5. Mercy
I took a shower while my phone charged and changed into an oversized T-shirt and sweatpants Dre had left for me on the bed. I didn’t know whether to like or hate him, and I hadn’t been in his presence for twenty-four hours.
I stepped over to my phone and hesitantly dialed my boss’s number. As I explained my absence, trying to sound as sick as possible, I was quickly met with frustration on the other end.
“You’re calling out sick? Do I have to remind you that you’re still in your probationary period? This isn’t the time to be unreliable.”
I drew in a deep breath. “I’m sorry, but I feel horrible. My body aches everywhere, and I have a fever. I think it might be the flu. Can I please get an extension on the deadline, Mr. Charles? All I’m asking for is a few more days.”
There was a pregnant pause, then a heavy, reluctant sigh. “Fine. You can have a one-week extension, but this is your last chance. If you miss this deadline, you’re done here. Got it?”
I felt a knot tighten in the pit of my stomach. Lord knows I didn’t want to lose another job. “Understood. Thank you, sir.”
I ended the call and sat there, wishing my situation was as simple or ordinary as the flu. My uncanny situation weighed down on me, and I started to feel sick to my stomach. I lay down, curling into the fetal position on the bed, eyes scanning Dre’s room.
A large, dark wooden dresser was against one wall with a vintage motorcycle poster strung up above it. On top of it were a few of his items—a worn brown leather wallet, a set of keys, a gold Cuban link chain, and a framed patch from his MC. A pair of leather boots sat by the bedroom door, and a leather vest hung on a white hook.
I closed my eyes with thoughts of Dre dancing through my head. Who was he? How long would I be trapped under his protection? And how long until I stopped wishing it was all one big, bad dream?
With thoughts of him came the realization of the danger I was in. The memory of the Outlaws snatching my press badge, ruining my recording, and knowing my identity haunted me like a bad dream. I’d never be able to fall asleep. I needed something to calm my nerves and take the edge off.
The door creaked open, and Dre walked in, the scent of marijuana clinging to him like a second skin. I slowly opened my eyes and looked up, my gaze meeting his.
“You good?” he asked.
I shook my head slightly before clearing my throat. “Can’t sleep. My anxiety is on ten, and I need something to mellow me out.”
I was too afraid to tell him the truth—that my self-doubt had my mind in a fucking chokehold.
He nodded, empathetic to my need for some relief after the night we’d had. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a blunt and offered it to me.
“You smoke?”
I hesitated for a second before reaching out to take it. The gesture was unexpected, but I appreciated it. He nodded toward the door, and I got up to follow him. We headed outside to his truck, where the cool night air provided fresh air I didn’t know I needed.
As we reached his truck, he draped his leather jacket over my shoulders, and the warmth and masculine scent of the leather comforted me in a way I had never expected. I took a deep breath, feeling a little more relaxed.
“Thank you.”
He lit the blunt, the flame flickering in the darkness as he passed it to me. I took a quick drag, the thick smoke filling my lungs and easing my nerves. We stood in silence for a moment, the only sounds being the distant sounds from the clubhouse and the chirp of crickets and yowling of stray cats.
“You feeling better now?” he inquired.
I nodded, feeling a bit calmer and soothed by his presence and the warmth of his jacket. The ambiguity of the situation still loomed large, but for the moment, I felt a tiny fraction of peace.
“Y’know, I haven’t smoked since college,” I confessed.
“Honestly, I’m surprised you’re holding your own and not over there coughing your head off.”
“I’ve got good lungs,” I said, passing the blunt to him.
He took a drag from it, the look in his eyes playful. “I bet you would’ve been a trip to see high back then.”
I chuckled, remembering one of my high stories from my junior year in college. “I was. There was this one time when I had this philosophy paper due. Of course, I was dragging ass and waited until the night before to start a ten-page assignment. I had zero time management skills back then. Anyway, my roommate and I decided to pull an all-nighter, and she suggested smoking a blunt to get us locked in and focused.”
Dre arched a questioning brow with an amused expression. “Weed to stay focused, huh? Yeah. Sounds like a real smart plan.”
“Yeah. Looking back, it definitely wasn’t the smartest idea, but at the time, it seemed brilliant. We sat in our living room with the blunt in hand, typing away on our laptops. The room was filled with smoke so thick we could barely see our screens,” I reminisced.
