Chapter 16
Mercy
By the time Landon finished doctoring up Ben, school was over. Nobody had called the cops about the shooting—which was both convenient and worrisome—and I was glad to have all the children and staff gone and out of the line of fire should the WSB decide to come back and finish off my brother. Or me.
I still couldn’t believe Ben had joined a gang.
Although I understood what had happened with his delivery job, I wished he would have come to me when the whole thing started. No, I wished he’d never met Billy.
At least Ben hadn’t shot a cop.
I shuddered at the thought of my sweet little brother becoming a cop killer. Ben had made a lot of mistakes, but he’d always been a good kid. Maybe, with the help of Landon and the Dead Presidents, he’d get the chance to grow into a good man.
Regardless, there was no way I was letting him push me away ever again.
Landon walked Beth home and returned with his father’s truck. Still chastising myself for letting my baby brother fall so far off the rails, I stood by the front door as Landon and Havoc wrapped Ben in a tarp and told him to play ‘Light as a Feather, Stiff as a Board.’ Then they carried him out, like a corpse, and put him in the back of the truck. Seeing my brother in what constituted as a body bag, and knowing how close he’d come to actually dying, made tears sting the backs of my eyes.
“You okay?” Landon asked, rejoining me on the curb. Shaking his head, he said, “Don’t answer that. Of course you’re not okay.”
As I reached up to wipe my face, he grabbed my hands.
“And don’t brush away those tears, Mercy. Cry your heart out. Put on a show. I don’t know if anyone from the WSB is watching us, but you want them to think your brother just died. Turn on the waterworks, babe. It’s okay. I got you.”
I blinked at him.
“Ben just died in your arms. Believe it. Sell it.”
I wasn’t a crier. I mean, sure, sad movies did me in, but life rarely gave me a reason to turn on the waterworks. It wasn’t like crying would change anything, anyway. But imagining Ben dying broke something loose inside me. Tears started rolling down my face in earnest.
Landon draped an arm over my shoulders and I lost it. Every ounce of composure I’d fought for when bullets were flying and Landon was plucking a round from my brother’s chest… it all dissolved, leaving me in a puddle. Bawling, I leaned on Landon. He gave up the pretense of me walking, picked me up, and carried me to his truck. He slid me into the passenger’s seat before getting behind the wheel and starting it up.
My brother’s tarp-covered body rode in the back of my temporary boyfriend’s truck as a motorcycle convoy escorted us to the renovated fire station that served as the Dead Presidents MC headquarters.
My life felt a tad out of control, but I kept reminding myself that today could have been a lot worse. We could be taking Ben to the morgue, rather than a clubhouse.
Landon parked in the side lot and rounded the truck to open the door for me. I’d somewhat managed to compose myself, but my eyes felt like they’d been rubbed with sandpaper and my heart wasn’t doing much better. After making sure I could stand on my own two feet, Landon joined Havoc and Wasp as they retrieved Ben from the back of the truck and carried him inside.
I followed the strange procession through the front door and into a giant common area made up of multiple furniture groupings situated around television sets, pool tables, and dart boards. As soon as the door closed behind me, the trio set down their package and unwrapped Ben.
Something inside of me had been terrified that his chest exploded or his lungs collapsed or he’d suffocated, or any number of bad scenarios had befallen him, but my brother, the asshole, was smiling as he shook free of the tarp.
His gaze met mine. “I’m fine, sis. We’re all gonna be fine,” he said.
“But you could have died,” I reminded him.
He wrapped me in a side hug, wincing as the movement tugged on his wound. His arms were strong and wiry, and I marveled at the fact that this was the same baby brother I used to balance on my lap and read stories to. When I wasn’t looking, he’d grown up. Then he’d joined a gang, and now we were faking his death.
And I was having a hard time coping with it all.
“Come on, Link and Blade are waiting,” Havoc said. He led us past the entrance to a large kitchen with a bar set up, down a brightly-lit hallway, and into an office decorated in all black and white, the focal point of which being a giant MIA flag hanging on the wall above a high-backed chair. The rest of the walls held dozens of framed news articles about homeless veterans or veterans who’d committed suicide.
Link stood from behind his desk and greeted us. As did Emily, Blade, and a curvy woman with brown hair, brown eyes, and high cheekbones, who were all seated on a sofa opposite Link’s desk. Introductions were made, and the woman was introduced as Wendy, Blade’s wife. Havoc brought in folding chairs and everyone sat.
“Havoc says you need to get out of the city, Ben,” Link said, getting right down to business. “Have you thought about where you’ll go yet?”
“Actually, I’ve been pushing around the idea of joining the service.”
“You have?” I asked, shocked. Ben had never talked about going into the military before.
