Chapter 24 Mercy
MERCY
Irun for the door before anyone else can move.
I hear Kya shout my name, hear Steel’s boots pounding after me, but I’m already halfway across the clubhouse by the time the engine noise dies out and the front floodlights kick on.
It’s not just one bike—it’s the whole club.
Tank and Lee riding up front, Bones behind, and in the center of the pack a bike with two on it.
For a half-mad second, I think they’ve failed.
The head is slumped low on the passenger, body swaying loose as a rag doll.
But then the bike comes to a clean stop, and Stone is off before the engine’s out, bracing the passenger under the arms as Bones leaps in to help.
My vision tunnels, and for a heartbeat all I see is the inside of a morgue.
Then I shake it off and push through the crowd of hang-arounds, who part for me like I’m radioactive.
“It’s him!”
I’m running before I think about it, reaching them just as Bones gets Cash off the bike. His face is a mess—split lip, eye swelling shut, blood smeared down his shirt. But he’s standing. He’s alive.
“Angel,” he says, and I throw myself at him.
“Ow,” he groans, but his arms come around me anyway, holding me like I’m the only thing keeping him upright. “Fuck, ow—don’t stop.”
“You’re OK? You’re really OK?”
“I’m OK. They’re not, but I’m OK.” He grins through the split lip. “Fuckers thought it was a good idea to take my cuffs off. Showed them.”
He laughs, and then coughs, turning it into a wince as Bones helps him hobble toward the clubhouse. He sags into my side, sweat and blood and the sharp stink of adrenaline rolling off him in waves. “Sorry I missed dinner,” he mumbles, and I want to slap him and kiss him at the same time.
Because he’s here. He’s alive. He’s making stupid jokes even though he can barely stand. Gabriel tried to break him—tried to use all his authority and his badge and his violence—and Cash is still here, still whole, still mine.
This is what Gabriel never understood. You can’t break people who’ve already survived the worst. You can’t control people who’ve chosen love over fear. And you definitely can’t win against someone who has a family that will burn the world down to bring them home.
Gabriel lost tonight. Not just the fight. Everything.
The men surround us in a moonlit wedge, Lee and Tank flanking, Bones barking orders at the stragglers. Behind me, the prospect—Mouse, I think—snaps a salute and takes off running for the kitchen to grab an ice pack.
“Let’s get him inside,” Stone says, and his voice is the gentlest I’ve ever heard it. “Rest of you, perimeter sweep. One of those fuckers might still be out there.”
We stagger through the main room and down the hall to one of the back rooms that seems set up specifically for this kind of scenario with a raised bed and first aid supplies in easy reach.
Cash never lets go of me, not even when Kya appears with towels and water and takes over.
Josie’s right behind, already on her phone with someone in the DA’s office, half her attention on us and half on whatever legal firestorm she’s prepared to rain down on Summit and the Stoneheart PD by morning.
Cash collapses onto the edge of the bed, bracing his elbows on his knees. I stand in front of him, taking a towel from Kya and using it to blot the worst of the blood from his cheekbone. He grins at me—crooked and dazed, but it’s a real smile.
“You seriously beat all those guys up by yourself?” I ask.
He shrugs. Then winces, almost comically. “Didn’t plan it that way. They just forgot street rats don’t fight fair.”
Bones claps him on the shoulder, gentle enough not to make the injuries worse. “They were expecting an accountant, not a feral raccoon.”
Cash just grins, then hisses as Kya wipes blood off his eyebrow with an antiseptic pad. “You should see the other guys.”
“Brother, I don’t have to. You forget I’ve seen what you can do.”
For a while it’s just noise and chaos—a blur of bandages and biker banter, the din of the clubhouse at full alert.
Someone brings Cash a bottle of Gatorade, but he barely takes a sip before leaning back and closing his eyes, letting me and Kya fuss over him.
His hands are steady, but the rest of him is trembling gently, a current I feel every time he leans his weight into me.
His skin is hot, sweat beaded on his temple, even after we mop him down and get his shirt off.
I keep waiting for Cash to snap. To rage, or pace, or break something, because that’s what men like Gabriel do when they’re cornered. But all he does is blink slow, like he’s sleepwalking, and let me hold his hand while I wipe blood off his knuckles.
“You should tell him your good news,” Kya finally says, stealing a glance at me.
Cash’s eyes—well, eye—immediately pops open. “What good news?”
A smile spreads across my face as I take his hand in mine and meet his eyes. “Josie got Judge Martinez to push through the emergency decree. It’s done, Cash. I’m divorced.”
His good eye goes wide. “You’re—seriously?”
“Seriously. Gabriel has no legal claim on me anymore.”
Cash laughs, then groans because laughing hurts. “Holy fuck, we won. I mean, Gabriel’s gonna be pissed—a beatdown and a divorce in a single night? Jesus. That’s gotta sting. But right now, in this moment? We’ve fucking won.”