Dre chuckled, his locs slightly shaking as he swung his head.
“So, did the blunt help you write a ten-page paper?”
I grinned before taking the blunt back and inhaling deeply.
“Hell no. About halfway through the night, we’d eaten up every damn snack in the apartment, and my roommate started feeling nauseous from all the junk food. She fell asleep hugging the toilet, and I passed out three and a half pages in on the couch.”
Dre belted out a soft laugh, clearly amused by my story.
“Sounds like y’all had a rough ass night. Did you manage to finish the paper in time?”
“Barely. I shot awake a little after sunrise and immediately started trying to decipher what the hell I’d been trying to say the night before. I was writing and rewriting paragraphs until eleven thirty. It was due by noon.”
“Did you pass?”
“Surprisingly, I got an A on that paper, so I guess the weed did influence it. That or the fear of failing when I woke up the next morning.”
Dre continued to laugh. “Yo, that’s wassup. At least all your hard work paid off in the end.”
I smiled. “Yeah, those were the days. It’s nice to reminisce about the sunnier side of things, especially with everything going on.”
“Yeah. Good ol’ memory lane.”
I sighed. “I know I’ve said it already, but thanks for helping me, Dre. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t been there.”
“You’re safe here, Mercy. I promise you that. We protect our own, and right now, that means you too.”
I studied him momentarily, taking in the strong, rugged exterior he’d presented to me. But I sensed something about him, a softness beneath his hard shell.
“ You act so tough, but I can tell you have a soft heart under that hard exterior.”
Dre raised a questioning brow, a gleam of curiosity in his eyes. “What makes you think that?”
He passed the blunt back to me, and I took another slow tug, letting the smoke linger in the air as I gathered my thoughts before answering.
“I can only go off energy, and yours is different. I’m a complete stranger. Look at the way you’re looking out for me. You wouldn’t do that if you didn’t have something golden beating behind your ribcage.”
Dre examined me, a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “You’re pretty insightful, you know that?”
I shrugged. “I’m a journalist. It comes with the territory. Besides that, I just call shit like I see it. And what I see when I look at you is a man who’s tough on the outside because you feel like you have to be, but on the inside, you possess a heart of gold.”
He didn’t object. Instead, he fell into a relaxed silence as I watched the smoke from the blunt curl into the darkness. I felt a sense of peace I hadn’t expected to find in such a high-stakes situation.
After our conversation and smoking the blunt down until it burned our fingertips, Dre and I headed back inside the clubhouse. My limbs felt heavy as I slid the jacket off my shoulders and lazily returned it to him. The warmth of the space made me feel tired, but suddenly, I realized how hungry I was. My stomach growled audibly, which caused me to giggle.
“I’m pretty sure I have the munchies real bad,” I confessed.
Dre grinned, understanding the feeling. “Come on. We’ve got some leftover chili and cornbread one of the prospects made. It’s pretty good.”
He led me into the kitchen, and I hopped onto the counter, watching Dre move around to fix me a bowl. He pulled a pot from the fridge and started heating the leftover chili on the stove.
I noticed a bag of unopened Doritos on the counter as I waited. Unable to resist, I snatched it, tore it open, and munched away. The comforting, salty snack relieved my urgent hunger pains. After hearing the loud crunch of the chips between my teeth, Dre looked over his shoulder and caught me in mid-bite.
“Your hungry ass couldn't wait, huh?” he teased.
I grinned, unable to respond with a mouthful of Cool Ranch chips.
I swung my head in a no before covering my mouth before I spoke. “Nope. Too hungry.”
Dre laughed, shaking his head as he stirred the chili.
“ I guess I can’t blame you. Those Cool Ranch chips do hit when you high.”
I nodded in agreement. “Oh my God, right!”
“This chili’s gonna taste even better now. Watch.”
Soon, the scent of the well-seasoned chili wafted past my nose, causing my stomach to growl even louder. I continued snacking on the chips, enjoying the moment of lightheartedness between us.
After a few minutes, Dre scooped the steaming chili into a bowl and handed it to me with warmed square of cornbread and a spoon on the side.
