Mercy: Trey Baker (Burnt Ashes #4)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Seraphina

Save Me – KELSON

Iwake to a shuddering impact.

The world snaps sideways, slinging my limp body across the car seat.

My head slams into glass, pain and confusion blooming behind my eyes as metallic shrieks tear through the air.

Shattered glass tinkers and scatters. The engine builds and roars, tires skidding, locking, struggling to hold traction.

My stomach drops, weightless for a heartbeat, then lurches hard as the wheels bite and the vehicle corrects.

Rain hammers down, loud enough to drown thought. The night outside is nothing but streaked darkness and flashing white.

My head swims.

I gasp and nearly vomit.

My body feels…wrong. Slow. Like I’ve been dragged up from deep water, and my limbs haven’t remembered how to move yet. When I try to brace myself, fire rips up my arms.

My wrists burn.

I look down, bleary-eyed. Tears threaten, blurring everything further. My breath stutters as clear plastic restraints bite into my skin, cinched tight and unforgiving. The flesh beneath them is already swollen.

Panic slices clean through the fog.

Trey.

The smell hits next. Iron. Thick and unmistakable. So strong it turns my stomach and I gag. My gaze drifts lower, catching on fabric clinging to my legs.

White.

No…was white.

The ceremonial gown is sheer against my body, soaked through, smeared dark and sticky in places. The sight drives something cold and sharp straight through my chest.

The dress Gideon’s wives dressed me in. Smiling, with gentle hands. Like they were dressing me to be presented before God himself.

Blood has ruined it—but it isn’t mine.

I think.

No.

I know.

It’s everywhere. On my hands. My arms. Pressed into my skin like it’s been branded there.

My husband’s blood.

Trey’s blood.

A sound tears out of me. My vision fractures.

The vehicle twists and jerks, the motor roaring, its pitch blending with the sound of my crying in the basement with Trey.

Cold concrete biting into my knees.

Trey on his back. Too still. His skin already losing its color.

Chace on his knees beside him, hands slick and red, shouting for medics, for help, for anyone.

The knife buried deep in Trey’s ribs.

So much blood I can’t tell where it’s coming from anymore.

Trey’s eyes find mine through the chaos.

His breath stutters.

“I’m sorry, baby—”

The memory shatters as the vehicle jerks again, throwing me hard into the door. Pain lances through my shoulder and I cry out, my throat burning like I’ve been screaming for hours.

I don’t know if my husband is dead.

I only know I watched him stop breathing.

Husband. My husband.

My breathing turns ragged. My heartbeat pounds faster and faster. I start to fight, twisting, scratching, spitting in blind, futile rage, lost inside my head like a rabbit in a snare.

No. No. No, no, no.

A sharp bark explodes behind me.

Artemis. Klause.

The sound yanks me fully back into my body. I twist as far as the restraints allow, heart slamming against my ribs. I realize I’m calling for them—soft, broken sounds slipping past my lips. My fear whipping them into a frenzy.

“I’m here,” I whisper hoarsely. “I’m here.”

They don’t calm.

The SUV swerves again, harder this time, tires screaming on wet asphalt. Dark trees streak past the windows, headlights slicing through rain.

A figure leans over me, quick and precise, cutting into the restraints around my arms. The plastic snaps away, granting a small freedom of movement while my wrists remain bound together.

“Stay down.”

The voice is low, controlled.

It freezes my blood.

I lift my head just enough to see the driver through the haze.

Johnathon Baker grips the wheel with one hand. The other clicks a device in his ear. His expression is carved from focus, eyes locked on the road as though nothing else in the world exists.

“I have two vehicles on us,” he says evenly. “Armed. Rear pursuit. Failed pit maneuvers…yeah. Amateurs.”

My chest tightens.

Of course they’re coming.

Gideon never let’s go. He takes everything in pieces, slow, methodical, until there’s nothing left but ruin.

He took my home. My freedom. My faith.

And then he took Trey.

I saw it happen.

I saw the moment Trey’s body failed him. Felt his hand go slack in mine. Saw Chace’s face break as medics swarmed—everything moving too fast and not fast enough all at once.

I prayed.

