Until Mercy: Happily Ever Alpha World Read online

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Books by CC Monroe

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Epilogue

  Did you enjoy Mercy & Kellen?

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Until Mercy

  Copyright © 2019 by CC Monroe

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Published by Boom Factory Publishing, LLC.

  Cover Design by Juliana Cabrera, Jersey Girl Design

  Edited by Kayla Robichaux

  CC Monroe, CONTRIBUTOR to the Original Works was granted permission by Aurora Rose Reynolds, ORIGINAL AUTHOR, to use the copyrighted characters and/ or worlds created by Aurora Rose Reynolds in the Original Work; all copyright protection to the characters and/ or worlds of Aurora Rose Reynolds in the Original Works are and shall continue to be retained by Aurora Rose Reynolds. You can find all of Aurora Rose Reynolds Original Works on most major retailers.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage or retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic, photocopying, mechanical or otherwise, without express permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, story lines and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, events, locales or any events or occurrences are purely coincidental.

  Titles by CC Monroe

  Always and Forever Series

  Always the One

  Always Us

  Forever the One

  Forever Us

  Steal You: A Standalone Dark Romance

  Loving Ben Cooper

  Crossover Series w/ Aurora Rose Reynolds

  Until Kayla

  Until Mercy

  To the souls afraid to be strong and have a voice.

  It’s inside you, let it roar.

  Prologue

  Mercy

  I was afraid of loving him, and maybe that’s really the reason I ran. Maybe it was my past that had a flame burning in me to remember and use it as a lesson for all it was worth, or maybe it was both. I was running from my demons, and from my saving grace. Kellan Ford wasn’t supposed to happen, wasn’t supposed to mean anything to me, especially so indomitably. He was in my blood, in my head, in my soul, and I couldn’t rid myself of him with any force on this earth. But I had given him mercy. Just like my name.

  I ran from my past, but he has no idea how much I’m safeguarding him, protecting him from the dark shadows of my life.

  Staying with him would equal all the bad metaphors in the world. A wrench in my plans, my Achilles’ heel, my weak link.

  Just like his name. Link was my past, my broken, unhealthy, and unbelievably dangerous past. And my mama always said to beware of men with names so mysterious, because I was just as mystic, and the combination would only mean danger.

  They should have named him Tonic, or Bourbon, maybe even Whiskey, because once you chased him, you couldn’t escape the consequences. The burn was harsh, and it got me deep. But it kept me drunk until it was my demise.

  Mercy is my name, and I have yet to find my own.

  Chapter One

  Mercy

  Cleaning the fog off the mirror of my bathroom, I see my reflection come through—the enemy I see most days staring back at me. My dark hair sticks to my skin; the bags from lack of sleep under my eyes are practically purple.

  At twenty-four, I’m still running from the life I had at eighteen, and I don’t see that dust settling on the trail behind me any time soon. Picking up my concealer, I beat it on to my face in an attempt to hide all my secrets. Secrets from a past that isn’t even mine anymore. I’m not hiding from myself, but better yet, covering up years of darkness from a man I knew as my first love.

  There is a reason my mother always said mothers know best. Hell, I could put my foot in my mouth with all the smart responses I had to that one. I rolled my eyes and was convinced I could prove that not all those who wander are lost. Not all those who seem broken are damaged or deranged. But I met Link Marks, and I, in fact, proved my mother right.

  Mothers know best, and trouble was dressed in all black with a cigarette behind his ear. I see his face in my reflection, a demon who haunts me under my skin, where his memories lie dormant, except for my nightmares.

  I ran from him when I knew just what kind of man he was and how far blinded I was by my deep desire to see he would turn good. I was naïve, like a babe in the woods, when it came to him. I believed his lies, fell for that magical, poisonous touch, and after that, there was no turning back, until there was.

  I ran from him when I turned nineteen. I wanted to run to my parents, but I couldn’t, because part of loving a monster meant he pushed away anything that could save me. So I ran to Portland. I left my small, Podunk town of Ririe, Idaho and headed straight for Oregon.

  Portland didn’t last long, because Link found me with a whole treasure trunk of his secrets, and I had no choice but to run.

  But in that short year I found a home in Portland, I also found a man. Someone I regret leaving behind more than anything. I made some friends, but not many—because my life was consumed by this new man with mysterious eyes and a hankering for treating me like a possession in all the right ways. I should have known better then to fall for someone when I was still running from another. But touching him, breathing in his air, and hearing those words for the short time we had was life saving. Kellan Ford gave me, Mercy Daniels, a temporary way out of my past.

  I shake off his memory as I finish blow-drying my long, black hair. It dries with a natural wave and that will have to do, because I can’t spend a moment thinking about Kellan or I will be late to work with my fresh mascara warn on my cheeks.