“ Here you go. Be careful, though. It’s hot.”
Eager to taste it, I took a spoonful, blowing on it to cool it down before putting it in my mouth. My tastebuds rejoiced at the flavors, and I nodded eagerly.
“Wow! This is really good.”
“Worth the wait, right?”
“Oh, for sure.”
Dre smiled, pleased to see me enjoying the food. “Glad you like it. A few of the Savages are talented cooks.”
“Kudos to whoever made this, for real. It’s amazing.”
I savored the chili, feeling a bit more human with each spoonful. Sharing a blunt and a meal with Dre made me feel thankful for the small slice of normalcy amid the madness.
I woke up the following day to the bright sunlight filtering through the open gray curtains. The room was quiet, and for a second, I’d forgotten where I was and how much shit I was in. As I shifted and stretched under the sheets, I rolled over to see Dre sitting on the edge of the bed, shirtless and staring at me. The unexpected sight of him made me squeeze my thighs together. It was the first time he’d gotten that close since he brought me there, having avoided the bed altogether and barely spending any time in the room with me as if I had a contractible disease.
He grunted. “Good afternoon.”
I yawned, rubbing the sleep from my eyes before reaching for my phone. “Afternoon? What time is it?”
“Almost two-thirty. You were tired, so I let you sleep.”
The first thing I did was check my email. There was one from my boss. My heart somersaulted when I read the subject line, URGENT: New Deadline . I opened the email, quickly scanning its contents. My frustration grew with each word. Mr. Charles worded his email to make sure I felt the pressure.
“Fuck,” I mumbled under my breath.
“You good? You look upset.”
My eyes met his concerned gaze, and I shrugged while forcing a smile. “Just work stuff. My boss wasn’t happy about me calling out last night. And if I don’t meet my new deadline for this article, I’ll be out of another job indefinitely.”
His brow furrowed. “How much time you got?”
I let out an exasperated sigh as I glanced back at the screen. “Not enough for the situation I’m in—just a week. If I don’t make it, I’ll be front row center in the unemployment line.”
His brooding expression softened.
“Yo, you hungry? Let’s go grab something to eat,” he suggested as he put on his boots. “Maybe it’ll get your mind off it, at least for a little while.”
I nodded, appreciative of the distraction. “Yeah, sure. That sounds good. Just let me freshen up.”
About half an hour later, Dre led me outside to his sleek, black pickup truck. Relief washed over me. The exhilarating ride on the back of his motorcycle was terrifying, and I welcomed the change and the ability to blend in with everyday drivers. We climbed into the truck, and Dre started the engine.
As we drove, the engine’s hum and the scenery passing by created a soothing backdrop. I glanced over at Dre; the glow of the afternoon sunlight illuminated his focused, melanated expression. He seemed so different when he wasn’t trying to play the tough guy role—almost like a big teddy bear.
We approached the fast-food drive-through, and the familiar red neon sign came into view. He pulled up to the speaker and rolled down the window. Soon after, we were greeted by a cheerful voice.
“Welcome to Burger Palace. What can I get you today?”
He glanced over at me, arching a questioning brow. “You know whatchu want?”
I paused for a moment. “A cheeseburger and fries is fine. Oh, and a chocolate shake.”
He nodded and turned back to the speaker. “Let me get a cheeseburger, seasoned fries, and a chocolate shake. And I’ll also take a double bacon burger, large seasoned fries, and an orange soda.”
After the drive-through attendant confirmed our order, Dre pulled forward to the window. As we waited, I felt a sense of normalcy warming my bones. The simplicity of the moment—relishing in the greasy comfort of cheeseburgers and seasoned fries—grounded me.
Our food arrived, and Dre handed me my shake and the greasy bag. I took a sip, savoring the sweet taste of the chocolate shake. We sat in his black pickup truck, parked in a quiet spot nearby, and started to enjoy our meals. I took a bite of my cheeseburger, thankful for the warm food, deliciously sweet shake, and his company. The trio provided a comforting change to all the danger we’d recently encountered.
We ate in comfortable silence until I was licking the salt off my fingertips, not realizing how hungry I was. As I sat there, letting my food digest, I relaxed. I wasn’t ready to head back to the clubhouse.
