Mercy

  MERCY

  A Dark Erotica

  By Lucian Bane

  © 2015 by Lucian Bane

  All rights reserved. No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of Lucian Bane or his legal representative.

  To all the readers, fans, and or reader’s clubs. Thank you for supporting my work. I’d also like to ask nicely that you please not Pirate my work. That basically means don’t give it away just because you bought it. If you know of anybody that can’t afford a copy, just let me know. I’m a nice guy.

  Also, if you need a different format, please contact me, the author.

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to my beautiful, amazing, gorgeous wife. I love you forever. Thank you so much for putting up with me, for believing in me, for loving me.

  Acknowledgements:

  First, to all the beta readers. We tried, lol. Thank you for whatever you were able to do. Next time will go much better.

  I’d like to thank the ladies in my private Dark Erotica group for helping me pick out details on our characters and what-not: Louisa Gray Angel wings tattoo. Syrina Roberts~ kitchen and bath. Sherri Maughan ~Special Room. Mushy Romance book, and For The Love of Pain Thunderclap, Nan DeVore-Lindsey~Car, Jenny McKinney Shepherd~ Living Room, Kelly Mallett~eye contact, Louisa Gray’s Husband~ Black Velvet, Jan Kinder~ Sade’s Skin Sanctuary, Tammy Singleton Burch~ Sweetest piece of candy in the factory, Lacy Cosme~ The Pain Seekers by Lady Dom (Erotic Horror)

  A very huge and special thanks to my PA, Jan Kinder. As usual, it would be oh holy shit if it weren’t for you helping me every single day. All day. And night. The Brat Keeper.

  Thank you to my street team, ladies you rock. Every day. Thank you for putting up with all my crazy marketing schemes and endless groups. I love all of you and all the hard work you put out. Seriously.

  A special thanks to Kimie Sutherland and team. Kimie, thanks for taking the time to beta read, and thanks to those on your team that help get Mercy into the hands of readers. Big hugs ladies.

  Chapter One

  Jay shuffled on his feet, his face a disgusting mask of punk. “Man, come on, please! Tommy… he’s the one to do this, I’m no good at this!”

  Sade grit his teeth, his need for vengeful pain plowing through him with every breath, every second. He needed to punish and demolish, and he needed it now. “Take them!” He shoved the giant dude, pressing the knuckle busters into his chest. “I’m not fucking waiting for Tommy! I’ll kill you right here in this alley if you don’t do it—now!” he roared.

  "Alright man!" Jay's beefy hands shot up, trembling as he took the brass knuckles.

  “You’re fucking crying?” Sade shook his head in awe. “Jesus you’re a goddamn pussy.”

  “I’m sorry man,” he blubbered, fitting the metal onto his fingers, “you know I’m not a coward! But you’re my friend.”

  “Then do it!” Sade ripped off his shirt and pounded his own chest and slapped his face. “Fucking tear it up! If I can recognize myself in the mirror when I wake up” he aimed a finger at him, “I’m coming—and I’m going to show you how it’s done, Jay. You don’t want that, you’re a fucking good looking dude.”

  Jay shook his head rapidly. “I got you man, I got you. I’ll fuck you up good.”

  God, he was a fucking blubbering whale—tears soaking his face, fucking little bitch. He was adding the wrong kind of fury to an already fucked up day. And Tommy? That two-ton sack of shit was going to get it. Not being here on this day when he knew the drill, he fucking knew.

  “I need the bathroom man,” Jay whimpered.

  Sade slammed his fists into the wall of muscle. “Piss in your goddamn pants!” he yelled.

  Jay finally nailed him one. Not at full power but it was that first rush, a blessed start!

  “Don’t stop!”

  Jay let out a series of pathetic wails and lit into him. With every pop on Sade’s face, fresh life entered him like a cleansing breath. All year a filthy evil built inside his body, and every year on this day, he cleaned that fucking clock. Every year, he threw blood money at a toll that could never be paid, torched a bridge that refused to burn.