  I take one last look in the mirror, pushing my thoughts to the very back of my mind, where I need them to stay. I have a big day at work, and I need to be laser-focused or else I may have to find another job. Not that my incredible bosses would let me go over one mental breakdown, because Shayla and Lana are saints, but the embarrassment would be enough for me to sign my own termination letter.

  At that thought, I look at my phone and see I have about ten minutes before my ass needs to be on the walk to work, so I hightail out of the bathroom. Pulling on some black skinny jeans and a teal silk camisole that matches the color of my eyes, I grab a leather jacket and my black boots, and in a disheveled way, I get them on and I’m out the door.

  Leaving my apartment building, my feet hit the sidewalk of downtown Seattle. It’s 8:00 a.m. and the city is already alive with the people who have to scrape by to make a living, like me. I work at CC Chic Boutique as District Manager over their five Washington locations. Shayla Adams and Lana Donovan are my employers, or more like heaven-sent angels who took a stray off the street. Literally. I had just run from Portland when I found myself here in the city with no place to live and no more money. I happened to be waiting for a bus, when a cyclist ran into me and knocked me on my ass, right outs
ide of their downtown store.

  They both witnessed it from the window and came running to my aid. Thank the high heavens above I chose to wear something stylish that day from my slim wardrobe, along with my witty attitude, because they saw something in me they liked. And for the past three years, they have given me opportunities to grow and make a life of my own.

  I never told them I was living out of my busted car that broke down two days into my arrival to Seattle. But something about them and their gentle and kind manner told me they probably knew I was a little broken. Okay, a lot broken—a catastrophic, category-four hurricane aftermath. They never asked questions though. They opened their arms and their business to me and haven’t questioned my history or where I came from. Not even one time.

  Saints. That’s the best way to describe them.

  Approaching my favorite coffee shop, I grab the door from the sweet, elderly woman dressed in a tie-dyed shirt and corduroy pants holding it for me.

  “Thank you!” I tell her, and she gives me a toothless smile.

  “Any time, my dear. Since chivalrous men are a dying breed, us ladies have to stick together and show them how it’s done.” She winks and I give a soft chuckle.

  “Isn’t that the truth?”

  She nods and off she goes, without another word. The exchange was pleasant for first thing in the morning.

  Smiling because of it, I wait in line, watching the people around me. Single women paired off with their phones and making Instagram posts. Couples holding hands and sharing whispers. So much life around me, and it makes me wonder, like I do so often, what are their stories?

  Who is happy and living their dream? Who is still chasing their dreams and failing? Who is excited? Who’s sad? Who’s hiding? Who’s running? Kellan taught me this; he showed me the way he views everything around him, and now I find myself always fascinated by the lives and stories being lived around me. I escape to that notion often, hoping that no one is wondering just what my story is. And just like I know I shouldn’t, I escape to the world Kellan showed me.

  “Who are you when I’m not around, Mercy?” His gray eyes search mine, his hand tangled in my hair while his other strokes my naked thigh. We made love for the first time tonight. The heat is still in the air, the kinetic energy sticking us together like glue. I have only known Kellan Ford for five days, but the man I met in a bar of all places is now the man I am lying tangled with, hanging onto every word.

  “I’m just Mercy. That’s all.” I shrug, giving him a smirk. His rugged features are captivating, a sight I could look at for hours and ache for once it’s gone again.

  “Mercy isn’t a name for an ordinary girl. What’s your story?”

  I grow nervous and do my best to cover it up. I’m not ready to tell him my story, and probably never will be. Because this can only be a temporary bliss type of thing. I’m incapable of trusting a man again. Point blank.

  “Why does my story interest you so much?” I question, trying to remove myself from his grip, but he makes it impossible. He doesn’t let me go that easy. He grips me in his arms and moves us quickly so his entire body weight is on me. The feeling of a man so strong, so beautiful, and so mysterious in all the right ways on top of me is both inviting and terrifying.

  Every part of Kellan is defined, from his abs, to his jaw, all the way to his pointed-to-perfection nose. He is out of my league, but he thinks otherwise, and I would be foolish to not go along with it.

  “Everyone has a story, and I want to know yours. Because I want to be in-fucking-side you, baby. Not just like this...”

  I cry out when he enters me without warning. “Uh!” I let myself adjust to his large size and my eyes stay shut. I know he’s looking at me; I can feel it. When my eyes slowly flutter open, I see my intuitions were right. We make eye contact with our physical contact, and it frightens me, because it thrills me.

  “I want to know who you are and where you came from. Show me around that mind, because it’s killing me to not be able to read it—to read you.”

  I feel my emotions boiling to a breaking point and I have to talk myself down. If he gets inside me, I will have to leave. If he finds out my past, then he becomes a liability I could lose, and I do not want to lose Kellan. And that truth is scary.

