Mercy (Sin City Outlaws #2)(14)

“Flowers? Really? I don’t see anyone sitting around smoking lilies,” I smart.

“I’m sure someone has tried it before, and if it made you feel like weed did, people would be smoking lilies, I’m sure.”

I roll my lips into a thin line to stifle my smile.

He pulls on the homemade tourniquet on his arm, the white rag nearly soaked with blood. Swallowing, I sit up and open the glove compartment. He’s not wanting it for the thrill of getting high, he’s in pain.

He was shot trying to save my ass.

“There’s nothing.”

“Shit!” His husky tone vibrates through me and I wonder how much pain he truly is in and if it’s bearable at this point. Should he even be driving? I question as I glance back over at him, my eyes zoning straight in on where the blood soaked rag is.

“You sure we shouldn’t see a doctor?”

“Yes!” he snaps, making me jump in my seat. Asshole. He glances at me out of the corner of his eye, like he didn’t mean to lash out.

Having had enough of this interaction I turn in my seat, looking out the window.

An hour goes by, and I can’t help the incredible urge to pee any longer. I’ve been holding it for the last twenty minutes.

“I need to pee.”

Zeek huffs, looking over at me.

“Can’t you hold it, we’re almost there.”

“How close?”

“I don’t know. Ten minutes, maybe?”

I could hold it, but I want to be a pain in the ass. After all, he put me in f*cking cuffs again.

“No, I need to go now.”

His shoulders rise, his eyes piercing me knowingly. He knows I’m trying to anger him. I can’t help the smile breaking through my lips. “Really bad, too.”

Motorcycles zoom past us, but it’s too dark to read the insignia on their cuts.

“We really are close,” I state.

Zeek pulls the van over, a bunch of cars, and bikes parked around a building about a block up.

“Why are you parking back here? Aren’t you going to go in there, guns blazing and shit like you normally do?”

“No, I’m not.” He exhales, sitting back in his seat. “Normally I would. But things are different.” He pauses, his lips rolling over one another in thought. He seems conflicted, or worried. To be honest I don’t know what it is, I’ve never seen this look on Zeek’s face before. “I killed one of their members,” he mutters, his words coming off like he’s not proud. I almost forgot Zeek and his brother, Lip, got into a war, resulting in a member of the Devil’s Dust being killed at the hands of Zeek.

“Remorse, an emotion I don’t think I’ve seen the King of Vegas display before.” Snapping his head up, he glares at me, making me suck in a tight breath. The way his hair falls into his eyes, and the intense way his jaw clenches. His shoulders rising as his arms flex, it’s scary.

“I wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for trying to keep you safe.” His words hit me hard, like a punch to the gut knocking the wind right out of me. I don’t know how to take his comment, because although I didn’t ask him to keep me safe I am glad that it is him keeping me protected, and I don’t want him to regret doing it at all.

“You think he’s really going to help?” I ask, switching the subject.

Shaking his head, he rests his hands on the steering wheel.

“We don’t have anywhere else to go.”

The music is blaring from down the block, half naked chicks and stumbling men walking around. Seems like a big party is going on. There’s so many people walking up and down the street you’d think there was a concert going on instead of a small party.

“I don’t think tonight is the best night to waltz in there,” I state, eyeing the scene more carefully.

“And why’s that?” he questions, looking out the windshield.

“People have been drinking, probably doing drugs. When they see you, they won’t be thinking clearly, and everyone will side with the Devils leaving you and I without a chance.” I point across the way at a silver Crown Vic about a block away from the club in the opposite direction. “Plus, they got heat on them.”

Zeek’s head whips in the direction of my finger. “Seriously? How do you know?” His tone frantic.

I shrug, and continue on.

“It’s a popular car among law enforcement, it looks out of place, and it has a coffee cup on the dash. Looks like a classic stake out.” Memories of my first stake out with my dad come to memory.

“Dad who are we watching?”

My dad replied, reaching for his coffee.

“A criminal, honey,” he said, not looking at me as he took a sip. His tone of voice mimicked the sound of voice he made when a sneaky snake slithered into the garage. I looked around the car, hoping for something to do while I sat there. Dad took me on a lot of his shifts when my mom was helping the church. He didn’t want me home alone, even though I felt being ten years old was plenty old enough to be left at home alone.

“What did he do?”

“Get down!” my dad whispered loudly, slouching in his seat. I dropped to the floorboard, knocking the box of sprinkled donuts to the floor as I tried to contain my giggles.

Headlights splashed across the headliner of the car, before disappearing. “This man has been dealing drugs to kids, he’s very good about not getting caught though. He never touches the product. I’m watching to see who he’s in contact with, see if I can use any of them as an informant.”