Fighting Back (Mercy's Angels)
Read Fighting Back (Mercy's Angels) Online
Authors: Kirsty Dallas
Fighting Back
Mercy’s Angels Book Two
For My Mum and Dad
Who taught me that true strength is more than just a physical attribute.
Rebecca
Have you ever had one of those moments where you look up, open your eyes and wonder,
what the fuck am I doing?
Like you’ve been under some sort of hypnosis and someone finally snapped their fingers and you woke up? I hope I haven’t been clucking like a chicken or imitating an orgasm in my hypnotic state. I feel dazed and bewildered. How the hell did I get here, to this moment? It’s like one second I was moving forward, albeit slowly, and the next minute—BAM!—I’m on the floor, down for the count. I can’t really say it happened suddenly, not if I’m being truthful about this moment of rousing clarity. No, I’m just surprised reality took as long as it did to finally bitch slap me—it’s been a long time coming. Perhaps weeks, if not months of wallowing in self-pity has led to this moment of lucidity. This is not me, this is not who I am. I’ve always been independent, driven and confident. Lately I’ve been feeling needy, dispirited and apprehensive. Even after my parents died when I was nine, I handled it with as much grace and dignity a nine year old could muster. Of course I grieved, I cried enough tears to end droughts in several countries and then some. Then I picked myself up, dusted myself off, and moved forward. I even picked up my little sister Emily and dusted her off. She moved forward, but in a different way, like full throttle, faster than the speed of light and all that bullshit. Emily didn’t just move, she flew, straight out of Claymont as soon as she turned seventeen, not long after Grandma died. I, on the other hand, moved at a slow leisurely pace, enjoying the sights and held firm to the only remaining relic of my family heritage: my grandma’s house. I laughed, I thrived and I didn’t care what other people thought of me. I lived! Hell yeah, I am Rebecca Fucking Donovan, hear me roar! Well, at least I thought I was. My roar now sounded something more like a timid and pathetic whine.
My eyes had been glued to a grubby stain on the wrinkled white table cloth in front of me for no less than fifteen minutes now. I knew I would have to face him sooner or later, I couldn’t exactly sit and stare at the damn table cloth for the entire date. I take a long, deep, calming breath, and return my gaze to the man before me. Luke Hollywell, Claymont’s Mr. Dickhead Of The Century, and yes, I, Rebecca Fucking Donovan, hear me roar blah, blah, blah, was on a date with him. My eyes narrowed a little as I looked him over, desperately trying to find a reason as to why I had agreed to this date. He was good looking enough, I guess. His blonde hair was buzz cut short with an angry looking jagged scar breaking his hairline to one side. His eyes were a non-descript hazel color and were perhaps a little too close together. His lips were full, opening and closing as he rambled on about God knows what. I seriously haven’t heard a word he has said since the moment we sat down. He has a damn fine body, maybe that’s what lured me in. Or maybe it was the whole bad boy thing. Luke was a brawler, a troublemaker, and had seen the inner workings of the Claymont lock-up more than once. And again I ask myself,
what the hell am I doing here?
He was looking at me expectantly, and I realized he had asked a question that obviously required an answer.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” I asked with a sincere smile. If I wouldn’t have been checking out his wide shoulders and impressive looking chest, I might not have gotten away with the blunder. Luke just grinned, but it wasn’t sexy, it was downright creepy and made my skin prickle with unease.
“Why do you dress like that?” he repeated his question, nodding towards my attire.
I looked down at myself wondering if I had been in too much of a daze tonight that maybe I was wearing my PJs. Nope, I still looked utterly fabulous. I was wearing a fire engine red, vintage style dress with a gathered bust, and peasant style fitted waist. It fell to my knees and hugged my body like a second skin. I had accessorized it with black pumps and a black-faux fur knee length coat. My hair was artfully styled on top of my head in a fifties fashioned do that took longer to arrange than my entire outfit. I sighed. Misunderstood, that was the only way to forgive those who looked at me like I had lost my marbles.
“Not that I’m complaining or anything. Hell, you’ve got a fuckin’ great rack. If ya got the goods, ya might as well display
‘em, right?” Luke rambled on, now leering at my breasts.
WHAT…THE…FUCK…AM…I…DOING
?