  “My story is that I can’t help but feel trapped and surrounded by you, and it should be enough to push me away, but it’s keeping me closer instead. So why don’t you tell me why that is and how you can do that to me? What’s your story, Kellan?”

  I give it back, and that’s when we both see we aren’t ready to open wounds yet. That all we need in this very moment is skin-on-skin, one another, and no one and nothing from my past. Kellan has a past too, but I’d put it on my life that it is nothing like mine. That, I’m most sure of.

  “My story is you. I’m going to find out why you have power over me and why I can’t keep my fucking hands to myself and my mind clear. You make me wild, baby. You control something in me.”

  “Right back at you, Ford.”

  “Miss? Can I take your order?”

  I come to, the feeling of Kellan’s weight on me still present and his smell lingering. I shake him from my thoughts as best as I can.

  I thought you were going to get him out of your mind, Mercy? I ask myself.

  Coming up to the register, I give my order and do just that—or at least try my damnedest to get him out of my head.

  Chapter Two

  Kellan

  “I found him. I’m bringing him in now,”I tell Miller over the phone.

  “Thank you, Kellan. It’s hard to believe you’ve only been doing this bounty hunting thing for a few years,” my friend replies.

  Miller is a police officer for the Seattle PD, and I work with him from time to time on bringing in some hard criminals. I usually do private investigating, but every once in a while, my bounty hunter skills are requested. Miller is my father’s partner, and my old man isn’t too fond of my career choice, so we tend to keep it on the down-low.

  “Right? Quite the career choice, isn’t it?” I know he can sense my sarcasm. I don’t want this job. In fact, I feel like I was forced to take it. All because of her.

  Suddenly, I can smell her. Vanilla and sugar.

  Don’t think about her now. Stay focused.

  “You ever want a job with me, just say the word. We can get you into the force. Just tell me when you’re done chasing people by yourself.”

  “I like it better alone,” my hard head fights back. Who am I kidding? It’s my broken heart that hasn’t fucking fixed itself since Mercy left my life. But I’m not about to admit that out loud.

  “Yeah, all right. Thanks for catching him and bringing him in.”

  I look in the rearview mirror, and the pity party on this criminal’s face is comical.

  Quit beating on your wife, scumbag. No one feels sorry for you.

  “Anytime. See you soon, brother.” Ending the call, I listen to the man in my back seat bitch and moan. But I don’t pay him any mind. I keep my eyes focused on the road and my face stone-cold.

  I’m nothing but rock. I lost my heart three years ago, and I haven’t even attempted to get it back. Still too jaded by the time I lost to the girl I dedicate this career to.

  Pulling up to the station a short while later, I push Mercy Daniels to the back of my mind, because if I don’t, someone is going to meet the receiving end of my fist.

  “You good?” Miller picks up on my foul mood instantly.

  He and I both know I get too deep into my thoughts and I become a madman. A man with no sense of reality or regard for others around me. Mercy made me this way.

  Fuck, there she is again.

  I see her now, those thick, exotic lips, smooth, sea-like gypsy eyes, and that long, black hair that is dark as night.

  I wanted her. I met her one night, and within a few short months under her spell, she had me down on my knees, addicted to her. She had me begging for her to be mine, and then when morning
came, she left my bed without me knowing. In the middle of the night, she didn’t even leave anything behind. Except for my fucking manhood, pride, and dignity in shambles on the ground.

  Where she went, I have no idea. All I know is I got into my line of work, hoping to seek out the woman who broke my heart, and… what? Reclaim her? Who’s to know what I would have done if I actually put my skills to use in an attempt to find her. But what I do know is when time came to do so, I froze. I gave up before I could even start, because if I found her, I don’t know if I would be able to recover if she ran again.

  She’s a runner. A past haunts her, and I always knew that, but I avoided it, because she hypnotized me; she made me her greatest catch in her tangled web. Like a black widow. Yet, if she ever appeared in front of me—and I’m weak and pitiful for admitting this, but—I would fall to my knees and beg for Mercy.

  Fucking. Weak.

  That’s what she did, and this is who she’s made me. But that was then, and my here and now shows no sign of loving again and no sign of relief. She embedded herself in me, and I owe each passing day of my life to her name, and I’m sure when I die, I will leave my life in her fucking honor.

  “I don’t want to talk about it. Here he is.” I all but throw the guy to Miller, like taking out the trash. It seems fitting.

  “My wife says if a man is as perpetually pissed off as you, then it’s over a woman.” He smirks, finding humor in it.

  But I’m not much for laughing, especially when she’s the punch line.

  “Did your wife also tell you to calm down on your donut intake?” I give it right back.

  “Ouch, cranky little guy, aren’t we?”

  Rolling my eyes and chuckling sarcastically, I start heading back to my car.

  “Hey! Before you go and find a place to wallow in self-pity, the old lady wanted me to invite you over for dinner next week. She’ll kill me if you don’t show up.”