sixteen
The Merciful
“I want to talk to Maverick,” I say, setting my plate down as we all settle in around the table.
I notice some glances and outright glares from other girls in the dining hall, but no more than on any other day since I became Angel’s official girlfriend and started sharing meals with them.
Apparently the Hellhounds don’t normally sit with their girlfriends, if they have them, so this is new, especially since my three boys have broken off to sit with me instead of the rest of the group.
It’s like when we were kids, and we’d seek each other out at school during lunch or recess; at church camp where we’d sneak away from our cabin or squad to find each other.
There’s a gravity in the group that draws us back, an invisible, relentless pull toward each other.
Except we are no longer the Quint without Eternity.
There’s a hole in our group now, an emptiness that can’t be filled.
None of us dare to mention filling it with someone else, another Hellhound or even Annabel Lee. Eternity cannot be replaced.
“Why do you want to talk to Maverick?” Heath asks, narrowing his eyes at me.
“He’s the last person who saw her alive,” I say, though I can’t meet his eyes when I say it. Since we decided to find her, none of us have admitted the possibility that she’s dead, that she died that day or in the years since. Even I can’t pretend she’s fine. If she was, she would have come home.
“I’ll talk to him,” Angel says. “He probably won’t talk to you.”
I scowl at him. “Why not?”
“Maybe because you sent his cousin to juvie,” Saint grumbles.
Before I can answer, Ronique comes prancing over, walking in a way I’ve never seen her do before, clearly trying to look sexy. I marvel at the effect my brother can have on such a normally level-headed, sensible girl.
“Saint,” she whines. “Why didn’t you come to the party on Saturday? I thought we were going to meet up.”
“Something came up,” he says with a dismissive glance, turning back to his chicken breast.
Seemingly oblivious, she sits down across his lap and loops an arm around his neck. “You said we’d hang out after,” she wheedles. “I wore something special.”
I try not to choke, try to tell myself she doesn’t mean what I think she means.
“You really didn’t have to do that,” Saint says, sounding annoyed. “I told you, we don’t have to rearrange our lives for each other.”
“I know,” she says, pouting. “I still went to the party like you told me to. I just wanted to do something special for you.”
“Maverick’s not going to talk business with an outsider,” Angel says, ignoring the couple across from him and scooping up a bite of mashed potatoes.
I’m so grateful for the distraction I could kiss him.
“I’m not an outsider,” I point out. “I’m your girlfriend.”
“You’re not a Crossbone,” Heath clarifies.
“Let me try,” I say. “I’m sure I can convince him.”
“Absolutely the fuck not,” Angel says. “I’m not leaving you alone with him.”
“He’s not some random gangster,” I point out. “It’s your family.”
“They’re still Crosses,” he says. “Maverick’s chill when you’re on his side. When you’re not…”
“He’s still a gangster,” Heath says.
“I can handle it,” I insist. “How else are we going to find out what he knows?”
“He’s not going to tell you,” Angel says.
“I know he’s your cousin, but objectively, how well do you know him?” I ask.
“Really fucking well. He’s not a killer.”
“Don’t you have to be?” I ask. “To get into the Skull and Crossbones?”
“It’s not something most people enjoy,” Angel says soberly. “It takes something from you. A part of your soul.”
I shiver and turn to Heath.
He shrugs and looks away. “I don’t know him that well. I’ve ridden along when he needed a guy, but we don’t talk about my sister or that kind of shit.”
“Please?” I ask, turning back to Angel.
He sighs. “You can come. But let me ask the questions. Keep your mouth shut and don’t expect to learn anything you don’t already know.”
I’m about to protest being talked to that way, but then I look up and see Ronique kissing Saint’s neck, and I decide Angel is exactly perfect.
“I’m going back to my room,” I say, pushing back from the table. “I’ve lost my appetite.”
“I’ll walk with you,” Angel says, shoving a last piece of chicken into his mouth.
“You don’t have to escort me everywhere,” I say, giving him a look. “You should know that by now.”
“The Sinners were already fucking with you,” Heath points out, jumping in to explain while Angel’s mouth is full. “Now that they got kicked out of their lair, they’ll be out for blood. In fact, I’ll come too. Safety in numbers and all that.”
That must be their new motto, because the next Friday finds us all piling into Heath’s truck after Maverick agrees to talk to us. I end up on the narrow back seat with Saint, who has been avoiding me all week.
“I’m surprised you’re joining us,” I say. “Shouldn’t you be on a date with Ronique or something?”