I was horny. That was my problem—I needed to get laid! Did I really need to scrape the bottom of Claymont’s men barrel to do it though? Hell no! In fact, Ella bought me a surprisingly efficient vibrator for my birthday two months ago. Big Red could get the damn job done without me having to step outside my door. However, Big Red wouldn’t cuddle with me after one of those mediocre battery operated orgasms. Big Red wouldn’t keep me warm and or kiss me like I was an exquisite treasure. So maybe I wasn’t just horny, I missed intimacy. I missed sharing my whole self, not just my body with a man. I wanted intimate touches, hand holding, and hugs. It’s been over two years since my last committed relationship and twelve months since I have been intimate with something other than an inanimate object. It’s been twelve months since Charlie Cole. I sighed and forced that beautiful train wreck out of my mind. What I really wanted, I suddenly realized, I would not find in Luke Hollywell, that much was for sure.
“Luke, this is a little embarrassing, but I don’t really feel well.” He cast me a disbelieving look. “I had lunch at that little café down the road from Bouquets, you know the one, they were charged with that health violation last year. I know, I know,” I raised my hands in self-defense,” “it’s supposed to be the single most unsanitary café in Claymont, but I couldn’t resist. All that heavenly deep fried awesomeness was just calling my name.” I tried not to scrunch up my nose up at the thought of all that hellish stomach churning deep fried horror. “I mean, I literally couldn’t help myself. Now my stomach feels like an eruption is imminent.” I rubbed my hand across my stomach and allowed a pained look to cloud my features. “Hell, if I end up with an assquake over my inability to avoid consuming deadly and dangerous food, I will spank my own ass!” Luke’s look of disbelief morphed into shell shocked horror and sick intrigue. I almost lost my façade trying to keep a straight face. “Maybe we should do this another night, you know, when I don’t feel like I’m ready to explode.”
Luke stared at me a moment longer before leaning away from the table. The look of skepticism was back. He flipped his fork nonchalantly for a moment before settling it back down on the grubby looking linen. “Sure, whatever floats ya boat, sweetheart. Want me to drive ya home?” He grinned again and I felt myself wanting to puke.
“My car’s outside, I’ll be fine.” I stood and grabbed my coat from the back of my chair. All the while, Luke’s eyes watched my body with unconcealed desire. “Sorry to bail on you like this.” Luke nodded and licked his lips as his gaze finally returned to my face. It made my skin crawl. With a forced smile, I turned and walked away from the table.
As I left the warmth of the restaurant, the icy air outside hit my face, shocking my senses to life. A thin layer of deadly black ice lay like a frigid blanket covering the ground, and I was wearing five inch heels. Don’t say I didn’t like to live dangerously. I finally made my way to my car and slid in, turned on the ignition, cranked the heater up to full-blast, then drove down the quiet and empty streets towards home. I loved Claymont, and I couldn’t understand why my sister had been so desperate to flee this town. It had an old world charm, but thanks to the college in town, it was always bustling with life and activity. Emily openly declared her hatred for Claymont from the moment she learned to talk. A week after her sixteenth birthday, not long after Grandma died, she left for the big city lights never to return. Her disappearance almost sent me into a state of catatonic shock. I filed a missing persons report and spent a week living on the razor’s edge of fear and anger. When she called to say she was safe, that she was living with a friend of a friend in Vegas, I had mixed feelings. Relief that she was safe, disappointment that she left me alone, guilt that I didn’t jump on a plane and drag her adolescent behind home immediately. In the end acceptance won out, Em was born for the bright city lights, and Claymont was too dull for her spirited heart. For the first six months, I heard from her every week. She was full of hopes and dreams, always happy and excited. Our phone calls made me smile and cry. I was happy for her, but I missed her. Gradually the phone calls became few and far between, until they stopped all together. Em had moved on, and as her sister, I was nothing more than just a distant memory, Claymont nothing more than a place of disappointment and sadness. . So after eight years of little to no contact, I have heard from her five times in the last month and it has me more than a little curious. Oh, I knew what she wanted, but there wasn’t a chance in hell she would ever get it and she knew that. Nevertheless, she has been persistent. Emily wanted me to sell Grandma’s house. Our house, my house. When Grandma died, it had been left to both of us, even though Emily hadn’t been there to stake her claim, nor had she ever attempted to, until now. My lawyer had advised me that I could buy out her share, but he obviously didn’t realize the crumbs in my bank account were just that—crumbs. Re-establishing Bouquets with Ella and Annie into the coffee shop/art gallery/floral shop that it was, Mercy’s Angels and Bouquets had all but bled my account dry. Money was filtering back in at a trickle, so funds were definitely a little tight right now. I could borrow on the substantial worth of the property, but I was reluctant to get myself into debt when I was finally debt free. Emily was persistent though. My head hurt just thinking of her relentless phone calls. No doubt she was one of the reasons for my recent muddled existence. Crazy sister—check. Too many hours working—check. Not enough money—check. Longest dry spell in history—check. My thoughts returned to my neglected central loving station and I thought back to the last man who had paid it any sort of attention—Charlie Cole. I sighed again at the thought of him and it made me want to slap myself. Get over it, Rebecca, Charlie is a straight up, plain and simple man whore! Yes, he may have rocked my world, and, yes, the thought of him rocking it again turned me into a mushy mess, but I wasn’t going to go there again. I had more pride than that and Charlie’s lack of enthusiasm to continue rocking my world said everything I needed hear.
