CHAPTER FOUR
– SABLE –
“What do you think?” Kujo asks.
I turn my head to the cabin in front of us where I can see a glimpse of Mercy’s black hair through the window. She fell asleep on the couch after eating dinner. We moved outside for this discussion to make sure she couldn’t hear us.
“No fucking clue,” I grunt in frustration.
“She’s holding onto a lot of anger and frustration when she looks at you, that’s for sure.
Her reaction when you asked about Otto coming for her was also real.
Something must have happened for her to run away and come here, breaking into your cabin and all. ”
Kujo rubs the back of his neck. “It’s fucking frustrating that she doesn’t talk.”
Aggravation hits me, and I have no clue why I should even care, or stand up for her, but I still hear myself saying, “She does fuckin’ talk.”
“I mean more than one word at a time. A normal discussion,” he grits. “Then we’d be able to hear what she has to say about her own situation.”
I know he’s right, and it still doesn’t matter. “Everyone lies. Her being able to say more than one word wouldn’t make a difference. The brothers still wouldn’t believe a word she says because she’s related to Otto.”
“Fuck,” Kujo mutters. “You’re right.” He kicks at a branch and we both fall silent.
My gaze finds the dark-haired beauty sleeping on my couch. She’s an enigma. My cock doesn’t care if she might be the enemy and is only acting the innocent, runaway, long lost daughter.
“When are you going to tell the other brothers? We can’t hide her in my cabin forever, and the ones who were at your cabin when she broke in that day already know about her showing up.”
Kujo shoots me an annoyed look, even if he knows I’m right. “They won’t accept her. The timing is fucked up with the car bomb at the garage the day before she broke into my cabin. They might even jump to the thought she might have done it. The timeline fits. Who fuckin’ knows, maybe she did.”
“Nothing in her belongings shows she’s able to make a bomb. The lockpick set and pocketknife were the only tools she had on her. Besides, what you just mentioned? I think it’s the reason why you need to lay all the cards out in the open,” I reason.
He also glances through the window to put his eyes on a sleeping Mercy. “And what do the cards say about my daughter? You’ve been with her for three days; do you have any idea if she’s playing us?”
I shrug. “Anything is possible. Like I said, people lie. Though, the shit you can see with your own eyes clearly tells one side of her story. I think she’s indeed homeless.
The way she washed all her clothes with your soap, scarfed down cookies, eating as much as her body allows her, hording her backpack as if it holds all her possessions, so she can make a run for it any damn second.
Then there are the bruises she’s sporting all over her body when I saw her naked.
..they also tell a very specific story. Someone gave her a beating, who or why? Fuck knows.”
“How and why the fuck did you see my daughter naked?” Kujo bellows.
I cringe and throw a glance at Mercy’s reaction, seeing how she slowly rises from the couch and glances around.
Turning my attention to my prez, I explain, “You can check the security feed in the cabin from the day she broke in. Mercy washed all her clothes and was only wrapped in a blanket when I found her. She was spooked and ran for her clothes, making the blanket drop to the floor and exposing her body to me.”
He relaxes slightly and mutters, “Yeah, makes sense.”
I shake my head. “If you react this way at the thought of me seeing her naked? What will you do if any of the brothers speak their mind? Or if she is working with Otto?”
“If she’s working with Otto, she’ll go back to him in a damn body bag,” Kujo snarls.
I raise my eyebrow. “And you’ll be the one to slit her throat?”
He stares at me.
Seconds tick by until he says, “I need you to step up and take her out if we have proof. Blood or not, there’s no saving those who fuck with us.”
I nod. “Fuck with us, and don’t live to take another breath and gloat about it.”
“I’ll message the brothers. Church in an hour. I’ll head back and you can bring her with you.”
“Me?” I grunt. “She’s your daughter.”
Kujo shakes his head. “I have to keep my distance; it’ll also make a statement to the brothers.”
“Fine,” I agree.
“Thanks, VP,” Kujo rumbles and stalks away.
