Mercy (Sin City Outlaws #2)(19)

“Damn, brother, what kind of shit you in?”

“Some deep shit,” Zeek replies, his tone thick. His head tilts back, dark hair falling in his eyes. That look, that image of dark outlaw that crosses his face makes my teeth impale my bottom lip. It’s scary, and sexy.

“I’m headed to my brother’s, but he’s got some heat on him. We just need to wait it out is all.” Paw looks at me again, then Zeek.

“Right, well let me show you the place.”

Paw opens a door attached to the house, and we follow him in. It’s practically empty. The smell of fresh paint and new carpet strong. It’s as if it’s a brand new house.

There is a small purple love seat in front of a fireplace, and a stereo on top of the mantel. A bookshelf with a few books sitting by itself on one wall. A table on the far side, with scales and baggies littered everywhere.

Wait. I do a doubletake at the table.

“I mostly got everything cleaned out from the previous owners, just gotta get that f*cking bookshelf out of here. I ain’t about to box all those books myself and trying to find men who aren’t lazy is hard as f*ck. Anyway, there is a bed in the back room, sometimes my boys get to working so many hours on a drop they just crash here.”

My eyes widen as I take in my surroundings, my heart beating. This isn’t just any house. The words are lodged in my throat that I so desperately want to spill.

“How long you need to stay?” Paw juts his chin out at Zeek, who is looking around the place. “I gotta set up shop by next week or I’ll get behind on orders.”

“A week maybe, tops.”

“I can make it work. Here, I brought you some shit. I ain’t stock no food yet, and I wasn’t sure if there was anything left behind in the cabinets.” Paw sets down a white grocery bag I didn’t notice he was carrying.

“Thanks, again, for looking out, Paw.” Zeek nods.

“No doubt. Got some whiskey in there that’ll help with that arm too.” Zeek looks down at his shoulder.

“I could use that. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it, brother. I’ll leave ya to it. Holler if you run into some shit.” When he turns around there is a tattoo of a big ass tiger paw inked into the skin of his head. The house vibrates as the garage door closes and Paw leaves.

“It’ll do for now, at least we won’t be sleeping in the back of the van,” Zeek states, bending down to grab the grocery bag off the floor. The words I had lodged in my throat expel into a vengeful scream, as I shove Zeek hard. Anger slamming in my chest so hard I feel my face redden. His head whips in my direction with surprise as tears spring to my eyes from being pissed.

“You brought me to a f*cking trap house, Zeek?” I scream. My hands balled into fists, I push him again just for the hell of it. I can’t believe this is where he’d take me, that he’d just accept staying here knowing who I am and what I stand for. He had to know I wouldn’t be okay with this.

I go to shove him again, but he steps out of reach. Having enough of me pushing him around, he grabs both my wrists, and forces me to stop.

“I didn’t know, Jillian. Fuck!” he hollers, letting go of my hands he swipes his hands through his hair.

“We can’t stay here.”

A trap house is place drug dealers use to make or sell drugs out of. Sometimes they even use it to squat and do drugs. They pick houses in normal neighborhoods. The ones with Home Owners’ Associations, expensive houses, and flashy cars. Ones where there is no violence, and cops wouldn’t think to give a second look unless the Botox face next door lost her purse poodle.

“It’s not like we have much of a choice. We can’t stay in the van, we’re lucky nobody has spotted it with it being stolen.”

I fall into the sofa, resting my elbows on my knees, and let my head fall into my hands. I know he’s trying the best he can, but I feel more out of my element here than I have anywhere we’ve been. I am trained to spot places like this and take them down. Yet, here I am, hiding in one so I don’t get caught in a stolen van. I’m losing it. I’m seriously losing my shit.

The only thing I ever had growing up was the dream of being a sheriff, I put all my eggs in that basket, and that basket just got thrown against the wall.

“This is against everything I stand for,” I whisper, my eyes threatening to spill unshed tears. I thought Paw was just some wannabe drug dealer. I thought maybe he slung dope to some potheads on the side, but when there’s a trap house involved, we’re talking the big deal here. This is the kind of place that is a f*cking wet dream to the DEA.

“I know.” He squats into my line of sight, his eyes holding sorrow and regret. Reaching forward he thumbs a tear from my cheek, rubbing it between his index finger and thumb. The way he looks at my tears is as if he’s never seen the emotion before, like it confuses him and that always takes me by surprise. I used to think that his family raised him to be an animal, but even animals feel. No, they turned Zeek into a weapon.

It makes me feel for the both of us when I see him do something human, feel something he’s not used to feeling. I want to climb in his lap, wrap my legs around his waist, and suck his face.

“You’re going to have to get your hands dirty if you want to clean them. I told you…just trust me.”

I stand, pushing him out of the way. “Yeah, and before I know it I’ll be the one killing cops. It all starts somewhere.”