  But it was another year down. He’d lost track of them.

  Happy Birthday mom.

  ****

  Project Johnathon Lee Ashfield, AKA Sade. That answered a lot for Mercy. Including why her father might not tell her about this. He was too protective. Anything that was connected to danger was off limits to her.

  Dizziness swam through her and she sat down with the strange orange envelope that had suddenly popped up out of nowhere two weeks after her father died. It was nothing but past demons attempting to steal the one good thing she’d ever had in her life. Her dad was a mercenary. A mercenary of goodness, that’s what he was. And if he was connected to this… criminal looking person in anyway, it was to help him. No doubt about it. Just as he’d done when he rescued her.

  The dense pain of the last two weeks eased suddenly as she leaned back and stared at the picture of this Sade person. He had homegrown monster written all over him. It wasn’t just the short cropped hair, the tattoos and piercings, or the six foot heavily muscled frame, it was his background. Raised in the worst part of the city, son of a man who dealt in illegal drugs, prostitution, and flesh trade. His mother was murdered when he was four. She scanned for details, not finding any. But it seemed clear that life became a field of blood for him ever since. Did he love her? Remember her? Was she good to him? Bad to him?

  Mercy sighed, her heart tight and heavy. He was the saddest form of victim turned criminal with sadomasochism as his only accomplishment to show for it all. She stared into the hard gaze of the man in the picture, wondering about his life and what brought him to that. She tried to imagine him with a smile, what those eyes might look like before he’d turned hard.

  Just what did her father have in mind for him was the question.

  She tossed the papers onto the couch as the weight of her father’s death swept in with its daily blow. She missed him so bad. The grieving process had barely begun and the knowledge that she had months, maybe years of that left, twisted the knife in her heart and stomach. The temptation to go numb and cover it all up stole her breath some days. Sheer will of obligation. That was the life preserver she clung to. Everything her father was and everything he’d sacrificed. The years he’d spent dragging her through recovery, helping her overcome the nightmares and demons of her life—from birth to the time he snatched her out of that fire. The years he spent training her to be strong, equipping her with every manner of self-defense so that nobody could ever hurt her again.

  That’s why she kept going. That’s why there was no giving up. She lived for him now, the way he once lived for her.

  She needed to find out what he had in mind with this man. If he’d wanted to help him... then she did too. She could do it.

  ****

  Mercy found a spot to park, not far from the family’s club they ran according to Mr. Sade’s bio. She argued with the voice of her father about coming to one of the worst parts of Los Angeles in the name of helping anybody, let alone the son of a major drug dealer, illegal arms pusher, and flesh trader. The rogue otherworldly connection with her dad was odd but comforting. In fact, it was the first time she felt alive since he had died.

  She stood next to her inconspicuous black Juke, dressed in matching inconspicuous athletic gear. Instincts from years of training mingled with realism, forming a calming concoction. There was no sane reason in the vicinity to be calm. Could have been the adrenalin mixed with feelings connected to her father that caused the misfiring of intuition.

  Gripping her coll
apsible titanium walking stick slash ass beater, she hit the alarm on the car and headed toward the backside of the club. She’d done a bit of recon on the place and there should be an entrance in the alley behind it. And for some reason--maybe her lack-luster social skills--it seemed safer than the front side. It would be her first miscalculation.

  The crowd in the front was vanilla ice cream in comparison to the crowd in the back and the energy screamed 'welcome to your last wrong turn'. Her walking stick suddenly felt all wrong too. She clicked the button on top and collapsed it to billy club size while praying it wouldn’t be interpreted as a challenge. She was just a nobody pedestrian taking a short-cut through Hell Street. That's all.

  Even as she prayed for invisibility, a voice slurred from somewhere too close behind her, “Hey, where you going in such a hurry?”

  A shot of panic quickened her legs to the pace of her hammering heart while the instinct to avoid a fight burned in her muscles. No running. Not here. Worst possible confrontation instincts kicked in now, dictating one goal. Do what it takes to survive. No different than training. That’s all. All the same. Ass kicking was kicking fucking ass no matter what ground you stood on.