“I think I want ice cream,” I blurted out. “Can we grab some? I’m not ready to go back just yet.”
“It’ll start getting dark soon, Mercy. We really should be getting back.”
“Just a little while longer, please?”
Dre nodded, finishing his burger. “Sure. I know a place.”
He drove us to an ice cream shop in a secluded spot about an hour out of the city—a small park where the stars were visible through all the light pollution. Dre hopped out and laid out a blanket in the bed of his truck. I joined him.
“This place is beautiful. How’d you find it?”
“It’s my hideaway. A place I come to whenever I need to think. I don’t share it with anybody, but you looked like you needed to clear your head.”
I smirked, appreciating the gesture. “You’re damn right about that. Life is kicking my ass right now.”
“What made you want to be a journalist anyway?” he probed.
I didn’t know why his question surprised me.
“I’ve always loved telling real stories. But more than that, give a voice to the voiceless.”
“Sounds personal.”
“It kind of is.”
Dre nodded with a look of respect in his eyes.
“That’s wassup. Not too many people are willing to do that. Nowadays, it’s all that microwave media shit—comes in fast and hot, then the next day, it’s gone.”
I nodded in agreement, appreciating his insight. “What about you? What made you join the Hell’s Savages?”
Dre hesitated, then sighed.
“Family,” he answered simply. “My father’s the leader, and I’m his vice president. Besides that, it’s all I’ve ever known. It’s not always easy, but it’s my life.”
As we sat in the back of his black pickup truck, I felt an unexpected connection growing between us, understanding the pressures we both faced, although on opposite sides of the law.
“You said your father’s your leader, right? What was it like growing up in a motorcycle club?”
He leaned back, staring at the sky as he considered his answer.
“There’s a lot of loyalty, a lot of brotherhood. But there’s also a lot of responsibility and pressure to live up to the club’s expectations. My father’s always been tough on me, but it’s because he wants me to be strong.”
“Ah, hence why you need a quiet place to come and clear your mind,” I stated, concluding on my own. “You ever wish you could do something else?”
Dre chuckled, a dazzle of curiosity in his gray orbs. “Nah. The club is my family. I could never walk away from that.”
“What’s next for you in the club then? You’re already the second in command. Any dreams or goals to take the throne?”
Dre shrugged his muscular shoulders.
“Honestly, I haven’t thought much about it. I’m so focused on the here and now, making sure I’m doing right by my brothers and my father. But maybe one day, if it came down to it, I’d take the reins.”
I leaned my head back against the truck’s back window. The serenity of the moment calmed my nerves. I felt a pang of admiration for Dre, ready and willing to fill his father’s shoes if and when the time came. At least he had set goals for himself. I didn’t know what the fuck my plan B would be if I didn’t keep my job.
I couldn’t stop my thoughts from drifting back to the weight bearing down on my shoulders. The possibility of losing my career, not just my job, was the elephant in the room I couldn’t disregard.
“What’s next for you if you get fired?” Dre questioned as if he had the power to read my thoughts.
A loud sigh escaped my lips, my mind still racing with doubt.
My shoulders rose and fell. “I honestly don’t know. My journalism career means everything to me. It’s not just about the paycheck, y’know? If I lose it, I’ll have no choice but to figure out a new path. Maybe I can do some freelance work while I try to find another permanent position. But it’s fucking tough out there. Jobs in my field aren’t that easy to come by.”
Dre listened, his expression empathetic.
“I can tell you’re passionate about what you do. Even if shit doesn’t work out with your current job, I know you’ll find another way to make an impact on the world.”
“Thanks. I just gotta stay focused and pray everything works out for my good. This story is my chance to prove… a lot.”
“To who?”
“To everybody. Myself included.”
“Why? What’s in it for you if all this goes public?”
I sighed, shoulders slumping as if I had anchors tied to my arms. “It’s probably going to sound crazy.”
“Try me.”
“Secondhand justice.”
His eyebrows pulled together. “What the fuck is secondhand justice?”
“Years ago, back when I was a sophomore in high school, I was sexually assaulted by my English teacher.”
