Ready To Run Ch 04

***NOTE*** This story is a part of my ongoing series called Trouble Texas Style (Night Walker's Woman, Tight Fittin' Jeans, One Night Stand, and Goodbye Earl). These are complex and interwoven tales that cross genres, including erotica, romance, and suspense.

I have kept them separate as opposed to hopping from character to character chronologically, as George R R Martin does with Ice & Fire. But I am keeping things sequential in the overall story arch. So, while it might theoretically be possible to read this as a standalone story, it is best appreciated in the overall context of the stories.

***TRIGGER WARNING*** This story contains strong content and controversial topics, including racism, rape trauma, and human trafficking. The purpose of these stories is certainly NOT to justify or glorify any of those things. There will be brief flashbacks but I am NOT including any graphic depictions of something that is a crime of violence and power, not a sex act. Please do NOT read if such things offend you, and if you or someone you care about are a survivor of rape trauma, please seek support.

***

Mercy sat on the cold, hard ground. She had already pulled the hoodie from her bugout bag. Not only would the damned thing keep her warm, but it would make identifying her more difficult. She knew America was not as bad as some places in Europe, but since 9/11, you couldn't get too far without being captured on camera somewhere. Americans that would have once balked at such invasions of privacy just sloughed it all off in the name of national security.

She wrapped her arms about herself tighter. Was that from the chill since the sun had gone down? Or was it from the disjointed thoughts and feelings that she had been trying to piece together since the man left? The man? Will. Since Will left to get food and gas.

She did not bother looking at the burner phone to check the time. It would not mean much to her since she had lost all track to such things. She did not bother wondering if he would come back. She knew he would. It was not just that the whole McBride-Torreon-Bebe-Laura thing wrapped about them both tighter than Jane Russell's sweater. No, there was something else between them.

She had felt it. She would say from the moment he took that helmet off, but that was not right. From the moment he had driven up on that motorcycle. Except that sounded way too fucking cheesy. Something worse than she would ever write in even her paranormal romances.

But if he were telling the truth, if his 'feelings' or intuition or gut were as accurate as all that, then he would have felt it, too. Of course, he did. She brought her fingers to her lips. Mercy would almost swear the damned things were still tingling. And that kiss had been nothing.

Except that was not right, either. That kiss, as simple as it was, had been hotter than the time she had made out with Jack behind the trailer. Of course, as good a kisser as he was, there had been that ugh-factor for them, like making out with your cousin. As for the other boys, she had made out with in high school or college, none of them had come even close.

"Don't go there. Do NOT go there, Mercy. Not now..." It was her mantra. It had been for so long she could not remember when it began. Probably about the time in sixth grade when she had found out how babies were made, and what had really happened to Mama that night. Damned health class.

Sure, Mercy had graduated from the sweet romances of Little Women and Little House to those paperback romance where the hero and heroine did not kiss until after he proposed. But since the advent of ebooks and racier genres, she had jumped whole hardly into the sex thing. Well, at least in book form. But she had always believed the adage 'book boyfriends are best.'

Not that she had not had opportunities. She got asked out at least once a week. Usually, by the same Sebida losers, but even when she visited Laura in Houston, she had gotten hit on. It was just that after kissing a couple of dozen frogs in high school and college, and one or two since, she had given up on finding Prince Charming. Or maybe she just was not princess material.

Or maybe...

"Don't go..."

The sound of an engine saved her. As it got closer, she was almost sure she recognized that vroom. The damned thing gleamed in the full moonlight as it broke through the tall stalks of corn. Shining armor be damned, the tight black leather was way fucking hotter.

As he took off that helmet, Mercy could not help but admire those kiss-ass-able lips. The way that neatly groomed hint of a mustache and goatee ran together and framed the damned thing perfectly. He walked straight to her. Maybe swaggered would be more accurate. Only the greasy MacDees bag in his hands broke the spell.

He was not allowing that. He wrapped his arm around her. Her eyes were glued on those lips right up to the last moment. But the feel of them was even better this time. This kiss was more prolonged and firmer than the previous, but he did not make any attempt to take it to the next level. Why did that disappoint her?