I begged.

I promised God anything—everything—if He would just let Trey breathe again.

He didn’t answer.

The not knowing doesn’t spare me.

It tortures me.

It means Trey might be gone…

Or Gideon might be keeping him alive somewhere dark and hidden, just long enough to make sure I understand the price of loving him.

Either way, Gideon wins.

“Gideon?” I ask weakly, my voice trembling.

Johnathon doesn’t look at me.

“Nah,” he says flatly. “That rat has fucked off somewhere else dank. His followers, though. One of his wives was behind the wheel.”

He pauses.

“Crazy cunt.”

A deafening crack slams into the back of the SUV.

I scream as the impact shudders through the frame, metal howling in protest. Artemis barks wildly, panic sharp and frantic, while Klause snarls low and vicious beside her.

Gunfire.

I curl forward instinctively, covering my head with my bound wrists.

I was taught that mercy is holy. That justice belongs to God. That forgiveness is the highest calling of all.

But mercy didn’t reach Trey in time. Justice didn’t stop Gideon’s knife. And forgiveness? Forgiveness feels like another way of asking me to disappear.

If this is the world as God designed it, then He watched my husband bleed out and chose silence.

I don’t know what I believe anymore.

Only that mercy, justice, and forgiveness are luxuries reserved for people who haven’t had everything ripped from them while they begged heaven to intervene.

Another shot rings out—closer this time.

Glass explodes behind us. Shards rain down in a violent cascade, slicing across my arms and shoulders. I cry out as pain flares hot and sharp, blood blooming where glass kisses skin.

“Taking fire,” Johnathon snaps into the comm. “ETA on interceptors?”

A black SUV surges up alongside us—so close I can see the men inside. Faces hard. Eyes empty. Guns raised, aimed straight at my window.

I sob, helpless. Trapped.

“No time like the present…” Johnathon mutters, unbothered by the threat riding our flank.

“Think I see you.” He huffs out a laugh. “Fucking slowpokes.”

A motorcycle screams into view, engine snarling.

Then another.

Gunshots crack—fast.

The black SUV fishtails violently, tires losing traction before it slides off the road, bundling into a ditch. A horn blares in wild, broken protest as we speed away, its red taillights shrinking into the rain-soaked distance.

The finality of it steals my breath.

I scream, body shaking uncontrollably.

Two motorcycles pull alongside us now—one on each side. The rider closest to me turns his head, visor open, eyes locking onto mine.

He nods once.

Then flips the visor down and vanishes into the dark, the other following close behind.

Silence crashes in.

The SUV keeps moving.

Time loses its shape.

Minutes stretch into something hollow and unreal. My body trembles as the adrenaline drains away, leaving devastation in its wake. Every breath hurts. Every thought circles the same name.

Trey.

My voice shatters.

“Is— is he dead?”

I swallow hard. “Tell me. Is my husband dead?”

Johnathon’s jaw tightens as I watch him in the rearview mirror.

“Don’t know,” he says coolly. “But if he’s alive, he’s weak. It’s not safe for you to be near him.”

The words land like a sentence being passed.

“There’s a chance?” Hope claws up my throat, fragile and desperate.

“You’re his weakness.”

“W-what?”

“My boy’s gonna die if you stay with him.”

You’re wrong.

The words hurt—but they don’t ring true.

If Trey is alive…

No.

He is alive.

He has to be.

Love bears all things.

No one ever warned me that love doesn’t just build you—it can level you completely.

I stare out into the rain-soaked dark, wrists bound, heart aching.

This man who claims to know his son’s weakness doesn’t understand him at all.

Trey is unyielding. Anyone who calls Trey’s love a weakness has clearly never witnessed the kind of devastation he’s willing to unleash to protect it.

I realize my faith in the Lord is shaken…but my faith in my chosen is not.

“Take me to him,” I say, calm settling over me like armor.

Johnathon clicks his tongue.

“Let’s get somewhere safe and see if we can get a report first.”

“Even if he’s hurt,” I whisper. “He’s going to be fine.”

He scoffs.

“Calm down…” He scoffs, “Fucking women.”

The SUV slows.