His jaw clenched. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
I nodded. “Yeah. It was crazy. But the most fucked-up part is that I told the principal what happened to me, and nothing happened.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing,” I confirmed. “He kept teaching, and probably kept touching other girls with no consequences. I learned years later that he was the principal’s brother-in-law. The sick fuck was probably in on it all along. For once, I just want a hand in putting monsters like that in jail where the fuck they belong.”
“What high school did you go to?”
“Grantville. Home of the Pelicans.”
“What year did you graduate?”
“Two-thousand-eighteen, why?”
He looked away for a few seconds as if he were going back and forth with himself about something.
“What if I could get you something better than a witness?” he offered, bypassing my question. “Something that couldn’t be denied or questioned.”
My curiosity was instantly piqued, causing me to sit my head back up. “What’s better than a crucial witness?”
His eyes met mine. “Video proof. If we can get footage of the Outlaws in action for your article, there’s no way your boss or whoever can deny it. It’s solid evidence that will force the police to get involved and put a stop to this shit.”
My eyes widened, and hope rekindled in my gut. I had to stop myself from jumping up and hugging him. “Could you get me footage?”
Dre nodded slowly as if already working through the logistics in his mind.
“I have some contacts who might be able to help. I know you’re on a deadline, but we can’t rush this. We have to be careful.”
I nodded eagerly. With his help, I could finally get the evidence I needed to expose the Outlaws and bring justice to the women they’d harmed. I looked at him and smiled. He wasn’t just protecting me. He was helping to uncover the truth and bring down his enemies.
Unable to refrain myself, I reached out to hug him, crashing my body against his. “Thank you so much, Dre. I swear I’ll make sure this story brings those creeps to justice.”
“You’re welcome,” he replied, his hard chest still pressed against mine.
As I pulled away, I noticed Dre staring at me, his steely gray eyes full of blazing intensity.
“Why are you staring at me like that?” I quizzed, barely above a whisper.
He hesitated as a slow smirk lifted the corner of his lips. “Because I’m fighting the urge not to kiss your beautiful ass right now,” he answered, voice gravelly.
My heart fluttered. “If it helps, you have my permission to stop fighting.”
Dre leaned in, closing the distance between us. Our lips met in a gentle yet passionate kiss, sealing a moment of connection neither of us expected, but I suspected we both desperately needed.
It had been almost three days since our kiss under the stars, and there had been radio silence between us. I didn’t know where Dre disappeared to. He was like a ghost. I found myself navigating life in the Hell’s Savages clubhouse in his absence, slowly becoming acquainted with the club members around the clubhouse. The motorcycle club was nothing like I imagined. It was a different world and nothing like I thought it would be.
Over the past few days, I met several members who’d welcomed me in their own rough but genuine way. There was Blaze, the mechanic. He’d gone out with a few other men to bring my car back to the clubhouse and run a diagnostics test to find out what was wrong. Turns out I had a leaking head gasket. He scolded me for not taking it to a mechanic sooner. I admitted I didn’t know the first thing about cars besides how to drive them and put gas in the tank.Luckily, I kept a gym bag in my trunk with a couple of spare outfits inside for emergencies.
Then there was Ghost—the enforcer. He had a no-nonsense attitude and was fiercely protective of his brothers. He talked to me about my work as a journalist, boasting that his younger sister was attending an HBCU and studying communications just like I did.
Lastly, there was the president, Dre’s father. He was quiet but also incredibly calculated and forceful. He was the one who explained his club’s code of honor to me, providing me with more insight into their MC family.
I found myself falling down the rabbit hole, slipping into Dre’s world, and realizing the Hell’s Savages were more than just a pack of rugged, ruthless criminals. They had a code, a fierce sense of loyalty, and an unwavering respect for justice that I’d quickly come to respect. I felt a strange sense of belonging among them.
Despite my growing comfort, I couldn’t shake the thoughts of Dre. Our brief but intense connection still lingered in the back of my mind, slipping to the front at the most inopportune times. His abrupt disappearance had left me with a lot more unanswered questions than I could process. Did he regret our kiss? Was it so bad that he couldn’t stand to be near me? We never talked about our past relationships. Maybe he had a girlfriend and felt guilty about what happened between us.The possibilities were endless.
The next time I see him, I will make him talk to me about what happened and what the hell comes next.
