Chicago

5:37 AM

It was early. Really fucking early. Like, the sun wasn't even out yet, kind of early. And it was definitely too damn early for her phone to be blowing up like it was.

With a groan, Deanna rolled over, untangling herself from her heavy comforter. Snatching her cell phone from the bedside table, she answered it with a rough and impatient, "What?"

"Dee, baby, it's Jerry."

"Jerry, brother, I love you, but it's five in the morning. Can't this wait until later? Preferably when it's not five in the fucking morning?"

"You need to come home, Deanna. It's Ma."

She could hear crying in the background and shot up out of bed."Wait, what? What's wrong with Ma?"

"Baby girl, just listen, alright?" He paused, pulling in a shaky breath. "She's gone. I don't know all the details yet, but-"

Gone? Gone how? "Jerry, what do you mean she's gone? You mean, like, missing? Or-"

"Dead, Dee. Ma's dead."

The air felt like it had been sucked out of Deanna's lungs.

Dead. Evelyn Mercer was dead.

Before her knees buckled beneath her, Dee sat down slowly on the edge of the bed. She could hear her brother comforting one of her nieces, all while still trying to explain everything over the phone. "I don't know much yet," He sighed. "It happened last night, down at the corner store that Ma always went to. From what Green told me, she was shot."

She was murdered. Evelyn Mercer, the sweetest woman in all of Detroit, was murdered in cold blood less than a week from Thanksgiving.

How dare they? How fucking dare someone shoot her, a woman who pulled dozens of degenerate kids out of the slums of the system, herself included, showering them with love and care...and this is what she gets?

Suddenly, the familiar heat of rage coiled in the pit of her stomach. The kind of rage that gives your hands the shakes, and make a cold sweat break out on the back of your neck.

This was the kind of rage that got people hurt.

This was the kind of rage that got people killed.

Deanna really needed to get back to Detroit.

"Who else knows, Jerry?"

"Just us and Jack. I tried calling Angel but got nothin', and Bobby-"

Fuck. Fuck. "Have you called him yet?"

"No, and I ain't looking forward to it," He said honestly. "Do you think he'll even-"

"It's Ma, Jerry. Of course he will," Deanna murmured, running a hand through her choppy, black locks. "Just call him. He'll want to hear it from you."

"Dee, maybe it would be better if he heard it from you. Y'all were always good like that."

Had Deanna not just had her heart ripped out of her chest, she might have laughed. "I don't think the death of his mother is gonna be something that rekindles our relationship, Jerry," She sighed. "Listen, just give me a couple days. I'll be there for the funeral."

She snapped the phone shut and took a deep breath.

Evelyn fucking Mercer.

Detroit

Four Days Later

Lieutenant Green, Detroit Police Department's finest officer, sat comfortably inside he and his partner's patrol car. They watched closely as the eldest Mercer cruised down the street in his old beater, staring down the two officers as he passed. "Wow," Green grimaced, "Been a long time since anybody seen that face 'round here."

His partner, Detective Fowler, glanced at Green. "Must've gotten off for good behavior."

Green shook his head. "Not likely," He pulled out a large stack of files from his briefcase and handed them to his partner. "Bobby Mercer. Heavyweight champion fuck-up of the family, and that's a well-defended title," He smirked. With all the trouble the oldest Mercer got himself into, he quickly became a household name in Detroit. "They called him the Michigan Mauler."

Detective Fowler nodded, flipping through the other files.

Jack Mercer, the youngest.

Jeremiah Mercer, the man with a cause.

And, the only Mercer not present, Angel. The soldier.

The two officers sat quietly for a moment before Fowler glanced back down at the pile of folders. A fifth one remained in the pile, unopened. He seized the folder and turned the front page. "Damn," whistled Fowler. "Who's this?"

The lieutenant glanced down. "Oh," He smirked. "That's Deanna Cloud. She's real special to the Mercer brothers."

Gray eyes. Sharp features. Plump lips. She looked like she came straight out of a magazine. She also looked like trouble.

"How so?"

Green chuckled. "They always called her the 'honorary' Mercer. She's been hangin' around them since she was a kid."

"She's got one hell of a record," noticed Fowler. "Larceny, assault, possession. Jesus. Why didn't Evelyn save this one, too?"

His partner shrugged. "No one really knows. The girl lived down the street from the Mercer's back when they were kids. Mom was a crackhead, and Dad was a thug, but CPS was never called. Guess they treated her well enough that nobody suspected any abuse."

"So, what's your point? What's she got to do with anything?"

"I don't think you're catchin' on, Fowler." Green sighed, collecting the woman's file from his partner's lap. "That girl is practically a Mercer. Deanna and Bobby, back in the day, those two were damn near inseparable," Green paused, still noticing the look of uncertainty on Fowler's face. He rolled his eyes. "Look, she and Evelyn were as close as Evelyn was with the rest of the boys. Believe me, besides Bobby, she'd be the first of the Mercer's I'd worry about."