As I pulled into the driveway of my pint sized home, I embraced the feeling of contentment this place never failed to give me. My house was sandwiched between mansions, and maybe they weren’t mansions according to Beverley Hill’s standards, but in Claymont talk, they were impressive. They weren’t just big homes, the houses in this neighborhood were ridiculously colossal, like
Gone With The Wind
mammoth. My miniscule slice of heaven was the bane of my neighbors’ existence. Several people on my street have offered to buy me out; offering enough money to make my knees weak. But they didn’t understand that this property was more than a number, this was all that remained of my family. My parents rented a few homes when we were children, so we never really found a place we grew attached to. Grandma and Granddad bought this piece of land and built this house before any of the others on the street existed; it was one of the first properties in this suburb. This was the house my dad had grown up in. This was the house where I baked my first cake. It was in this backyard, overlooking the foothills of the Claymont Mountain Ranges, where I learned to ride a bike. Emily and I shared a tiny pocket of a room in the back corner, and although Emily struggled to be content in this home, in this town, we spent many nights just lying there gossiping about school and boys. I would never sell my home. There wasn’t a price high enough to convince me it was worth giving up.
Once inside I took a long hot shower and slipped into my favorite flannel PJs. Climbing under the thick feather quilt, I moaned in satisfaction. The incessant blinking of my cell phone at my side alerted me that I had a message. Reaching over, I swiped the screen and smiled when Ella’s crazy face stared back at me. Ella could only be described as my partner in crime, my best friend, and my savior of sanity. We’ve only known each other for a little over a year, yet it seemed as if she was the light that had been missing in my world. Little Ella, who has seen more violence and hate than any one person should ever see. She was a fighter, a tiger! Before Ella, I’ve never had someone whom I might call a best friend. I had friends or more accurately colleagues and casual acquaintances. I’d never let anyone get too close because in my short twenty-eight years of life I quickly learned that losing people you cared about hurt, a lot. I’d lost my parents, I’d lost my
granddad, my grandma, and I inevitably lost my sister. When I began dressing ‘differently’ than everyone else, it became a whole lot easier to keep people at arm’s length. Most people thought I was a little crazy in the head, and who knows, maybe they’re right. Screw ‘em, I didn’t need a world full of fake friends. Somehow Ella had wormed her way into my heart, and call me selfish, but I was keeping her. Ella was as real as they came and she kept me laughing. It was safe to say Annie was my friend now, too. Not only did she fill me with an ever constant supply of caffeine, Annie was also loyal and dependable. She had a quietness about her that radiated past pain, and she was a great listener. You didn’t need to tell Annie when you were having a bad day; she just somehow knew and would be the first in line to offer a comforting hug. She also put up with mine and Ella’s dirty jokes, potty mouths and childish humor without complaint. Lola was the latest curious addition to our small and humble group of friends. I employed her four months ago to help out at Bouquets since Ella was now an in demand artist. Lola was painfully shy, quiet and forlorn most days, dressing in every drab shade of black one could imagine. But she was a hard worker; she was honest and occasionally she came out with little random pearls of wisdom that would have Ella and me laughing like hyenas. Like the time she told us a balanced diet was a piece of cake in each hand! And her number one golden rule was: Don’t squat with spurs on. What the hell? The girl was truly peculiar, but I loved peculiar—I understood peculiar—it beat most other personality traits hands down. So, I had let a few people in and I knew I risked feeling the pain of loss again. Last year, Ella almost died and I had lost my shit for a little while. Someone I had cared about was nearly taken away from me, again. I became increasingly anxious and a little clingy where Ella was concerned. Letting her out of my sight was difficult even though I knew somewhere in the recesses of my mind that her and Jax needed quality time together, to recover. Thankfully, Mercy helped guide me through my fears. She spent a lot of time just hanging out with me talking. She helped me see that living a life where I constantly feared losing everyone and everything wasn’t really living at all. I needed to let those fears go. I needed to accept that death was an ugly part of life and embracing those we cared about here and now was what was truly important.