Chapter 20 Cash
CASH
The bathroom in the guest apartment is ridiculous. It has marble counters, heated floors, and a tub big enough for four people. Right now it’s just got two, and Mercy’s leaning back against my chest while I work shampoo through her wild red hair.
“You’re going to put me to sleep,” she murmurs, her eyes closed as my fingers massage her scalp.
“That’s the idea. You’ve been wound tight as a spring since your ex showed up.”
“Can you blame me?”
“No.” I work out a tangle gently. “How was the rest of the Christmas decorating? Did Tank ever get his meth-head Santa set up?”
“He tried to fix it with duct tape.” She laughs a little as I rinse her hair, warm water running through the strands.
“I’m guessing that didn’t work.”
“No. Made it worse. Now it looks like Santa’s been in a bar fight. Ginger finally made him put it in the garage.”
“Ginger’s the only person I know who can intimidate a six-four, two-eighty wall of muscle,” I say, reaching for the conditioner.
“She and Maggie seem to take Christmas pretty seriously.”
“They take every holiday seriously.” I squeeze conditioner into my palm. “Last year at Thanksgiving, Duck decided he was going to impress everyone by deep-frying the Thanksgiving turkey.”
“That doesn’t sound too bad.”
“He watched a single YouTube video and declared himself an expert. Set up the fryer outside, thank God, because when he dropped that turkey in...” I shake my head at the memory. “The whole thing literally exploded. Shot hot oil and turkey parts twenty feet in every direction.”
Mercy gasps. “Was anyone hurt?”
“Duck has a patch of beard that won’t grow anymore. Hawk has a couple of scars from where he got hit with flying turkey shrapnel. And Stone’s bike was parked too close—ended up covered in oil and meat.”
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes. The turkey looked like it had been through a war. Duck tried to salvage it, insisted the parts that weren’t charcoal were still good.”
She’s shaking with laughter. “What did Maggie do?”
“Banned him from cooking anything more complex than bacon and pancakes. We had Chinese takeout for Thanksgiving. Duck still maintains the video was wrong, not him.”
I smooth the conditioner through her hair, fingers slow and sure. “I’m glad you had a good afternoon with the girls. They’re good people.”
“They really are.” She sighs, relaxing deeper into me. “Steel got nicknamed Fairy Floss.”
“What?” I pause mid-massage. “How the hell did that happen?”
“Poppy mentioned it’s what Australians call cotton candy. Ginger decided it fits him better than Steel because he’s too soft.” She giggles. “The twins started using it immediately. It’s going to stick.”
“Poor bastard. He’s going to spend his entire prospecting period living that down.” I laugh. “Could be worse. When I was prospecting, I almost got stuck with Bubbles.”
“Bubbles?” Mercy twists to look at me, water sloshing. “How?”
“First week as a prospect, Bones told me to clean the bikes. All of them. Didn’t specify how.” I grimace at the memory. “I was so eager to impress everyone that I went and got the dish soap, thinking it’d clean it all up real good.”
“So?”
“It stripped all the wax off. Took me three days to fix it. He made me hand-polish every bike in the garage as punishment.”
“How many bikes?”
“Twenty-seven.”
She winces. “Your poor arms.”
“Worth it though. That’s when I realized they weren’t going to throw me out for making mistakes.” I run my fingers through her hair, making sure all the conditioner is worked in. “How long have you been part of the MC now?”
“About a decade.”
“How’d that happen? Bones brought you in, right?”
My hands still for a moment. This isn’t a story I tell often.
Hell, I barely told anyone. Bones knows.
Stone knows. Maybe Maggie. But sitting here with Mercy, her body warm and trusting against mine, I realize I want her to know.
Need her to know where I came from so she understands why I am the way I am.
“Yeah. Back when I was sixteen. It was wrong place, wrong night. Bones found me behind a dumpster, bleeding out. Thought I was done.”
Mercy turns in the water to face me, concern in her eyes. “Cash...”
“It’s OK. It’s a story with a happy ending, I promise.” I pull her back against me, as much for my comfort as hers. “I’d been on the streets for two years by then. Ran away from home after my mom OD’d. Figured anything was better than foster care or whatever the state would do with me.”
“That must have been terrifying.”
