Chapter 12 Cash #2
“Don’t underestimate yourself. You’re already changing the uniform and you haven’t even moved in yet.”
She shakes her head, slinging the duffel over one shoulder and looping her laptop case over the other. “Just so we’re clear, this is temporary. I’m not moving in. I’m just cohabiting until we figure out what Gabriel’s next move is.”
“Temporary?” I scoff. “Angel, I’m gonna treat you so good you’ll forget you ever said that.” I slip the duffel off her shoulder and toss it over mine, heading for the door.
She hesitates at the threshold, glancing around the apartment one last time.
For a second, I think she’s going to cry, but then she just makes this soft scoffing sound, like she’s clearing the lint of her old life away with one breath.
“Fuck it,” she mutters, and steps out ahead of me down the stairs.
The way back is quiet. She doesn’t speak, but when we’re about halfway across town, she leans forward, resting her cheek against my back. The smallest thing, but it feels like a victory.
Back at the clubhouse, the lot is full. Church starts soon, and most of the club’s main players are probably already inside, milling in the kitchen and main room, talking in low voices over black coffee and, if you’re Duck, far too many cigarettes.
I park the bike, cut the engine. Mercy dismounts behind me, feet hitting the gravel a few moments before mine follow suit.
I reach out and unclip her helmet for her, fingers gentle as I slide it off.
Static lifts strands of her hair, wild red escaping in every direction.
For a moment, she’s bashful, chin tucked, but then she meets my eyes.
There’s a defiance there, but it’s threaded through with gratitude. Maybe even something like trust.
I step into her space and cup her jaw, just enough pressure to anchor her here.
Her breath hitches. But she doesn’t pull away.
My thumb brushes the curve of her cheek.
And she just… stares at me. Those big green eyes are wide but steady, like she’s daring me to do something stupid.
And maybe I am. Maybe this is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, but I can’t stop myself.
Not when she looks at me like I’m the only thing holding all her tiny pieces together.
“Mercy,” I murmur, a warning, a plea, a promise—I’m not even sure what it is anymore.
But I lean in, slow, giving her every chance to stop me, to shove me away or tell me no.
But she doesn’t. Her lips part, just a little, and then my lips brush hers, soft and tentative.
It’s not a kiss, not really, just the barest press of skin against skin, but it sends a jolt through me like I’ve been struck by lightning.
My hand tightens on her jaw, pulling her closer, and she lets me.
Her fingers curl into the front of my shirt, clinging to me as if I’m the only solid thing in a world that’s spinning too fast.
I don’t push. I don’t take. I just hold her there, our breaths mingling in the cold morning air, and wait for her to decide.
To tell me what she needs next. For a second, we’re just breathing each other’s breath, her grip tight on my shirt, her pulse racing under my thumb, and nothing else exists except the temptation to never let her go.
Then, just as carefully, she eases back, her eyes huge and dark.
“I’m sorry,” she says, voice small, but rawer than I’ve ever heard it. “I—Fuck. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
I drop my hand, stuffing it into my jacket pocket so she doesn’t have to see how hard I’m trembling. “Hey,” I say, as gentle as I can. “Nothing’s wrong with you.”
Before she can respond, the clubhouse door bangs open.
“Cash!” Duck’s voice cuts across the parking lot. “Church. Stone wants you there now.”
I glance back at Mercy, who’s already putting more distance between us like she needs the space to breathe.
“Go,” she says quietly. “I’ll be fine.”
“Steel!” I call out, spotting the prospect near the entrance. He jogs over immediately. “Take Mercy’s bags to my room. Make sure she has everything she needs.”
“Your room?” Steel glances between us, but he’s smart enough not to comment further. “Yes, sir.”
I turn back to Mercy. “We’ll talk later, OK? After church. Figure all this out.”
She nods, but won’t properly meet my eyes. “I should probably find Kya, anyway. Let her know what’s happening.”
“She’ll be in the kitchen with the other old ladies,” Steel offers helpfully. “I can show you—”
“I know where it is.” Mercy’s voice is steadier now, finding her footing. She takes her laptop bag from me, leaving the duffel for Steel. “Go. Don’t keep Stone waiting.”
I want to kiss her. Want to pull her close and promise everything will be OK. But Duck’s hanging in the doorway looking impatient, and Stone doesn’t like to be kept waiting.
“Later,” I promise, and it feels like I’m always saying that to her. Always putting off the conversation we need to have.
The conversation where I tell her what she’s starting to mean to me.
Where I admit that I’m not just protecting her because it’s the right thing to do—I’m protecting her because I can’t fucking breathe when I think about losing her.
Where I say the words that make this real, that take away any illusion I’m still in control of this thing between us.
The truth? That conversation scares me more than a man like Gabriel ever will.
As I head for the chapel, I glance back once. Mercy’s following Steel inside, her shoulders squared like she’s preparing for battle. Maybe she is. Maybe we all are.