  Mercy aimed her momentum for what should be the alley leading to the back entrance. Too bad it was flanked by a large group of people. Only consolation was the mixed gender. Surely it couldn’t be worse than who now followed with kissy noises and vulgar laughter that promised fun times in your worst nightmare.

  When it was time to ask permission to get through the throng, she clicked the button on the stick and expanded it with a discreet shake. Holding the weapon against her, she rotated the tips between bodies, maneuvering them out of her way with an unnoticeable push and pull. Seconds later, she'd zig-zagged right through the small cracks she created and exited the other side.

  “Hey! Stop!” a voice yelled behind her as she hurried along.

  The run instinct hit again and she didn't deny it. With all she had, Mercy sprinted around that final turn and raced down the stretch with pursuing feet pounding behind her.

  Dread slammed her at spotting a barricade at the far end. Don’t stop, don’t stop.

  She flew past a large dumpster, frantically searching the building for some other escape as a deep voice continued to yell stop behind her.

  She finally made it to the back entrance of the club and slammed into it. Locked!

  A sound of struggling and grunting spun her around where two men fought on this side of the dumpster. Gasping for wind, she looked around the large metal container and found her pursuer pacing in the alley a ways back like he wasn’t allowed beyond that point.

  The sick smacking of fist on flesh drew her attention. Her gaze zeroed in on the blood covering every inch of the man's face and detonated past nightmares. All her survival training and instincts kicked in again, a singular mantra booming in her blood and pulse. Stop! Stop! Stop! "Stop killing him! Stop it!” she screamed, rushing toward them.

  But the beast didn’t stop. He beat the lifeless man, giving a cry of torment with every blow. The gleam of brass knuckles caught Mercy’s eye and without thought or warning, she swung her stick full force behind the maniac’s kneecaps, laying him on his back. She followed with four swift blows-- shins--kidney--diaphragm--trachea--busting them.

  The huge man groaned in agony and choked while Mercy knelt next to the bloodied guy and pressed two trembling fingers into his warm neck. No pulse. “Oh God! Sir! Sir, can you hear me?” She fought back her past hysteria clawing to take control of her mind. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. She glanced down the alley and caught sight of the man who'd chased her. “Help me! Call 911! Help me!”

  “Who… the fuck are you?”

  She jerked to the rasp on the ground. “Oh my God, you’re alive!” she whispered. “Can you move? I don’t have my phone.” Her voice shook in relief while feeling like such a fool for not bringing it. “You need a doctor.”

  “Are you… an angel?” he barely managed through his swollen lips, sounding confused.

  “I’m a nurse.” She didn’t need an x-ray to see it. “You’re broken. He broke a lot of fucking bones,” she whimpered, staring at the horribly swollen face.

  “Really?” The word slurred, sounding oddly hopeful. “Jay... did a… pretty good job.”

  She stared at him for endless seconds and the realization bashed into her like a tidal wave. Oh my God. It’s him. She’d nearly spoken his name and caught herself. “What do you mean?” were the only words she could manage, tiny and hoarse. He knew the guy that beat him? What kind of sick party had she stumbled into?

  He attempted to sit up much to her shock and she hurried to help him only to have him resist. “You are not getting up without help.”

  He paused only briefly and she winced when he smiled with swollen lips. “Yes ma’am.”

  “Jesus Christ you’re so beat up,” she muttered, putting her weight into supporting him. “You need a doctor.”

  “Lead me in,” he barely said.

  “That door is locked.” He stumbled and she put more weight under his arm.

  “Lead… me to it.”

  When they stood at the back entrance, he swayed for several moments with his eyes swollen shut. “Knock,” he croaked.

  She banged on the door rapidly and it opened so quickly, she jumped.

  “Ah shit,” the deep voice said from the other side. “It’s over?”

  What’s over?

  “Leave,” he mumbled.

  “Me?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” the deep voice said. “You. Go.”