“It was. But it was also... I don’t know. Freedom, in a fucked-up way. No one hitting or using me for fun. No dealers using the apartment as a revolving door. No mom so high she didn’t recognize me.”
Mercy’s hand finds mine under the water, squeezing gently.
“Anyway, I did what a lot of rough sleepers do, and I was stealing to survive. Got pretty good at it too. But that night I picked the wrong target. Local dealer who didn’t appreciate losing his stash. Him and three buddies found me.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah. They worked me over pretty good. Left me for dead. I was trying to crawl somewhere hidden to die when Bones found me.” I can still remember it—the pain, the cold, then this giant scarred biker crouching beside me, blowing out cigarette smoke and saying I was too pretty to die in garbage.
“He threw me over his shoulder like I weighed nothing. Brought me to the clubhouse.”
“Why?”
“Asked him that once. He said I reminded him of someone. Never told me who.” I rinse the conditioner from her hair slowly, running my fingers through and watching the water cascade down.
“Maggie patched me up. Took me weeks to heal. And I remember that whole time, I was convinced it was going to be more of the same, you know? People taking what they wanted from me.” I feel Mercy tense against me, her hand tightening on mine.
And that’s what I’ve been doing my whole life, really—waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Waiting for the people who say they care to show their true colors.
With Mercy, I keep waiting for the moment she realizes I’m not worth the trouble Gabriel’s bringing.
That I’m damaged goods. That the street kid with trauma and control issues isn’t what she signed up for.
But she’s still here. Still holding my hand. Still listening to the ugly parts without flinching.
Maybe that’s what love is—not just accepting someone’s past, but trusting them with your own.
“They didn’t take anything,” I continue, my voice rougher than I intend. “Nobody touched me. Nobody demanded anything. Maggie fussed over me like I was her kid. Bones checked in every day, brought me food. Stone gave me space to heal and then asked what I wanted to do next.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That I wanted to stay. That I’d do anything—clean, cook, whatever they needed. I just didn’t want to go back out there.” I lean my head back against the tile.
“So they just... took you in?”
“I still had to prove myself. Started as a hang-around—Stone wouldn’t let me prospect until I went back to school and got my diploma. But after that, they let me prospect. Club essentially adopted a feral street kid and turned him into... this.” I gesture at myself.
Mercy turns again, this time straddling my lap in the water. Her hands cup my face. “They turned you into a good man.”
“Angel…” I reach up and wrap my hands around her wrists as my throat gets a little tight. “You know I’m not, right? I’m not a good man. Not by society’s standards, anyway.”
She shakes her head, water droplets sliding down her neck.
“I don’t care about society’s standards.
Society’s standards said I should stay with Gabriel because he seems like a good man on paper.
To divorce a man like that is shameful. Society’s standards said I should be the perfect cop’s wife and smile through everything.
” Her thumbs stroke my cheekbones. “You know what you are, Cash? You’re loyal.
You’re protective. You take care of people who need it.
You gave me a safe place when I had nowhere to go. ”
“I was also pretty desperate to fuck you.” I smirk. “Still am. My motivations have always been far from pure where you’re concerned.”
She laughs, pressing her forehead to mine.
“You think there was anything pure about me? I told you we should just be friends then proceeded to wear my shortest skirts and tightest shirts, knowing you’d keep pushing for more.
” She shifts higher on my lap, so my cock slides between her legs.
“Do you know how many times I went home and fucked myself into exhaustion because I knew you were outside my window? God, Cash, I could never get enough.”
My hands slide to her hips, gripping. “Angel, you can’t say shit like that when you’re naked and wet in my lap.”
I can feel her smile against my mouth. “Why not? It’s the truth.”
“Because I’m trying to be respectful here. Let you recover from the shitshow that was this morning.”
“What if I don’t want to recover?” Her hips rock forward, and I groan despite myself. “What if I want to forget for a while?”
My grip tightens on her hips, holding her still before I lose what little control I have left. “Mercy—”
“Please.” She kisses along my jaw, my neck, finding that spot behind my ear that makes me shudder. “I need you. Just you. Nothing else.”
And fuck, when she puts it like that, how am I supposed to say no?
I surge up, capturing her mouth with mine as I lift her slightly, positioning myself at her entrance, and when I pull her down onto me, we both groan at the connection.
“Yes,” she breathes against my lips. “God, yes.”