Later that night, the Hell’s Savages were hosting one of their weekly MC parties. The clubhouse was alive and well with thumping rap music, laughter, MC groupies, and the clinking of shot glasses and beer cans. I found myself mingling with the members, enjoying the lively atmosphere. Blaze offered me a drink, and we started chatting about my car.
As we talked, I felt a sense of belonging I hadn’t felt in a long time. I didn’t have a close knit group of girlfriends I could call on at the drop of a dime just to shoot the shit. I wasn’t kee-keeing in a group chat about something silly somebody posted online. I was a loner, and loners didn’t make good friends, and definitely not consistent ones.
Our moment of harmless chatter was interrupted when Dre stormed over to us wearing a venomous expression.
“What the fuck are you doing out here? You’re supposed to be in the room!” he barked, his voice booming like thunder over the music.
My eyes popped wide. I was half surprised, half pissed off. I’d had enough of being told what to do like I was a damn child.
“I’m not your fucking prisoner,” I snapped. “You’ve been gone for days. You really couldn’t have expected me to stay cooped up in that room forever like a pet in a cage.”
The room fell silent, the other members watching our confrontation as if we were on a live reality TV show.
Dre grabbed my arm. “Come with me. Now.”
He dragged me back to his room, his grip firm but not painful. Once inside, he released me, his eyes flaming with anger.
“Don’t ever fuckin’ embarrass me like that again.”
My anger flared as I folded my arms across my chest. My breasts swelled with a lungful of air.
“I’m not a child, Dre! I can’t just sit in this fucking room all day and twiddle my fucking thumbs. I need to breathe fresh air and interact socially with people. I can’t live like a prisoner.”
“I’m trying to protect you the best way I know how,” he argued, voice getting louder.
I kept my arms folded, standing my ground. “By smothering me? You can’t keep me locked up. I need to finish my story, Dre. My career depends on it. I’ve told you this a million times already.”
He took a deep breath, visibly trying to control his anger. “I’m not trying to smother you, all right?”
“Then let me do something, anything . Contrary to what you think, I’m not made of glass, and I’m not some damsel in distress that needs saving all the time.”
I couldn’t take it anymore. The only way I’d clarify my point was to take my chances and leave. I stormed out of the room, slamming the door in my wake.
“Mercy, wait,” Dre called out, chasing after me.
I didn’t stop as my legs and anger propelled me forward. I burst out of the clubhouse and into the dimly lit parking lot. A frustrated ache prowled about my chest as he followed me.
“Mercy, stop! You can’t just run off like this.”
I spun around on my heels. “Watch me. I’m done being treated like a prisoner. I need to get the fuck out of here. Consider yourself off my protection detail, Mr. Bodyguard.”
Dre reached out, grabbing my swinging arm to stop me.
“Hold up. You’re not thinking straight. It’s not safe out there.”
I yanked my arm free, my eyes burning with defiance.
“I don’t give a fuck. I’d rather take my chances out there than be trapped in here with you for one more second!”
Dre’s handsome expression remained hardened, his frustration boiling over.
“Fine. Fuck it then. Go ahead and run. But don’t come crying to me when you realize how dangerous it is with the Outlaws on your ass, Mercy, because I won’t give a fuck,” he promised.
I glared at him, my anger matching his. “I don’t need you to save me, nigga. I can take care of myself.”
The challenge hung in the air between us, fueling the tension already thick enough to cut a knife. Dre stepped back, his expression hardening before he unlocked his truck and walked around to slide into the driver’s seat. He rolled down the window before I could storm off again and beckoned me to get in. I rolled my eyes, got in on the other side, and shut the heavy door with a loud thud.
“I don’t even know why I got in the truck with you. You’re the last person I want to see right now,” I grumbled while snapping my seat belt in place.
“Yeah, well, I guess we’re both out here doing shit we never do. Because nothing in this world would ever make me want to chase after a woman.”
“Then why the hell are you out here?”
“I wish I fuckin’ knew,” he grunted.
I didn’t know everything about Dre, but I knew enough. I’d met men like him over my twenty-five years—overly possessive and mad at the world. He might’ve been five, maybe six years my senior, if that. He started the engine and peeled out of the clubhouse’s parking lot, driving like a bat out of hell.
