Page 34 of Mercy

Meghan laughs, the sound like music to my ears. "That doesn't leave much off the table, Charm."

As we make our way to the heavy industrial door connecting the clubhouse to Bubba's, I can't help but marvel at how natural Meghan seems here.

It's like she's always been a part of our world, fitting in seamlessly.

The door swings open, revealing the familiar warmth of the bar.

The exposed brick walls and snaking pipes overhead give the place its signature industrial-chic vibe.

We settle into a booth, the polished wood smooth beneath my hands.

"So," Meghan says, leaning forward, her eyes searching mine. "Are you going to tell me what's really going on, or do I have to guess?"

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. "That obvious, huh?"

She reaches across the table, her fingers intertwining with mine. "To me? Yeah. You've got that look—the one that says you're carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders."

For a moment, I consider brushing it off, sticking to the story of "just club stuff."

But as I look into Meghan's eyes, I'm struck by the depth of concern and care I see there.

She deserves the truth—or at least, as much of it as I can safely share.

"There's a new player in town," I say quietly, leaning in close. "Calls himself the Patriot. He's causing trouble, trying to muscle in on local businesses."

Meghan's brow furrows. "The Patriot? Sounds like a real charmer."

I can't help but chuckle at her dry tone. "Yeah, a real stand-up guy. Dad and I ran into some of his men in the city. It... didn't end well for them."

Her eyes widen slightly. "Are you okay? Did anyone get hurt?"

The concern in her voice warms me, even as I rush to reassure her. "We're fine. Just some bruised knuckles and wounded pride on their end. But now this Patriot is making threats, talking about consequences."

Meghan's grip on my hand tightens. "That sounds serious, Tor. What are you gonna do?"

I shrug, trying to project more confidence than I feel. "For now? We watch and wait. Gather intel. Figure out what we're dealing with before making any moves."

She nods slowly, processing. "And you're okay with that? The waiting?"

Her question catches me off guard.

Am I okay with it?

Part of me itches for action, wants to hunt down this Patriot and show him exactly what happens when you threaten the Raiders of Valhalla.

But I don’t have a choice.

As a prospect, it’s my job to follow orders.

"I have to be," I say finally. "After everything that happened with the cartel... we can't rush in blind."

Meghan's free hand comes up to cup my cheek, her touch impossibly gentle. "You've been through so much already. It's not fair that you have to deal with this now."

I lean into her touch, closing my eyes briefly. "Life's not fair, sweetheart. But having you here? That makes it a hell of a lot more bearable.”

A sharp whistle cuts through the air, jerking me out of my thoughts.

I turn to see Fern, my dad's ol’ lady, gesturing for me to come over.

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