“Shouldn’t you be riding my best friend’s face?” he shoots back. “I’m surprised he could come up for air for long enough to visit anywhere that’s not between your thighs.”
“Dude, don’t be such a little bitch,” Heath says. “He still sees us all the time.”
I cross my arms and stare out the side window the entire ride, refusing to look at my brother.
I don’t know what his problem is. I chose him, over and over and over, and he never wanted me.
He only touched me when his master ordered him to, and he’s barely spoken to me since.
And now he’s dating my friend, and I have to hear about him from her all the time, since she seems to have forgotten how to talk about anything else.
Heath drives us back to the tattoo parlor where they took me that night. At the door, we run into Nate Swift, who’s coming out just as we’re going in.
“Oh, hey,” I say, pulling up in surprise.
“Hey, Mercy,” he says, then tips his chin at the Hellhounds. “Hey, guys.”
“Did you get a tattoo?” I ask, my tone more incredulous than I meant it to be.
The corner of Nate’s mouth lifts ruefully. “Just taking care of some business. You?”
“Same,” I say, then wave when Angel squeezes my hip, nudging me forward.
When Nate’s outside and the door closes behind us, Saint frowns at me. “I thought I told you not to talk to that guy.”
“I thought we agreed we weren’t policing each other’s friends.”
“Boyfriends,” he corrects, scowling at Angel.
“Come on in,” Maverick says, tipping his chin at Saint and dabbing up Angel and Heath in some kind of gang handshake.
When he nods at me, my heart nearly stops, and I’m glad the boys insisted on coming with me.
There’s something unnerving about Maverick’s gold-flecked green eyes, and I can’t help but remember how casually he pulled his gun, like he uses it every day.
“You getting a tattoo today, Merciless?” he asks.
I shrink against Angel, wishing his cousin would look at someone else.
“Yeah,” Angel says, putting an arm around me. “She’s getting my name tattooed right above her pussy, so everyone knows it’s mine.”
“You sure about that?” Heath asks.
“Angel,” I hiss, swatting his arm.
“Hey, I’ve already got your name tattooed on me,” he says. “It’s only fair.”
My mouth drops open in shock. “You do?”
“Yeah, see, right here,” he says, rolling up his sleeve to reveal a tattoo of a word written in script—SHAMELESS.
“That’s not my name,” I say, but he points to the M.
“Just like in our necklaces. Except I outgrew shame, so now I’m shameless.”
His smile is nothing short of smug.
I roll my eyes. “I’m not getting your name tattooed on me.”
“My cousin fucking Merciless,” Maverick muses, his gaze moving between us. “Wouldn’t have put that together, but somehow, it fits.”
“Not fucking,” Angel says, wrapping a protective arm around me again. “Mercy’s my girl.”
The warmth that fills my chest at his words makes me want to melt into a puddle.
Yes, he told the others that I’m his girlfriend, and he walks around campus and eats with me like every other couple, but this is different.
This is his family, someone from the part of his life he never wanted to share with me before.
Someone who might have thrown bricks through my window, who might hate me if not for Angel’s words marking me as off limits and under his protection.
But it’s not just the safety his words afford me that I’m grateful for.
Being claimed in front of his family with such obvious pride makes me feel like the most beautiful girl in the world.
I’m proud to be his girl too—I find myself straightening, standing a little taller, holding onto his tattooed arm with a certainty I hadn’t felt until now.
“So who’s getting tattooed today?” Maverick asks, straddling a stool beside one of the two tables in the small shop.
Each one has a curtain that can draw around it, but they’re pushed back now, leaving us visible from the parking lot, like we were the last time I was here.
There’s a small, one-stall bathroom to one side of the space, the door plastered with a collage of photos of happy customers showing off their tattoos and piercings.
I spot a photo of Heath lifting his shirt all the way up with both hands, showing off his nipple piercings.
The picture was taken in the parking lot outside, and his eyes are squinted closed against the sun, his head back, tongue out through a wide grin.
It’s hard to picture the angry boy I know ever being that young and carefree. It breaks my heart a little.
The guys seem to exchange some silent conversation for a minute before Heath hops up on the table. “You can do me again.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Maverick says, giving Heath an assessing look, his gaze hooded.
Heath just grins and peels off his shirt before lying down flat. Maverick picks up his tattoo gun and, without bothering with a stencil or preliminary sketch, starts to work around an intricate serpentine tattoo already climbing Heath’s side.