Chapter 20 #3
She let out a humorless laugh that quickly shifted into a cough. “Every-fucking-where,” she said, gripping her side and cringing in pain.
I met Merrick’s gaze over her shoulder. “I’m taking her to the hospital. I’ll meet you at the junkyard after.”
Merci shook her head as a stubbornness lit in her eyes. “Like hell you are. I’m going with you.”
Reaper and Merrick exchanged glances.
Merci huffed. “I’m not an idiot. I know what happens at the junkyard. And I want in. I want to make him pay.”
I pressed a kiss to her temple, tasting blood and sweat. My hellcat wanted to sink her claws into Luca, and who was I to deny her? “Then it’s a date.”
She tilted her head back to look at me. “This might be the most romantic thing we’ve ever done together,” she said with a crooked, bloody smile.
Merrick grumbled under his breath and heaved Luca to his feet.
He and Fuse carried him to his car and tossed him in the trunk.
The pilot was bound and thrown into the back seat.
They made quick work of moving the plane back into the hangar and closing the door.
It would be less suspicious if we made it look like they’d decided not to fly out today.
Coast slid behind the wheel of Luca’s car. “See you at the junkyard,” he said, tapping the side of his fist outside the door and pulling away.
“We’ll take the sedan,” I said, guiding Merci toward the vehicle. “She’s not in any shape to be on a bike.”
Reaper nodded. “I’ll get a few prospects out to get your bike and Coast’s.”
Merrick stepped in front of me, putting a hand on my chest to nudge me aside. He pulled Merci into his arms, holding her as tight as he dared with her injuries.
“Glad you’re alive,” he murmured into her hair. “It would’ve been too late if Hatchet hadn’t stopped by the hospital to see you.”
She pulled back and smirked. “Does that mean you’re done being a grump-a-pus over our relationship?”
He hugged her once more, then pulled away. “No,” he said flatly, spinning on his heel and heading to his bike.
Reaper, Fuse, and Merrick fired up their bikes and left as I helped Merci into the passenger seat. A pale sheen of sweat shimmered on her forehead, and her breath came shallow and tight.
“You don’t look good,” I observed.
She shot me a glare. “Just what every woman wants to hear.”
I reached for her hand. “Are you sure you’re OK? I think you should get checked out.”
“Which one of us went to medical school?” she huffed. “Now, let’s get to the junkyard. I don’t want Merrick to get carried away before I’ve had my shot.”
I sighed. “Fine.”
* * *
By the time we rolled into the warehouse-style building, my former brothers were ready to start. Heavy chains wrapped around Luca, suspending him against a support beam in the center of the room. He hung like a dead cow in a butcher shop, and I couldn’t wait to slice him into steaks.
A table of tools was spread out nearby, each one laid with surgical precision—Merrick’s trademark. He liked his victims to see their options. Fear was half the work. In the middle of the spread sat one of my favorites: an old hatchet with a dull edge.
I couldn’t help the grin that split my face as I walked over and picked it up, testing the weight, spinning it easily in my hand. “Glad I’m still invited to the party,” I said.
Merrick grumbled under his breath, but I took it for what it was: a tentative peace offering.
The pilot sat in the corner, hands and legs zip-tied. Reaper finished a call and strode to stand beside Merrick.
“Pilot’s not mafia, but he’s far from innocent,” Reaper explained as he showed us what Linc had dug up on the man. Disgust rippled through the room as we realized a monster sat before us. One that preyed on the youngest, most innocent of victims.
“This is a waste of time,” Fuse said, already pulling his 1911 pistol from his hip.
He stalked over to the pilot. The guy begged, but it didn’t matter.
Fuse put a bullet through his forehead. Blood and brains painted the wall behind him as Fuse turned back around.
“There. Now we can focus. Who’s taking the first crack? ”
Merci stepped forward. Every eye in the room tracked her. She was pale and breathing too shallow, but her chin was high, and her sharp eyes glittered in a way that stirred something dark and primal in my gut.
“I am,” she demanded.
Merrick and I locked eyes. A whole conversation happened in that one look.
Is she OK?
She’s not, but she needs this.
We’ll let her take everything she wants from him.
Eventually, Merrick exhaled, jaw tight, and nodded, stepping away from the table of torture to let Merci take her pick.
Merci walked to the table like a woman approaching the jewelry counter at Tiffany’s. Her eyes lit up as her fingers brushed over each tool, trailing slowly. She wasn’t rushing. She savored the choice, tasted the power.
Watching this broken, feral woman who refused to be a victim stirred a possessiveness in me. Seeing my Hellcat ready to make the bastard bleed made me hard.
Merci was perfect for me in every way.