"Guess, I don't need to ask if you missed me, too, sweetheart. That has been all I could think about since I felt you, woman." But before she could question or protest his assumptions, Will passed her a bag.

"Sorry, it took so long. It's almost half an hour to the next town." Mercy nodded as she took a bite of the double cheeseburger. It reminded her that she had not eaten anything but six cups of coffee and some rabbit food since Laura's baby shower. Fuck was that only yesterday?

"We're about a hundred and twenty miles west of Sebida now. It's another hour or so until we hit the hill country. We'll head south towards the border from there. We need to avoid big cities and highways."

Mercy could see he was not telling her everything. She took a long sip of the chocolate milkshake that was mostly melted but had not begun to get warm yet. Her gaze met his, "And? What ain't you telling me?"

He smiled and laughed as he finished chewing a bite of his food. "Your pretty face is all over the news. It's not every day that librarians go shooting the sheriff. Even in Texas."

Damn, that smile was sexy. She would have sworn that she preferred her men beefier, like Laura's husband Ryan, or those cover models on her books. But this one wore tall and lean like the finest silk. "So, what do we do, mister hot pants agent?"

His chuckle washed over her like that perfect setting on the showerhead. You couldn't come just from listening to someone laugh, right? But damn did her puppies perk up and stand at attention when he spoke in that deep sultry voice.

"If we avoid big cities and highways, travel at night, stick to the back roads, and obey the speed limits, mostly. I'm hoping we can still make it across the border in a day or two. But I think it's best if you wear my helmet. With the changes in the law, it isn't illegal for me not to. But there's still a chance that some overly zealous deputy might pull us over just to make sure I have the proper insurance."

"Especially if Kerr has the whole state looking for two people on a crotch rocket?" She used that term just in hopes of hearing another of those slow, low rumbles, and the man did not disappoint. She wondered if he would in other ways? Mercy doubted it.

He nodded as he brought a couple of fries to those lips. Bet the damned cold things would taste better from them. Damn, she needed to get her libido under control. Or did she?

"You don't carry an extra one?"

He shook his head as he chewed. How could chewing food be fucking sexy as hell? "Nope, no one but me rides the Duchess."

This time it was Mercy's turn to laugh, "Good thing she ain't a car, or you'd make me take off my shoes before you let me get in. Do you kiss her good-night too?"

He studied her for a long moment, "It's a song." Okay, good to know the man was not perfect. Obviously, his tastes in music needed some adjusting. But nothing a true red neck woman couldn't handle, right?

"I might have once or twice, but until today there wasn't anyone else I'd want to kiss goodnight."

Mercy did not miss that reference. So, she was right. He was feeling it, too. Whatever the fuck this thing was. That should make things easier, as she shoved the last bite of burger into her mouth.

"But, there's one other problem, sweetheart." She stared at him and shrugged. Laura taught her that you did not talk with your mouth full. Sebida already watched them close enough; they did not give those people something else to talk about.

Although this time, Mercy supposed they all had. Laura was wanted for questioning in the McBride mess and her shooting Kerr. It would have been worth it if she had killed the bastard. Hell, even the needle would have been worth that shit.

He cleared his throat, and those smoky eyes met hers, "I'm afraid we're going to have to rough it a bit. We can't take the risk of stopping at a motel."

Mercy finished off her milkshake and shrugged, "What part of red neck woman, don't you understand? This is Texas. In the country, you can't go more than a few miles without running across some old abandoned farmhouse or barn. I'll survive. Probably better than you, city boy."

He smiled as he handed her the helmet, "Okay then, my country girl. You ready to ride?"

This time Mercy took control. She grabbed the front of his jacket, pulled him close, and her tongue demanded entrance between those sexy lips. Not that the man fought her that hard. Especially when he wrapped his arm about her waist and drew her entirely against his body.

She knew they needed to get their butts on the road. But now that she had come to a decision, she wanted to make it unequivocal and give them both something to think about for the next few hours.

