Chapter 28 Mercy
MERCY
I’ve been waiting for this moment since I escaped my marriage.
Imagined it a thousand different ways. But standing here, watching him get smaller in the back of that patrol car, all I feel is.
.. tired. And free. Not the kind of freedom that comes from running, but the kind that comes from standing still and watching the monster lose his teeth.
Gabriel spent years making me believe I was the problem. That I was too dramatic, too sensitive, too broken to deserve love. And for a long time after I left, I still believed him. Thought I’d forever be looking over my shoulder, always be the woman who needed to run.
But I’m not that woman anymore. I didn’t run this time. I stood my ground with Cash and the MC beside me, and we won. Not because Gabriel suddenly became powerless, but because I finally had people on my side who were willing to become my shield.
That’s the real victory. Not his arrest—though that’s satisfying as hell. The real victory is that I’m standing here, whole and loved and free, and he’s the one in cuffs.
As the sirens wail into the night, we all stand there, watching the taillights disappear down the mountain road until they’re nothing but red pinpricks, then gone.
It’s like I can feel the last thread between us snapping. He’s not my story anymore. He’s just a man who hurt me once and can’t anymore. The story now? The one I get to write going forward? That’s about what I built here. Who I became. The family I found. The man I chose. The life I’m creating.
I’m Mercy. Cash’s old lady. Part of the Stoneheart MC family. A woman who fought for her freedom and won.
That’s who I am now. And Gabriel has nothing to do with it anymore.
Cash turns to me, a weirdly dazed grin on his face. “We did it, angel. We fucking did it.”
For a second, I think we might both be about to burst into tears. Instead, he tugs me against him, ribs be damned.
I hug him back, my arms around his neck, his hand on my lower back, the two of us clinging so fiercely I nearly feel the panic leave both our bodies at once.
The world spins bright and loud with the MC celebrating with hoots and hollers, but around us there’s just a pocket of air—perfect, still, something I want to live inside forever.
Cash buries his face in my shoulder, and I feel his laugh tremble down my spine. “First time I ever got something I actually wanted by fighting,” he mutters, and I realize he’s crying, silent and obliterating, the way men do when they don’t know if they’re allowed to fall apart.
I run my fingers through his hair, knowing he needs the touch as much as the words I can never fully find. “You got me, didn’t you?”
He lifts his head, and his eye is still red, but he grins like sunrise. “Took a few detours to get there, but yeah. I got you.”
He kisses me, and the taste of salt and relief almost undoes me. I don’t want to let go, ever, not even to breathe.
Someone behind us shrieks, “Group shot!” and suddenly there’s a crush of bodies—Tank scoops Cash up like a rag doll and spins him, which makes him curse and laugh and then yelp about his ribs while Ginger and Kya mob me from both sides.
For a wild moment, I’m at the dead center of a riot of found family, all sweat, leather and denim and noise.
The photographer—Mouse—calls out commands, and I end up wedged between Kya and Cash, our arms tangled into a knotty, inseparable mess. Lee and Tank take up the edges, and at the very front, grinning harder than I’ve ever seen, is Stone.
“Everyone say, ‘fuck Gabriel!’” Mouse calls out from behind his phone camera.
“FUCK GAbrIEL!” we all shout in unison, and the photo captures us mid-yell, mouths open, arms raised, looking like the world’s most dysfunctional—and happiest—family portrait.
“I want that framed and up in the clubhouse by tomorrow,” Stone orders.
“On it, boss.”
The celebration moves inside. Someone cranks up the music. Ginger produces an alarming amount of food—wings, pizza, chips, the kind of spread that says this party was always going to happen, arrest or no arrest.
I find myself on the couch, Cash’s arm around my shoulders, surrounded by people who chose to protect me when they didn’t have to.
Kya’s telling the story of Gabriel’s face when the cops showed up for the third time, adding dramatic flourishes.
Lee keeps interjecting with corrections.
