Steel’s Mercy (Savage Riders MC #6)

Chapter 1 - Steel

The smell of motor oil and gasoline fills my nostrils as I slide out from under the custom Harley I've been working on for the past three hours. The concrete floor of the garage is cold and unforgiving against my back, but I barely notice it anymore.

This is my sanctuary: where steel, chrome, and rubber make sense in ways people never do.

"Steel, you about done with that bike?" King's deep voice echoes through the garage, “Torch gave it a go, but he forgot a few things.”

I wipe my hands on an already filthy rag and stand up, my back cracking in protest. "He’ll get better. I just finished replacing the fuel line. She's good to go."

King, our president and the man who brought me into this life, nods approvingly as he runs his hand along the gleaming tank of his prized Harley. "Always count on you to keep these babies purring."

That's my role in the Savage Riders MC. I'm not the muscle like Tank or Beast, not the explosives guy like Torch. I'm the one who keeps us moving, who understands the hearts of these machines better than I understand most people.

"Any word from Torch?" I ask, wiping a smudge off the chrome.

"Yeah, that's actually why I'm here." King leans against the workbench, his imposing body making the solid oak structure seem fragile. "His kid's sick. Can't make that collection run tonight."

I feel my shoulders tense. Collections aren't usually my thing. I prefer metal to confrontation. "You want me to find someone else?"

King shakes his head. "Nah, you can handle James Mercer on your own. Guy's a pathetic gambler, not a fighter. Just show up, look intimidating, collect our money." He slaps me on the shoulder. "Besides, everyone else is tied up with that shipment coming in."

I nod, though my stomach tightens at the thought. "What about the sister? Holly, right? She gonna be a problem?"

"Shouldn't be. From what we know, she's the responsible one.

Works two jobs trying to keep them afloat while he pisses away every cent on cards and dice.

" King's expression hardens. "But don't let her sob story get to you.

Last month you let him slide with half. We can't build a reputation like that. "

I swallow hard and nod again. King's right.

I'd felt sorry for Mercer last time. The guy was clearly struggling, hands shaking as he counted out bills.

But the sister's tired eyes had gotten to me even more.

She'd been hovering in the background, wearing that same waitress uniform, looking like she carried the weight of the world on her narrow shoulders.

"Full payment," I confirm. "Got it."

After King leaves, I finish cleaning up my workspace, organizing tools that have become extensions of my hands over the years. My brothers give me shit about how orderly I keep everything, but they never complain when they need to find something in a hurry.

The club has become my family. When those townspeople came after me years ago, accusing me of stealing parts from their shop when I was just trying to make ends meet with my legitimate repair business, it was King who stood beside me.

The others followed. I didn't steal those parts, but no one would believe the quiet mechanic with grease under his nails over the respected business owner who pointed the finger.

The Savage Riders didn't care about social standing. They saw the truth, and they protected me. Joining felt like coming home after that.

I lock up the garage at six and head to my small house on the outskirts of Blackwater Falls. It's nothing special, just a two-bedroom place with peeling paint that I've been meaning to fix for years. But it's mine, paid for with honest work. Mostly.

As I pull into the driveway, I hear excited yipping from inside. My secret. The one thing my brothers don't know about me.

"Hey, Bolt," I say as the tiny Yorkshire terrier dances around my feet the moment I open the door. "At least someone's always happy to see me."

I'd found him abandoned on the side of the road last year, half-starved and matted.

Couldn't bring myself to drop him at a shelter.

The guys would never let me live it down if they knew about my eight-pound protector, but Bolt doesn't judge me for being the least intimidating member of an outlaw motorcycle club.

After feeding him and taking a quick shower to wash away the day's grime, I dress in my cut—leather vest with our club insignia—jeans, and boots.

I tuck my Glock into my waistband at the small of my back, standard procedure for collections even if I hope not to use it.

I check myself in the mirror, trying to channel Beast's unflinching stare or Rage's fury.

