Page 67 of Rolling 75 (The Noire Brothers #1)

RYKER

D espite my background that is arguably anchored by violence, I don’t have experience with battlefields—not in regard to military combat, an inner-city war, or anything in between. That’s not my expertise.

And yet I feel it. That rumble from the bleat of pain, the shift in the air, the hysteria my girl is in.

I feel her .

My body moves before my mind has determined where I’m headed. Kane follows behind, his pounding steps battering in my wake. Out through the exit that seems to be where they store the trash, past a dumpster, and around a corner.

Kane contacts one of his guys, instructing them to keep this back area clear and to run interference so no one else follows up on that godawful shriek.

Then he reports out to me with an update from them.

Courthouse security has taken to gathering everyone on the grand front steps since the explosions occurred in the back.

The police sirens are closing in. The commotion is contained to a designated area.

And the alleys are empty.

Except for one.

As I pass a side street and round the corner, Mercy is sprinting toward me, barefoot, holding one of her shoes, hair wild and face marred with terror. A man chases after her. Without a thought in my head, I raise my pistol and lodge a bullet between his eyes.

It’s merely a whiz and the thump of his body hitting the ground because of my silencer, but she shudders and freezes. Those forest-brown irises lock on to mine with a plea that might as well be a scream. She’s haunted and hollow and petrified. Again.

A blistering rage churns in my veins and bones and every fucking cell. But I stuff it down. That’s not what she needs.

Rushing toward her, I scoop her up. “I’ve got you, baby.”

She falls limp in my arms, a soundless sob racking through her chest. She’s likely headed into shock. Her breathing is labored, and her heart is thudding against me.

“I did it with my shoe,” she mutters, which sounds like gibberish.

Until I see the bailiff on the asphalt twenty yards away, with her high heel stuck in his eye socket. Fuck.

“You did so good, Merce,” I praise and plant a kiss in her matted hair, thoroughly impressed. “You’re a warrior, just like I told you. My Viper.”

Kane jumps into action, ripping the shoe out of the guy, which brings with it the eyeball.

Mercy tracks the extraction, lurches over my bicep, and retches down the side of me. She’s dazed and muttering about going to prison and some other things I can’t quite catch.

I open Mercy’s bag, urging Kane to drop the high heel inside it so there’s no evidence of her at the site. He knocks the eyeball off, removes his shirt, wraps the heel in it, and drops it inside before he begins moving the bodies.

“I need to get her out of here,” I tell him. “I’m calling it in to Wells and Ty. You’ll be good?”

“We got it,” he assures me, referring to him and the rest of his team.

I make a quick call to Seth, one of my other guards, instructing him to meet me at the corner with my car. Then I pop in my earbud, dial Ty, and race through the back alleys toward a side street, with Mercy and her bag slung across me and my pistol drawn.

Ty answers on the first ring because I rarely call. “Yeah?”

“She was ambushed at the courthouse. I don’t know what happened, but a bailiff had her out in an alleyway, two streets over, and she took him out. We’re gonna need the cameras wiped.”

“Got it.” He relays something to someone in the background, most likely Liam since he’s their cyber expert. “We’ll wipe the courthouse and all surrounding buildings. Body?”

I skirt a chain-link fence, veer around a dilapidated building, and resume my jog to the meeting point, squinting into the blinding late afternoon sun. “Two actually. I handled the other. Kane has them.”

“Wells is contacting one of our FBI agents,” Ty responds, and the comforting clack of a keyboard and all of them setting to work trills in the background. “They’ll run interference while we get this cleaned up. I’ll contact Kane. She can’t identify anyone?”

The heat is oppressive today. Humidity high. It doesn’t help that I’m running in a suit and carrying Mercy, who is also drenched with sweat, with white-hot ire rushing through my veins.

Slowing my pace, I keep us out of sight, waiting in the shadows of an abandoned building. “I haven’t asked yet.”

“Emma,” Mercy whispers.

She couldn’t hear Ty’s question, though she might assume what I was answering. Still, that doesn’t make sense.

I glance at her face, but her eyes are detached. “What about Emma, baby?”

“It was Bryce,” she rasps as Seth pulls up with my car. “He did it. Get Emma.”

Motherfucker.

“Hang on, Ty.” I sprint for the car, open the passenger door, and climb in with Mercy on my lap and her bag at our feet.

It’s a two-seater, but I’d be unwilling to let her go either way.

I tap the dash, so Seth speeds away with us as I finish my call.