She slipped her hand between their bodies as she drew back. It did not entirely cover what was behind that zipper. Damn girl, good thing you never liked your bicycles with training wheels. Her fingers curved around it and squeezed. She hoped like hell that she got the pressure right. "I'm definitely ready to ride. But we need to get on the road and put a few more miles between Sebida and us before that, hot pants."

He pulled her hand away from his cock and brought it slowly to those lips. He kissed the back of her hand, then turned it over and placed another kiss, or was it a lick, in the center of her palm. "Damn, now you tell me, woman? We need to work on your timing."

That sweet roll of thunder sent more shivers from her girl bits to her nipples. She was glad that the helmet covered the eat-shit-grin on her face. Yeah, Kerr's words had hit her hard. The idea that she might die a thirty-two-year-old virgin, or worse yet have something that she did not freely give sold to the highest bidder, then ripped away from her like it was some blue ribbon to be won at the county fair, had sent chills up her spine.

But Mercy knew it was more than that. She was not just throwing her virginity away to the first guy that came along. No, this was the right one. A guy that just might be better than her 'book boyfriends.' She'd find out soon enough. Although maybe not as fast as either of them wanted.

***

They made better time than Will had expected. They could have probably made it to Laredo already if he had taken the highways. But sticking to those county roads, they had still managed to cover close to three-hundred-fifty miles, including two stops for fuel. Those had been hard for him because he needed to find a safe place for his Mercy outside of town and leave her alone, unprotected.

Yeah, he knew she had that gun, but shooting a deputy somewhere was the last thing they needed when she had already shot the sheriff. Hell, the next one might just be a good cop doing his job. But luck had been with them. So far.

They had skirted around Pearsall. He could not believe how disappointed Mercy was that they could not stop in the hometown of some singer. Who the heck was George Straight anyway? He definitely had to cue his girl in on some new music. Hadn't she ever heard of Aretha, Marvin, Smokey, or James Brown? Even his friends might think his taste in music was old school, but it was the songs he had grown up on. Besides those Sunday hymns, of course.

The weight of his helmet rested between his shoulder blades. She had probably fallen asleep. This ride could not be comfortable for her. Hell, even he was not used to covering over four-hundred miles in a day on the Duchess. But if Mercy was going to have trouble walking, he could think of better ways of getting there.

It was mostly dark still, though he could see the horizon was beginning to lighten a bit off to the side. They were mainly heading south now. Another hour on the road max. He was a bit surprised when he felt the tap on his shoulder. He turned and noticed her pointing to something in the distance. It looked like nothing more than a shadow at first, but as he got closer, the form of an old barn took shape. It looked abandoned.

The trouble was that south of the Hill Country, the land had gotten flatter, drier, and browner. There were hardly any trees to be found. That meant finding a place to hide Mercy while he checked things out or fueled up was becoming more and more difficult. He checked out the rearviews. Nothing on the road, but if something did come along, a woman alone on a country road would immediately raise alarm bells. He had no choice. He'd have to take her with him while he checked it out.

He took the Duchess offroad. And though the ride got rougher, her traction held as they kicked up a dust cloud. He circled it once, then stopped the motorcycle around back. At least no one could see them from the road now. She was off the bike before he could say anything.

"I told you," were the last words any man wanted to hear from his woman. But this time, he was glad that she seemed to be right.

"You stay with the Duchess while I check things out."

"Please."

Damn, she was sexy with that look on her face and her hand on those curvy hips. For a little chick, she had those in all the right places. "Please? Please, what?" He could think of a few ways he'd like to please his woman.

"Please stay here. You do realize that this is the twenty-first century and that women no longer need men to save them, right?"

"Sweetheart, I was raised by one of the strongest women you'd ever find. Etta Mae Williams faced down firehoses, police, and national guard armed with nightsticks and teargas. But she did it all alongside my Grandfather Walt. Black women stand side-by-side with their men. Sometimes they even take the lead. But now is not a good time for a revised history lesson. My apologies if I sounded condescending."