“Where the hell are we going?” I snapped.
“You said you wanted to leave, right? Sit the fuck back and shut up.”
I scoffed before easing back into the passenger seat, feeling the cool leather against my skin.
I didn’t reply immediately, focusing my attention on the road. His knuckles gripped the steering wheel. He turned his gaze to me, meeting my fiery eyes with a calm intensity after a moment of tense silence.
“You calm now?”
“Why do you care?”
“Because who the fuck else was going to make sure you’re okay?”
I let out a short bark of bitter laughter. “Always playing the gallant white knight.”
The teasing tone returned in his voice. “Only if you play the damsel in distress.”
I shook my head. “Trust me, I’m over that.”
Dre smirked. “Too bad. I’ve always had a thing for damsels.”
Silence filled the car again. I studied him from the passenger seat, my eyes softening from their previous fire.
“Where are you taking me, Dre, really?”
Instead of answering, he pulled into the parking lot of a local park. It was so late that we were the only vehicle in the lot.
“Here. Happy now?” he quizzed, but there was no heat behind it.
I shrugged. “Maybe.”
I bit my bottom lip and glared at him for a few moments. The surprise in his eyes was almost satisfying. Almost.
“I can’t tell if you like me or hate me,” I muttered.
He met my gaze and answered honestly. “You hate me, Mercy. I hate you back. That’s our thing. I protect you. We bicker. I drive you up a wall.”
“Yeah, you do. I’m starting to wonder why you do it so much, especially since you ghosted me after that kiss.”
He choked on a laugh, his eyes widening in disbelief. “What? Nah. It wasn’t like that… I mean you and me… it’s not like that. You annoy the shit out of me,” he stammered out, looking everywhere but at me.
I leaned back against my seat and watched him fumble his response. “Whatever. You can drop me off right here if you lured me into this truck to rub salt in my wound.”
He chuckled lowly. “The last thing I came here to do was rub salt in your wound, Mercy. I drove you here to tend to it since no one else would.”
I rolled my eyes. “As if you’d let them if they tried.”
“You’re probably right about that.”
An unfamiliar heat replaced the tension in the truck. Both of us knew it wasn’t hate sparking the flame.
“But for the record,” Dre added, turning to face me fully, our bodies were mere inches apart in the confined space of his truck, “I don’t hate you. You just rile me up and piss me off so bad I think I do.”
I sighed heavily. “It’s not on purpose. I’m just on ten right now. I feel like I’m trapped in a snow globe that keeps being turned upside down. I can’t catch a damn break. Have you made any leads with the video footage?” I asked. “I only have a few more days to write my article.”
“I don’t want to talk about that right now. Honestly, I don’t want to talk at all anymore.”
“Then what do you wanna do?”
“You.”
My heart thudded as Dre’s confession hung in the air. The truth, simple, raw, and unfiltered, was finally revealed in the dim glow of the dashboard light. I felt it too. I wanted it. I wanted my body beneath his, my tongue silenced by deeper, sweeter sounds.
“I think I want that too,” I replied, voice barely above a whisper.
“So, is that an invitation?” he questioned, his voice gravelly with want.
He was right there, just inches from me. It was the closest we’d been since the first and last time we kissed. I inhaled, drawing in the hypnotic scent of his cologne, mingling with the faint smell of leather from his seats.
“No. It’s a demand,” I said, fire burning bright in my eyes as I unbuckled my seat belt and turned to face him.
Dre was stunned into silence before a low chuckle rumbled from his chest. My breath hitched when he reached over to trap my chin gently between his thumb and forefinger, forcing me to meet his gaze head-on.
“You sure about this, Mercy? You sure you want to play with fire?”
“Never been more sure about anything,” I confirmed. “And trust me, I can handle the heat.”
The clock on the dashboard read one thirty-seven a.m., the glow illuminating his bearded face as he reached across the divide to place his hand on my thigh. The warmth of his big hand seeped through my skin, sending an electric current straight to my yoni.
“Mercy, I don’t think you mean what you’re saying. You’re just all wound up because a nigga got you mad.”
“I mean it, Dre,” I retorted, my voice a husky growl. “I want you. One night. One time.”
I needed to feel a release. I needed to feel the warmth of his tattooed body against mine. I needed to feel better inside and out.