Not gradually—abruptly. Tires crunch over gravel, the engine cutting as the headlights sweep across what looks like nothing at all. Just a sagging house hunched back from the road, windows dark, roofline crooked, forgotten.

That’s what it wants me to believe.

The moment the vehicle stops, the night comes alive.

Men step out of the shadows. Silent, dressed in black from throat to boot, guns raised. Red dots skate over the hood, the doors, the trees. Everywhere. A perimeter snapping into place so fast it steals my breath.

My heart slams against my ribs.

Johnathon is out of the vehicle before I can move, his voice slicing through the rain.

“You all know the drill. Spotters two clicks out. Cycle patrols. All that shit. I need to piss like a racehorse. We move out in thirty minutes.”

Thirty minutes.

He rounds the SUV and yanks open my door.

Cold air rushes in, sharp and damp, carrying the scent of wet earth, oil, and danger. His hand clamps around my bound wrists as he hauls me from the backseat.

Klause snarls low and vicious.

Artemis is silent, focused, a weapon waiting to strike.

“Be a good pooch and behave…and don’t think I ain’t seen you,” Johnathon mutters, eyes flicking to them. “Your silence tells me you’re the one to watch.”

His attention lingers on Artemis.

“Fu?,” I whisper, soft and shaking.

Both dogs freeze. Their eyes flick from Johnathon to the armed men surrounding us.

“I’ve seen dogs like these do some truly fucking terrifying things,” he says, dragging me forward. “And you got yourself a matched set. Hilarious.”

“No one lets those dogs out,” Johnathon snaps.

Every man stiffens.

“You open that door…they will kill you. Military trained. Only take commands from the girl. I swear to fuck, Jenkins—pull out a treat and they’ll take your hand. If not your throat.”

“When am I seeing him?” I ask, digging my heels in.

Johnathon sighs, scratching his head like I’m a mild inconvenience.

“You behave. Be compliant. There are fresh clothes inside. A basin to clean up.”

He turns casually, his eyes flicking over me.

“You’ve got twenty minutes. After that I come in and wash you myself.”

My eyes widen.

Fear flares—then burns into fury.

“Don’t you—”

I try to jerk back, but the restraints bite and his grip tightens like iron.

“Better hurry,” he says lightly. “You’ve got nineteen minutes now.”

A few men chuckle.

The sound makes my stomach twist.

I want to hit him.

I want to run.

But I don’t know where I am. I don’t know how long I was out. Every direction feels like a dead end.

We reach the collapsing house.

Johnathon flicks out a knife.

My heart jumps into my throat.

But instead of cutting me—he slides two fingers beneath the plastic at my wrists, testing the tension, angling the blade carefully away from my skin.

The restraints snap apart.

Blood rushes back into my hands in painful throbs.

The house reeks of damp wood and rot. The air is stale, heavy. Wallpaper peels in long strips, stained plaster exposed beneath. The floor groans under our weight, every step too loud in the hollow space.

He guides me into the front room and motions to a tattered sofa.

I sit. The cushions sag, springs pressing through threadbare fabric.

“Through there,” he says, nodding toward the next room. “Basin. Clothes. Something more appropriate.”

A glance at his watch.

“Eighteen minutes. Or I come do it myself.”

“Why…” My voice trembles. “Why are you doing this?”

He pauses only long enough to check his watch again.

“Seventeen minutes, thirty seconds.”

Then he leaves.

My breath comes shaky as I stand and head toward the room he indicated.

I hold myself together by threads.

For Trey.

If I just bide my time. If I listen. He’ll take me to him.

He’s his father—there has to be a reason.

And if he doesn’t…I will find one.

I’ve run before.

As long as Trey lives.

I think of him—his touch, his scent, his devastating smile that could level cities. His dimples. Tears breach my eyes. The night replaying in flashes. Even at the end, his skin pale, blood pooling beneath him, he smiled at me.

Apologetic.

Like he was sorry for breaking my heart.

My chest tightens.

Trey is alive. I know it the same way I know my own heartbeat, because somewhere in this world, Trey’s heart beats beside mine.

If Johnathon won’t take me to him…

He will come for me.