  The man pushed her out of the doorway and shut it, leaving Mercy in the alley with the now growling giant behind her. She looked back the way she’d come, finding it empty. Freedom. Her cue. She sprinted the entire way back to her car, busting through people without thought.

  No more. She’d seen enough. Done enough. For now.

  Back in the safety of her locked vehicle and nearly home, she began to tremble. Wow. What. A fucking. Rush. She'd met Sade—be it unofficially. What a mess. What in God's name was he doing-- what in the hell was going on in that alley? Some kind of initiation? He was kind of... owning everything to be doing anything crazy like that though wasn't he?

  So many more questions now. So many sad questions. But... she had reason to make contact again. Shit. How the hell would she legitimately have his number? Dammit!

  She remembered the mention of a tattoo shop that he owned in his bio. That was it. That was her next lead. She would check that door and see if it led inside.

  Chapter Two

  Four days of recuperation. Sade wasn’t happy with that. Should have been more. Fucking pussy Jay. He stood at the stainless steel fridge, a flash of a face surfacing. He had dreamed of a girl. He thought harder and remembered only worried green eyes. Was it somebody he knew? Maybe someone from his past? Had he come close enough to dying that he saw angels? He snorted. Dying. Joke of his life. Death was the biggest fucking temptress whore. He didn’t fuck many things but he’d fuck death right in its loud-ass mouth.

  She may have been pretty like an angel but he was sure no angel would ever come to his aid for any fucking thing.

  The sound of the phone drew his gaze toward a too bright living room. He made his way over and peered down at the number. Out of state. Probably a telemarketer. He headed back to the kitchen for that protein shake. Time to get back in the game. Play the play and work for the fucking man.

  Twenty-five couldn’t come fast enough. One more year and he’d be free of his bastard father.

  The answering machine clicked on. “Hey Sade, sorry about the no show. I’m calling from Mexico man, I ran into some trouble.”

  Sade hurried to the phone as fast as he could at hearing Tommy’s odd voice. He yanked the receiver up. “Tommy?”

  “Sade, man. Look, I got trouble.”

  Sade’s heart hammered at the finality in his tone. “Talk to me.”

  “It’s over for me man.
I’m just calling to let you know. I crossed some lines. I got one call to make. Look, don’t worry about it,” he said lightly, sympathy in his voice.

  Sade clenched his eyes shut, already knowing. Tommy had finally gotten caught dipping. He fucking knew he would. He was right, there was not a damn thing he could do and yet... “I got money.”

  “Aw man,” he sounded grateful. “No way out of this. And you told me, you tried to warn me. I just wanted to say…” Sade held his breath during the long pause. “I love you like a brother.” Those final words were nearly whispered and not easily spoken he knew. “Was real good knowing you. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for your mom’s birthday man, you know I was always there for you.”

  Sade’s jaw refused to unhinge for him to speak. Speak final words to a man he was only a half-ass friend to. He was trapped in that prison of silence, the fucking place he cowered with his arms over his head so the pain could have its way. Sometimes you had to let go and not fight, some pains you couldn’t fight, they were bigger than you. Those times Sade prayed two things. That he’d die, or that he’d live stronger. And since he was still living, he was one strong motherfucker. But this…. This pain was different.

  “I hear you man,” Tommy whispered. “Even though you can’t say it. But I gotta go now.”

  The phone disconnected and the receiver trembled in Sade’s death grip. His eyes remained clenched tight as the monster inside him made its way through the cracks in that vault door. And when it finally plowed through, Sade opened himself wide for it, devouring its rage and demolishing his entire apartment and everything in it. Destroy, kill, destroy, kill. It was all there was. All there ever was.

  And there was no more Tommy.

  ****

  Sade made his way to the shop, the urge to give and receive pain in a vicious tug-of-war inside him, a steady pulse in his body. It all had his sick dick hard like iron as he entered the shop from the back, hoping nobody was there and yet praying they were. Everything was a conflict inside him, from what he needed and wanted to how he’d go about getting it.