"Who am I kidding?" I mutter to myself, seeing only my own uncertain brown eyes looking back.

The ride to Mercer's place takes fifteen minutes, the cool evening air clearing my head.

His apartment is in the run-down section of town, where buildings sag like they're too tired to stand up straight anymore.

I park my bike out front, making sure it's visible.

Sometimes just the sight of a Savage Riders motorcycle is enough to make collections go smoothly.

I take a deep breath before heading up the crumbling steps to apartment 3B. The hallway smells like old cigarettes and despair. I knock firmly, three solid raps that echo down the empty corridor.

I hear shuffling inside, then a soft female voice saying something I can't make out, followed by a louder male voice responding. Good. James is home.

The door opens just a crack, held by a security chain. A pair of tired green eyes peer out at me. Holly Mercer, just as I remember her. Curvy. Beautiful. Hot. I've touched myself thinking about her more times than I'd ever admit to anyone else.

"Steel," she says quietly, her voice resigned. I'm glad she recognizes me from last month. "Please, just give us more time."

"I need to talk to your brother, Holly." I keep my voice neutral but firm. "Open the door."

I see defeat flash in her eyes before the door closes, then reopens fully after the chain slides free. Holly stands before me in her waitress uniform, name tag slightly crooked, brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. Despite her exhaustion, she stands straight, chin up, meeting my gaze directly.

"He's in the living room," she says, stepping aside to let me in.

The apartment is just as sparse as I remember: threadbare couch, coffee table littered with past-due notices, a small TV that's seen better days. James Mercer sits hunched on the couch, a half-empty bottle of cheap whiskey in front of him. He looks up as I enter, his bloodshot eyes narrowing.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" he slurs, struggling to stand. "It's not the fifteenth yet."

"It's the seventeenth, James," I reply evenly. "You're two days late. Again."

"Bullshit." He fumbles for his phone to check the date, knocking over the whiskey bottle in the process. Holly rushes to grab it before it spills completely.

"James, please," she says softly. "Just pay him what we have and ask for more time for the rest."

He rounds on her. "Shut up! I'm handling this!" Then back to me: "I don't have your money. Come back next week."

I shake my head. "No more extensions. King wants his five grand tonight. Full payment."

James laughs, a bitter, ugly sound. "Well, he's shit out of luck then. I've got maybe four hundred to my name."

"James," Holly interrupts, "what about the money from Uncle Ray? The loan he gave you last week?"

Her brother's face darkens. "That money's gone."

"Gone?" Holly's voice rises in disbelief. "That was two thousand dollars! You promised you were using it to pay off debts!"

"I tried to double it at Riverbrook Casino." James won't meet her eyes. "Had a solid hand, but—"

"You gambled away our last chance?" Holly's composure finally cracks. "We're going to lose the apartment! They're going to cut off the electricity!"

I stand awkwardly, witnessing this family breakdown. This is the part of collections I hate, seeing how the debt affects more than just the borrower.

"Look," I begin, "maybe we can work something out—"

"I'll go with you," Holly says suddenly, turning to face me. "To your club. I'll work off James's debt."

"What? No!" James lurches to his feet. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about saving your life," she responds, her voice steady despite the tears welling in her eyes. "They're going to hurt you if you don't pay, and we both know you can't pay."

"Holly, that's not how the club operates," I start to explain, but James cuts me off.

"You're not going anywhere with him." He grabs her arm roughly. "You think I don't know what kind of 'work' they'll have you doing?"

"Let go, James." Her voice is quiet but firm. "You're hurting me."

I step forward. "Take your hand off her. Now."

James releases her arm but turns his drunken rage toward me instead. "This is your fault! You and your criminal friends, preying on people with problems!"

"No one forced you to borrow money from us," I remind him, keeping my voice level. "No one forced you to gamble it away either."

That's when he lunges at me, a wild haymaker that I see coming from a mile away. I sidestep easily, but he keeps coming, throwing clumsy punches and shouting incoherently. One of his fists grazes my jaw. More luck than skill, and something in me snaps.