“I hope you know what you’re getting into,” he warned me one final time.
His spare hand covered mine, squeezing gently before he turned off the truck. His mind was already made up.
There’s no turning back now. We’re doing this.
I unbuckled my jeans before gliding my hands up his abs. “I know exactly what I’m getting into,” I replied as my lips quirked into a predatory smile that made my blood hum under my skin. “Now shut up and fuck me.”
Dre placed his tattooed hand on my chest, his fingers tracing the outline of my collarbone through my T-shirt.
“So fuckin’ bossy,” he murmured, reaching over to my side and pulling me closer.
I giggled. “You know you love it,” I retorted, my eyes never leaving his as I started tugging at his shirt’s hem.
“And what if I do?” he asked, whispering in my ear.
I responded by capturing his lips in a searing kiss, my fingers tangling in his long locs as he groped blindly for my waist. The truck was an awkward place for sex, but I didn’t care.
“Then prove it.” I breathed against his lips once we finally broke apart for air.
And he intended to do just that.
With a swift motion, he managed to find the door handle, and we shuffled out and climbed into the back. Once again, he laid down the blanket, and we laid under the stars, my body hovering over his. The light from the streetlamp outside cast a soft glow on his face, accentuating his handsome features.
“Fuck, Mercy. You look so beautiful,” Dre whispered, one hand sliding along the curve of my hip while the other braced against the side of the truck.
A devilish glint sparkled in my eyes at the sound of my name on his lips. It made me wet. I raised a challenging eyebrow and craned my neck. His mouth was hot against my pulse point.
“Show me how much you want to be inside me, Dre.”
His animalistic instincts took over, and he captured my lips for another kiss, allowing the intensity between us to skyrocket. The heat engulfing us was intoxicating as we surrendered to our desires, letting pure passion dictate our actions.
Dre lifted my pink shirt, revealing my two perfect, mango-sized breasts. Not too small, but not too big. With urgency, he peeled off my shirt and bra, tossing them both to the side. My fingers traced patterns on his bare arms, each touch sparking a fire within him.
My nipples hardened under his gaze, a pure ash gray. My chest rose and fell with shallow breaths as he leaned in, his lips ghosting over my skin. My eyes fluttered closed, a soft sigh escaping my lips as he took one stiff nipple between his teeth.
I clutched his locs, pulling him closer as I arched into him.
“Dre,” I gasped, my voice filled with such raw need that it only fueled the fire raging within me.
He trailed kisses along my collarbone as his fingers explored the warmth of my searing hot thighs, inching closer to where I needed him most. I bucked forward against his hand, begging for him to touch me. He started to peel down my jeans at the waist and my lace panties too. Shoes, jeans, and panties—I kicked them all off.
Naked, I shivered under his touch. My hand landed on his, guiding him where I wanted him to be.
I moaned. “Please,” I begged, my voice hitching in anticipation.
Dre’s fingers finally touched my wet heat, and I let out a strangled gasp. My body trembled under his touch as he dove into my world of sweet intoxication.
Leaning forward, he captured my lips in another heated kiss. It was a wild mix of teeth and tongue, hot breath mixed with soft sighs. My hand weaved through his locs, desperate to bring him closer despite the nonexistent space between us. With a hungry growl, he pressed himself against me, making me whimper with desire.
His hands were everywhere—tracing fiery trails over every inch of my exposed butterscotch skin. Rolling my clit with his calloused hands, he paid close attention to the pleasure dancing in my eyes. Fuck. I never thought I’d be craving to see him aching underneath me, yearning to be deep inside me.
Dre fumbled with his belt until he had his pants and boxer briefs down his legs, continuing to play with my clit along the way. He only stopped toying with me for a moment. It was long enough for me to hike up one of my legs and give him a deeper, wetter entry point. I looked down at him as he stared at my perfect pussy with the hunger of a man that couldn’t wait any longer.
He lined himself up at my entrance, slapping his long, thick dick against my sopping-wet honeypot. I moaned as my hand reached down to guide him in.
I purred. “Ooh fuck, Dre.”
He couldn’t respond, lost in the tight sensation of pushing in and out of my silky warmth. Nothing had ever felt so fucking good.