I don’t want to be here. Why Claudine is still involved with the club after everything is beyond me. God damn Ravage and his meddling.
I should’ve known there’d be a price to pay. There always is.
Catch Up
Part 1: The Drifter
Chapter 3
Now
“Don’t you at least want to see him?” Claudine calls after me.
I march toward the front door, bag in hand. I should’ve known this was all a setup. If I had a phone, I’d tell Ravage exactly what I think about all of this. I put my hand on the doorknob and turn it.
Claudine slips between the door and me, blocking my way out. Her chest heaves, her Cunt tattoo practically staring me in the face. “Don’t you want to see your daughter? Don’t you want your family back?”
I laugh. “Since when do you care about my family?” I spit the words at her.
She blanches, sagging against the door. “Water under the bridge,” she says weakly.
“Yes,” I say. “It’s all over and done. Now let me through.”
“I’ve been told . . . not to.”
“By who? Ravage?”
She purses her lips.
“Claudine, you owe me this. Get out of my way.”
“I’ve got a guest bedroom,” she says. “There’s your own bathroom. You’ll hardly even notice I’m here.”
I don’t want to be here. Why Claudine is even still involved with the club is beyond me. She was all but banished after everything. Goddamn Ravage and his meddling.
I turn away, fuming. I never should’ve come to him and the club for help. I should’ve known there’d be a price to pay. There always is.
“Please,” Claudine begs. “We both know I can’t keep you here. I’m a heavy sleeper.”
I roll my eyes. I don’t want to know how she sleeps. Seeing her in bed with my husband was enough. I don’t need any other visuals.
“Mercy wants—”
“I don’t care what he wants,” I tell her, shoulders sagging. The long train ride is finally catching up to me. “All I want is a hot shower and a good night of sleep.”
“I can give you that,” she says.
I march toward the stairs.
“It’s the bedroom on the left.”
I begin to climb.
Claudine’s hot water isn’t half bad. I stand under the stream for an hour before it runs cold. Her guest bed isn’t bad, either. The sheets are clean and smell like Tide and Gain. How this homewrecking whore can afford the good shit is beyond me. There’s a small dresser with an even smaller TV on top of it. I change my clothes and put everything back in my bag, then stretch out across the bed with the remote in my hand.
She’s even got a decent cable package, with HBO and Showtime.
Goddamn Claudine.
I should’ve asked when he’s supposed to be getting out. I have no idea how much time I’ve got.
I’ve got no plan, either.
What else is new?
Goddamn Mercy.
I put on a Lifetime movie and try to follow the plot: some woman stealing some other woman’s baby. It’s always the same, but I’m a sucker for these movies. I love the thrill, the not-so-surprising twist, the happy but ominous ending. I fall asleep halfway through, my dreams a tumble of brown eyes and big hands, golden wedding rings falling through the dark, a baby’s cry.
When I wake, it’s just a little after 7:00 a.m. The house is empty, but I find the coffee pot set up for me and a note from Claudine.
Have a good day.
I crumple it up and throw it in the garbage.
While the coffeemaker does its thing, I sit down at Claudine’s table and try to figure out my next move. I can either sit around here and wait for her to get home—or even worse, for him to show up—or I can make my escape plan.
Shannon and Ravage gave me a little cash, and I have a bit more in my checking account from the waitressing job I had. That’s one downside to being a drifter: a resume shot full of holes. I didn’t even give them my two weeks’ notice.
I’ve got enough for a couple nights in a motel or a couple more train tickets. Not both.
That’s never bothered me, though. The universe has a way of arranging things for you, if you’re prepared to take the leap of faith. I don’t really know what I’ve got faith in anymore, other than my own two feet.
I find Claudine’s laptop and turn it on, then make myself a cup of coffee while I wait for it to boot up. Her mugs are tiny, an insult to coffee and tea drinkers everywhere.
While I sip, I look up train schedules. My biggest hurdle is getting to the train station itself. After that, I can go anywhere: down to Florida (always a good time), out to Colorado (even colder than Connecticut this time of year, but beautiful), even up to Canada (I think my passport is still good).
I’m weighing my options, making up my mind when someone knocks at the door.
Thank you for reading Chapter 3 of Her Mercy, a River Reapers MC prequel novella.
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