Page 53 of Burned in Stone
I lost control back there. I let Gabriel get to me, push every button until I’d have thrown away everything—my freedom, the club’s safety, Mercy’s protection—just to see his face break. That’s exactly what he wanted. And I almost gave it to him.
Because that’s what guys like him do. They push until you snap, then use your reaction as proof you were the problem all along. The angry kid. The violent biker. The criminal who can’t control himself. I’ve spent years learning to keep that control, to never let authority figures see me lose it. And Gabriel almost made me forget everything I learned.
“Fucking piece of shit. Calling her a whore. In front of everyone. I should’ve?—”
“Cash.” Mercy’s voice is soft behind me.
I spin around to find her pulling off her own helmet, her hair wild around her face. Bones and Steel have pulled up too, but they stay on their bikes, giving us space.
“I should’ve hit him,” I spit. “Should’ve broken his fucking jaw for talking to you like that.”
“And gotten arrested,” Mercy says, setting her helmet on my bike seat. “Which is exactly what he wanted.”
“I don’t care?—”
“I do.” She steps closer, her hands reaching for mine. “I care, Cash. You getting locked up doesn’t help me. It just gives him more ammunition.”
I want to pull away, want to keep raging, but her fingers are gentle as they uncurl my fists. There are crescent marks in my palms from my nails digging in.
“He called you a whore,” I say, my voice cracking. “Like you’re nothing. Like you’re?—”
“I know what he called me.” Her thumbs stroke over my palms. “And it doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.”
“Why?” She looks up at me, eyes steady. “Because it’s not true? Or because you wanted to defend my honor?”
“Both. Neither. I don’t—” I pull my hands free, running them through my hair. “I just wanted to hurt him. For everything he’s done to you. For the way he looks at you like he owns you.”
“But he doesn’t,” Mercy says simply. “Not anymore. Maybe not ever, really.”
She picks up my helmet, inspecting it for damage. There’s a new scrape along the side, but it’s fine. She sets it on the bike next to hers, then turns back to me.
“You know what pisses him off more than anything?” she asks.
“What?”
“That I’m happy.” She steps into my space, her hands sliding up my chest. “That I’m with you. That I’m wearing your name and I chose it. Violence would just prove his point about the MC being dangerous. But me being happy? Me choosing this life? That’s what’s really eating him alive.”
And she’s right. She’s fucking right. The best revenge isn’t violence—it’s showing Gabriel he has no power anymore. Thathe can stand there with his badge and his threats and his poisonous words, and at the end of the day, Mercy still chooses me. Still walks away with me. Still wears my name on her back.
That’s the difference. Choice, not force.
I wrap my arms around her, pulling her against me. “I hate that he can just walk up to you like that.”
“Me too,” she admits into my shirt. “But Josie’s handling it. We’re doing this the right way.”
“The right way sucks.”
She laughs, the sound muffled against my chest. “Yeah, it does.”
Bones clears his throat. “We should get moving. Don’t want to give him time to set up somewhere else.”
I nod, pressing a kiss to Mercy’s forehead. “You good to ride?”
“I’m good if you are.”
I’m not, not really. The rage is still there, simmering under my skin. But Mercy’s here, solid and real in my arms.