Tank’s arguing with Nitro about whether Gabriel actually pissed himself—he didn’t, but Tank insists he saw it.
“You good?” Cash asks quietly, just for me.
I look around the room—at Ginger dancing with her drink, at Maggie fussing over Duck’s knuckles from his earlier ‘interrogation,’ at Stone actually laughing at something Josie said. At this family that took me in and made me one of their own.
A year ago, I didn’t believe I’d ever have this. Didn’t think I deserved it, honestly. Gabriel had me convinced that family was obligation, that love was conditional, that belonging meant making yourself smaller to fit someone else’s expectations.
But look at this. Kya telling inappropriate stories with her whole chest. Tank arguing about things that definitely didn’t happen. Maggie mothering everyone whether they want it or not. Stone—Stone who barely smiles—actually laughing.
Nobody here needs me to be perfect. Nobody’s keeping score. Nobody’s going to punish me for being too loud or too much or not enough. They just want me here, exactly as I am, chaos and sass and all.
“Yeah,” I say, and mean it. “I’m really good.”
He kisses my temple. “Told you we’d get him.”
“You did.”
“And you believed me?”
“Eventually.”
He laughs, then winces and holds his ribs. “Worth it.”
Bones appears with two plates loaded with food. “Eat. Both of you. You’ve been running on adrenaline and poor choices all weekend.”
“Poor choices?” Cash takes a plate. “I made excellent choices this weekend.”
“You got kidnapped and beaten.”
“But I looked good doing it.”
I snort-laugh into my pizza, and Bones just shakes his head before walking away, but I catch the smile on his face.
The party goes late into the night. At some point, someone starts karaoke, and it’s terrible in the best way.
Tank murders ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart.’ Ginger does a duet with Lee that’s more screaming than singing.
Even Stone gets dragged up for ‘Sweet Home Alabama,’ which he performs with the enthusiasm of a man at a funeral.
Around four in the morning, things start winding down. Brothers drifting off to beds or couches, old ladies claiming their men, the music getting softer.
Cash and I end up on the back porch, sharing the quiet. The December air is cold but not bitter, and the stars are out in force.
“So,” he says, pulling me closer. “What do we do now?”
“Now?”
“Gabriel’s gone. Summit’s going down. You’re free.” He turns to face me. “What do you want to do with that freedom?”
I think about it for a moment, but the answer isn’t far from my mouth. For the first time in over a year, the future isn’t about running or hiding or surviving. It’s about living.
“I want to stay here,” I say. “In Stoneheart. With you. With the club. Maybe help rebuild Devil’s when the insurance comes through. And I really like your idea of us getting a place together.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I cup his bruised face gently. “This is home now. You’re my home.”
And I mean it. Not the way I meant it when I told Gabriel our apartment in Ailington was home while secretly planning my escape. Not the way I meant it when I first arrived in Stoneheart and was just looking for somewhere to hide until I figured out my next move.
This is real. This is mine. Not because I’m trapped here or because I have nowhere else to go, but because I choose it. I choose Cash, I choose this family, I choose this messy, chaotic, beautiful life where people fight for each other instead of against each other.
Gabriel tried to make me believe I didn’t deserve this. That love meant losing yourself, that family meant obligation, that home meant prison. That I was too broken, too difficult, too much to ever really belong anywhere.
He was wrong about all of it. And I finally—finally—believe that.
He kisses me, soft and sweet despite his split lip. When he pulls back, his good eye is bright.
“I love you, angel.”
“I love you too.” The words come easy and without fear. “Even when you’re beat to hell and making terrible life choices.”
“Especially then.”
We stay out there until the cold drives us inside, where someone’s left the couch free and a blanket waiting. We curl up together, Cash’s arm around me, my head on his chest, listening to the sounds of the clubhouse settling into sleep.
Tomorrow there will be statements to give, lawyers to meet with, insurance to file. The work of rebuilding will start.
But tonight, I’m free.
And I’m home.