Will was not sure which he loved more, the way she bit her bottom lip or the rosy blush to those cheeks. He was pretty sure though that was not the response she had been expecting. Hell, maybe she was even right. But that did not lessen his need to keep his miracle safe.

He knew he would have to deal with those feelings, though. If she got her way, and she very well might, then they were going straight into the mouth of the lion as his grandfather had preached. Of course, he was still debating that one. As much as he wanted, or needed, to follow this lead, to do right by Bebe, was it worth putting her in that kind of risk?

The old doors creaked loudly as he forced them open. That was a good sign. This place probably had not been used in a while. It would also mean that no one could sneak up on them easily. The spaces between some of the broken boards would allow him to see in all directions without being seen.

Of course, it was not the St. Regis. Heck, there was no bed or running water. And who knows how old that little bit of hay in the corner was? Or what lived there? He did not want to think about it.

Will chuckled, she might be right. Mercy probably would handle this better than he did. His grandmother had always kept their home meticulously clean. He could almost hear her say, "Just because the good lord made mice, spiders, and cockroaches don't mean we need to invite them in the house."

But he could almost imagine his country girl keeping a spider or snake as pets. Oh, sweet Jesus, he hoped not snakes. That was one compromise he was not sure he could make, even for her.

"It seems all clear. At least in terms of two-legged vermin. As for four, six, eight, or slithering, I can't say. We could keep going for another hour, maybe, if you think we could find better."

The way she leaned against the Duchess made him wish he had his phone with him. That was a photograph worthy of screen saver status. His favorite girls together had his cock hardening in those too-fucking-tight leathers.

Damn, they would be hot and uncomfortable to sleep in. But he did not dare sleep naked this time. Not that the idea of doing so with this woman bothered him, though, he could never remember actually sleeping with any woman. Oh, well, always a first for everything.

She looked straight at him. Or was she staring at his crotch? No way, not the little librarian.

"This place is as good as any. Probably better. We can hide your 'duchess' inside the barn with us, city boy. Want me to help you get her inside? Or should I do the 'little woman' thing and set up house?"

He shook his head with a smile. Life with this one was going to be a hell of a ride - a fun one at that. He just had to make sure they survived for another fifty years or so. "If it bothers you that much, I'm happy to switch with you. You manage the Duchess, and I'll make the bed. And for the record, yes, I cook and clean. My grandmother believed that we should all know how to do those things, and share the responsibilities for them." He laughed at a memory.

"What's so funny?" Her hands were back on those hips. He'd much rather his hands were on them.

"I just remembered a story my Grandfather Walt told me when I asked why he always did the ironing."

"Okay, now you have me curious. Out with it, city boy, this I gotta hear.."

"When they were first married in the late fifties, Grandfather Walt had just finished seminary and had his first church. Looking polished in his suit, tie, and dress shirt was expected. Not just on Sunday, but every day."

She nodded her head as he continued, "My grandfather had the temerity to tell my grandmother that her ironing was not quite up to par. She threw his shirts in his face and told him that he could iron his own blessed shirts from then on."

Will's throat got incredibly tight at the memories, "Blessed was my grandmother's way of cursing, mind you. But from that day on, ironing was my grandfather's chore. You know what he told me? He learned that ironing was not as easy as it looked. And to never criticize the way anyone does something until you have done it yourself."

She adjusted the backpack on her shoulder and walked by his side as he pushed the motorcycle inside. "Your grandparents sound like pretty amazing people. My grandfather was a Methodist preacher, too. He disowned Mama and called her a whore the day they deported my sperm donor."

Will shook his head, "I can't even imagine. My grandparents would have never done or said anything like that. They always preached about not throwing the first stone or turning the other cheek. Seven times seventy. That's four-hundred-ninety."

Had he? He had not kept count, but Will was reasonably sure that he had turned his cheeks to racism and prejudice way more than four-hundred-ninety times. He pushed the door, opened further, and guided the Duchess inside.

The anger, hurt, and confusion that he had been feeling so intensely since his grandmother's death was still there, but there was something else as well - hope. Since the moment that his Mercy walked out that library door, the despair had been shunted aside.