciding what I can handle.”
“Cash—”
“No.” I step closer. “You think I don’t get running?
That’s all I fucking did as a kid. I ran from dealers, from cops, from whoever my mother pissed off that week.
” I shake my head, jaw tight. “And you know what running taught me? That I was alone. That no one stayed. That I wasn’t worth staying for. ”
“Cash.”
“Don’t you ever fucking do that to me.”
She’s crying now, silent tears tracking down her face.
“You want to protect me? You fight beside me. You don’t vanish and call it protection.”
She nods, wrapping her arms around herself. “OK. I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” My voice roughens. “Fuck.” I reach out and tug her into my arms, holding her against my chest. “Angel. I’m the one who’s sorry.
If you’d run? That would’ve wrecked me, Mercy.
I wouldn’t have come back from that.” I don’t mean to say it—don’t mean to let that dark and ugly part of me out—but it’s too late.
Now she’s really crying, hands twisting in the fabric of my shirt, face pressed into my chest so I can’t see if it’s anger or guilt or just plain exhaustion making her shake like this.
We stand like that for a long stretch of silence. Her breath is hot against my neck and I hold her tighter, because if I don’t, I might come completely unstitched right here on her bedroom carpet.
After a while, she pulls back. Her eyes are red and raw, but her jaw is set hard. “He was in my house.”
“I know. We’ll make sure he never comes back. I swear to God, Mercy, he will never get close to you again.” I cup her face with both hands, forcing her to meet my eyes. “He’s not here now. I am.”
We move back to the living room, and that’s when I see it—the only mess in the pristine space.
“Oh god.” Mercy moves toward the kitchen table, toward torn paper spread out like a taunt.
“Don’t touch them,” I say, pulling out my phone to take pictures of what appear to be their unsigned divorce papers. “He wants you to know he was here. That he can get to you whenever he wants.”
“Mrs. Yu,” she whispers, concern lacing her voice as she pulls out her phone and dials.
When she puts the phone to her ear, I watch her face, see the fear warring with fury, then relief when the call connects.
“Mrs. Yu?” She lets out a sigh. “It’s Mercy.
.. yes, I’m fine. But did my... did Gabriel stop by? ”
She listens, her knuckles white around the phone, her eyes darting around the unnaturally tidy living room.
“Two of them? What did they want?” Her gaze locks with mine, full of a dawning horror.
She listens again, her face paling. “Just... questions?” Another long pause.
“No, everything’s fine up here. As long as you’re OK.
And thanks, Mrs. Yu. I’ll call you later. ”
She hangs up, her hand dropping to her side as if the phone suddenly weighs a hundred pounds.
“They were here this morning,” she says, her voice hollow.
“Gabriel and buddies. My guess is he sent two of them into the laundromat to keep Mrs. Yu busy while he came up here and did all this. They asked her about clientele. The neighborhood. If she sees anything ‘suspicious.’ Wouldn’t explain why.
She kept pressing and they stonewalled her.
Then a third cop whistled, and the first two just wrapped up and left. ”
“They were just a diversion,” I say, the pieces clicking into place with a sickening thud. The motherfucker used his own partners to run interference while he played his little mind games. Asshole.
Cops protecting cops. Tale as old as fucking time.
I watched it my whole life—close ranks, protect their own, make the problem disappear.
The kid who reported Officer Friendly got hit with phantom warrants.
Excessive-force complaints went missing.
The badge is a shield, and guys like Gabriel wield it like a weapon.
And that’s what we’re up against. Not just one dirty cop, but an entire system that’ll protect him while he destroys her. Unless we’re smarter. Unless we’re ready to fight just as dirty.
“Classic Gabriel.” She wraps her arms around herself and scans the room.
“He used to demand this, you know. That I make everything perfect for him. Every single day. If a cushion was out of place, if there was a smudge on a window... he’d lose his shit.
” She shudders, the memory raw and close.
“This is him telling me I’ve gotten messy.
That he’s going to put me back in order. ”
“And that running won’t work,” I add. “He unpacked your escape bag to show you he knows your moves before you make them. He’s telling you there’s nowhere you can go that he won’t find you.”
She nods, and I can see the defeat trying to settle in her shoulders.
“No,” I say, my voice a low growl. “Don’t let him in your head. This is also him being a fucking coward.” I step in front of her, blocking her view of the sterile room. “Fuck him, Mercy. This isn’t your life anymore. Grab what you need. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
My words seem to break the spell. She blinks, and the terror in her eyes hardens into resolve.
She moves past me into her bedroom, her steps quick and sure.
I follow, planting myself in the doorway, watching as she grabs the duffel bag Gabriel had so carefully emptied and starts shoving clothes back into it—her way this time, on her terms. She grabs her laptop, a stack of books, a framed photo of her and Kya laughing behind the bar at Devil’s.
Each item is a declaration of the life she built without him. A life I’ll die to protect.
By the time she zips the duffel, her hands are steady. She looks up at me, chin high. “Ready. Although I have to warn you. I don’t own any leather. So I don’t think I’m going to fit in with the other biker bitches at the clubhouse.”
“Who says you have to?” I force a grin, even though all I want to do is go find Gabriel and beat him until he reports himself missing. “You want leather, I’ll buy you some. You want to wear head-to-toe flannel? You’ll start a new clubhouse trend by tomorrow.”
She snorts. “Please, as if I could ever one-up Ginger’s collection of boob tubes.”