“Bryce Wakeford. He’s a charter pilot and the guy Mercy defended today. Emma Campbell might be in danger.”

“Gage is on that. We’ll track them both down.” Ty’s tone is so serene, whereas mine is murderous.

“I want him brought to me. Alive.”

“Understood. Get her home. Burn everything. There’s a record of her being at the courthouse, even without the cameras. We’ll work with our FBI agents to plant a plausible story. But get back to the resort and lie low.”

I end the call, tell Seth to pick up the pace, put on my sunglasses, and send an encrypted text to Axel.

Me: Ambushed at the courthouse by Bryce Wakeford. Called in to Wells’s crew. Home in ten. Clear path to a guest suite.

Axel: She’s okay?

Me: Physically.

The weight of that simple text slams into me. I don’t know how that motherfucker was mixed up with Dalton or what his motive was, but I know it connects to me somehow. It can’t be a coincidence that he’s been trying to get me to approve his La Lune Noire membership for years.

I’m sure that’s not lost on Mercy. She’s probably ready to flee again.

Fuck.

She deserves to feel safe. To feel like her son is being raised in a place where he can run outside and be a little kid without worrying that someone will harm them because of me.

I have to fucking fix this. After I gut that asshole.

Maybe we can go away. I can’t imagine saddling Axel with all the La Lune Noire shit to handle on top of his KORT duties.

He wouldn’t even care about that. He’d understand, but it would kill him to lose us.

It would kill me. To miss Rena becoming a mom.

To miss out on things with Maddox, Cash, and Jax.

They’d all get it though. My mother was the brightest spirit and died because she was entwined with this world. We know all too well that the innocent burn along with the evil in this life.

Ashes and lies.

So, if that’s what it takes to keep her safe, to keep her from retreating into that dark place she goes, that’s what I’ll do.

“You’re okay now, Merce.” My lips press against her temple as I rub her back. “Christ, I love you so much. I was so fucking scared. We’re almost home.”

She sags against me in what I imagine is relief at the sound of that. And three minutes later, Seth drops us off in our private garage, where two of my brothers and a slew of our guards are waiting.

“We’re taking you up this way.” Axel guides us to the service elevator, which we use whenever we have something large delivered to the penthouse or one of our North Tower rooms. “The shower in the junior suite is set up. Cash delivered some clothes and essentials for each of you. Jax is with Remy. Whatever she needs, we’ll make it happen. ”

“And I’ll be escorting,” Maddox adds, stepping into the elevator with us. His wintry eyes land on Mercy, who is trembling, and they might as well be icicles. “When our guest shows up too.”

“That goes for all of us.” Axel taps the button to shut us inside, his features both distressed and vengeful.

We’re stronger together.

When we arrive at the junior suite, Maddox takes Mercy’s bag. They have everything set up for efficient disposal of our clothing.

He glances at my pistol, tucked into my waistband. “Did you use that?”

“Yeah.”

“Axel told me to destroy it. We’ll get you another one.”

That’s irritating but wise, so I hand it over. Once I carry Mercy into the bathroom, I strip us both down, drop our clothing into a garbage bag, and pass it out to him.

“I’ll be back in about fifteen minutes,” he says through the crack in the door.

Mercy is coming around, with the chill of the air-conditioning against her bare skin. Those big brown doe eyes find mine, a perplexing blend of fear and strength swirling in them.

She looked so small in my arms, so fragile in that alley and on the way home. It didn’t matter that her skin wasn’t stained with bruises. It felt like we were on that floor again.

But now, my girl is ready to fight. Like she did in the alley. I’m just not sure if she’ll choose to fight for us this time or only her and Remy.

I flip the shower nozzle to hot and lift her chin. “What’s going on in that head? Talk to me.”

“I want to tell you what happened,” she begins, and while the water runs, she spews the entire story, every detail of Bryce’s Bond-villain confession before steam fills the bathroom, concluding with, “He’s been pulling our strings for years.”

My stomach bottoms out. I’m not sure if she gets it, but I know how men like this work—to a degree.

Bryce is particularly demented. I’m not unfamiliar with game playing though.

Mercy doesn’t see it yet. But his ultimate goal wasn’t making her choose between letting him get away with what he did or keeping her career.

It’s making her question her morality.

He’s proving a point—that she’s no different from her father.

He gave her choices. Moral dilemmas.

One: Turn him in and lose her career. This dishonors her attorney role, but brings justice to the families. Hailey Holden’s family received that with Dalton. But it sounds like there’s another.