I'm not a fighter by nature, but years in an MC teaches you how to handle yourself. I catch his next punch, twist his arm behind his back, and slam him face-first into the wall, holding him there with ease.

"Stop it! Both of you!" Holly shouts, her voice cracking with fear.

"Stay back, Holly," I warn, as James continues to struggle against my hold. I increase the pressure on his arm, making him yelp in pain. "I don't want to hurt him, but he's not giving me much choice."

"Please," she begs, "just let him go. I'll come with you. I'll work off the debt. Whatever it takes."

"Holly, no!" James roars, thrashing harder. I slam him into the wall again, harder this time, and he goes momentarily limp.

"Listen to me," I growl into his ear. "Your sister is trying to save your worthless hide. The least you can do is shut up and—"

The sound of screeching tires outside cuts me off. I freeze, every instinct suddenly on high alert. Through the window, I catch the flash of motorcycles racing past. Not ours.

"Get down!" I yell, releasing James and lunging toward Holly just as the first shots tear through the front of the apartment.

I tackle her to the ground, covering her body with mine as glass shatters and bullets punch through the thin walls. The rattling burst of automatic gunfire is unmistakable—Iron Eagles.

"Stay down!" I shout at James, who's scrambling for cover behind the couch.

Keeping low, I draw my Glock from my waistband and army-crawl to the shattered window. Holly is trembling beneath me, her breathing rapid and shallow. I position myself to shield her while getting a line of sight outside.

Two motorcycles are making another pass, riders raising their weapons for another volley.

I steady my aim and squeeze the trigger three times in rapid succession.

One rider jerks, his bike wobbling before he regains control.

They veer off, disappearing around the corner, but I know they might circle back.

"Are you hit? Are you hurt?" I ask Holly, running my hands over her to check for injuries. Her eyes are wide with shock, but she shakes her head.

"James?" she calls out. "James, are you okay?"

A groan from behind the couch answers her. I move cautiously toward him, gun still at the ready. James is huddled in a ball, arms over his head, but appears uninjured.

"They're gone for now, but they might come back," I say, moving quickly to the door to secure it. "We need to get out of here."

"Why were they shooting at us?" Holly asks, her voice remarkably steady despite her trembling hands.

"Not at you," I explain, helping her to her feet. "At me. The Iron Eagles are targeting anyone connected to the Savage Riders." I turn to James, who's still cowering. "Get up. We need to move. Now."

"I can't go out there," he whimpers. "They'll kill me."

"They'll definitely kill you if you stay here," I snap, grabbing his arm and hauling him to his feet. "They know I'm here now. This place isn't safe anymore."

I pull out my phone and text King with our situation: "Eagles hit Mercer's apt. Taking targets to the corner store. Need backup." His response is immediate: "Crew on way. 10 min."

"Holly, grab anything essential you need. Quick. We've got about three minutes before they might circle back."

To my surprise, she's already moving, grabbing a small backpack and stuffing it with medications from the bathroom cabinet, a framed photo, and a few items of clothing.

"James, move your ass," I order, as he's still standing frozen. "You've got debt to the club, and dying doesn't pay it off."

That seems to snap him out of it. He stumbles to his bedroom, emerging moments later with a duffel bag.

"My bike's out front," I say, checking the street through what's left of the window. "We can't all fit, but we can make it to the corner store. My brothers will meet us there."

"I'm sorry," Holly says suddenly, her green eyes meeting mine. "About before. James attacking you."

"Not the time," I reply, though something in her gaze makes my chest tighten. "Ready?"

She nods, adjusting her backpack straps.

"James, you go first," I instruct. "Then Holly in the middle. I'll cover the rear. Stay low, move fast, don't stop for anything. Clear?"

They both nod, tension etched into every line of their faces.

I take a deep breath, gun ready. "On three. One. Two. Three."