My gaze strays in Mercy’s direction once again. Instead of sitting on the couch, she’s standing in front of the window with her arms crossed in front of her chest, glaring at me. I lift my chin to acknowledge her presence and head back inside.
I shrug out of my thick leather jacket once I’ve closed the door. Mercy looks at me with so many fucking questions in her eyes. I have no clue why she doesn’t talk. I’ve heard her say a few words and from her expressions I can tell she understands every damn word we say.
“Pack your shit, we’re going for a ride,” I tell her.
Her eyes go wide, and she yet again only throws one word my way. “Why?”
I’m already pissed with the situation at hand, mostly about prez ordering me to kill her if she fucks us over, and it’s why I tell her, “We’re going to the clubhouse.
Your father needs to tell the brothers about you.
So, I hope you’re not about to fuck us over ’cause I’d really hate getting rid of that banging body of yours and not shoving my cock into it before I have to end you. ”
Her fingers curl into fists and the anger is clearly written all over her face. I have no clue if it’s about fucking us over, me needing to kill her if she does, or openly stating I want to fuck her.
“Not,” she huffs and clenches her jaw shut.
I take a step closer. “Why only throw out one word at a time? You can do more. I know because you gave me one whole damn sentence when we were making dinner earlier.”
Her gaze settles on my Band-Aid covered finger.
“What?” I ask, holding my finger up. “I cut myself, it was an accident.”
Black hair flows through the air when she shakes her head.
Something clicks and it’s why my voice holds a load of disbelief.
“Please tell me you’re not superstitious.
Fucking hell, is this the reason why you only speak one word at a time?
” Still holding my finger between us I add, “You really think you throwing out full sentences causes people to get hurt?”
Her gaze hits the floor and through her black hair I’m still able to get a glimpse of her red cheeks.
In a calm tone I ask, “How many times did someone get hurt when you talked?”
Both her hands come up and she hides one of her thumbs.
“Nine times?” I frown when she bobs her head, and can’t help but blurt, “That’s more than a coincidence.”
“Right?” she snaps and holds her hands away from her body.
“Still, it’s fucked up, Mercy. You can’t stop talking because of bad timing.
Every second there are a shitload of accidents and none of them are because of words you throw into this world.
Maybe it’s some sort of your own limitations, a trigger, or you being susceptible to things.
” I shrug. “I have no clue or experience with ASD. The things I’ve read about ASD are that there’s a wide range of symptoms, and they also vary in levels when it comes to social communication, behavior, and sensitivities.
I’m not trying to judge or anything, but maybe you shouldn’t give a fuck if others get hurt and just speak your mind. ”
Her lips part and her eyes go wide. The corner of my mouth twitches with contained laughter due to her stunned expression. The humor drains from me when I remember the bruises covering her body.
“My finger was number nine I’m guessing.” Pointing said finger in her direction, I add, “Those bruises on your body?”
Her gaze connects with mine and she swallows hard before she whispers, “Eight.”
“Fucking hell,” I growl. “Who did it?”
“Linus.”
Who the hell is Linus? I wonder and keep staring at her while my mind is trying to go over everyone I know from her uncle’s club.
Her voice is softer than a whisper when she adds, “Otto.”
“Otto too? Linus and your uncle kicked the shit out of you?” I check.
Her head bobs.
“Why?”
Fuck. I might not get an answer to that question due to the fact that it’s not easily explained.
“Me.”
Double fuck, maybe it fucking is.
“Linus and Otto beat you up because of who you are?”
She places a hand over her heart. “Issues.”
Anger overflows my brain. Some people are worthless scum to judge others, thinking they’re superior.
“Is it why you became homeless and came here?”
Shoving a flat hand into the space between us, she lets it tilt from side-to-side.
“A little bit to do with it,” I guess.
Giving me a small smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, she states with a load of weariness, “Shit pile.”
Releasing a sigh, I don’t think and simply reach out to pull her into a hug and rumble, “Life is a huge shit pile, princess. It wouldn’t be living if everything was squeaky clean and smooth sailing.”