And he’s right. We have. Not just the divorce—though that matters, god does it matter.
But we won because Gabriel tried everything tonight.
He arrested Cash on fake charges. He took him somewhere secluded.
He used his badge and his authority and his violence.
And Cash still won the fight. I still got the divorce. The MC still brought him home.
Gabriel’s been using fear as a weapon for so long. Fear of loss, fear of looking bad, fear of what people would think. But none of that works anymore because I’m not afraid. Not of him. Not of what comes next.
I’m free. We’re free. And Gabriel has nothing left.
Before I can respond, the old-guard cavalry arrives. Duck blows through the door with Maggie right behind, both of them radiating emergency energy and wet from the freezing mist outside. Duck scans the room, lands on Cash, and zeroes in like a warthog on a landmine.
“What the fuck did they do to you, boy?” Duck’s voice comes out deep and smoky. Cash looks up, tries for a joke, but Duck is already inspecting him, hands ruthless but careful, the way only former medics carry off.
“Nothing critical,” Cash mumbles, and Duck snorts.
“That shiner is going to be the size of Texas by morning. Sit still and let me—Christ, is that a bite mark?” Duck nudges Kya aside, who rolls her eyes and starts cleaning up the bloody towels.
Maggie slips in around the men to clutch Cash’s other hand.
“You boneheaded son of a bitch,” Maggie says, but her voice is so full of relief it breaks on the last word.
“You had us scared to death. If you ever let yourself get grabbed by Summit’s goons again, I’ll personally staple your ears to the floor of Devil’s. ”
“Love you too, Mags,” Cash croaks, and she plants a rough kiss on the side of his sweaty head before turning her attention to me.
“You all right, hon?” Maggie’s thumb skims lightly over my cheek, like she’s checking for damage. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m shaking or if she just needed to touch something, to prove to herself that we’re all still here.
“I’m good,” I lie, because that’s what you do.
“Yeah, you are,” Maggie says, reading my face with that uncanny mom-sense that’s never failed to catch me out. “Sit here.” She pushes me onto the edge of the bed next to Cash, then pulls up a chair and leans in. “You want tea or something stronger?”
“Stronger,” I say, not even pretending.
Duck’s inspecting Cash’s ribs. “Could be cracked,” he mutters, then glances at Maggie. “You got any of that local moonshine in the kitchen?”
“Half a bottle in the green cupboard. Get it, would you, Ginge?” she calls out, and I look up to see Ginger hovering in the doorway under Tank’s protective arm.
“Would everyone clear out of here and let a man work?” Duck’s tone is brusque, but I can see the relief lurking beneath it. “I can barely think with all the bodies in here.”
Duck has some kind of biker sixth sense for pain.
He checks Cash’s ribs with quick, practiced taps—a man who’s broken enough bones to know exactly where it hurts most. Cash doesn’t even try to tough through it.
He just lets his head tip back, jaw clenched, skin desperate and pale except for the vivid contrast where the blood from his split lip has already dried thick and purple-black.
“Keep breathing,” Duck orders, moving down the line of Cash’s side. “That one broken?”
“Maybe,” Cash says in a croak. “Feels worse than the time Tank ran me over.”
“That’s because you’re not full of painkillers and two bottles of tequila.” Duck grins, but keeps working, then glances up at me. “Hon, can you hold on to his hand? Last time I tried to set a rib on this one, he punched me in the nuts and I fainted.”
Maggie cackles. “That’s our boy.”
“You ready?” Duck asks Cash, then grins at me like we’re in on the same conspiracy.
“Mags, hold his feet.” Maggie clamps down on Cash’s ankles, and a second later Duck manipulates a rib, and Cash sucks in a hiss of air sharp enough to cut.
His hand is crushing mine, and in that moment I’m pretty sure we’re both thinking about the first time someone hurt us on purpose, and how wild it feels to have people around you who only want to put the hurt back together again.
“There,” Duck says, sitting back. “You’ll want to tape that. And you’re not lifting anything heavier than a whiskey glass for at least a week.”
“Thanks, Duck.” Cash tries to look tough, but the sweat beading on his forehead ruins it.
Maggie produces a battered roll of medical tape, and in two minutes flat she’s braced his ribs with the skill of an urgent care nurse. She finishes with a flourish. “You need help upstairs?” she asks, voice extra gentle. “Clubhouse is locked down. Everyone’s safe. So you can rest.”
Cash shakes his head and blinks at me, like he’s trying to prove he’s not dying. “I’m good,” he rasps. “Mercy’s got me. Don’t you, angel?”
I squeeze his hand gently. “Always,” I say, and the word shivers through my body like an aftershock. Cash’s eye finds mine, bloodshot and too bright, and in that moment I know he’s hearing the same promise I am. That nothing—no cop, no ex, no trauma—will ever be enough to pry us apart. Not anymore.