Thank your for your continued interest and support. I do not own Glee or the characters, neither do I own Reaper's Legacy.

This chapter continues where chapter 2 left off...

MERCEDES CONT'D

A noise in the predawn darkness woke me.

The last time I had checked the clock, it said three a.m.

Was it Bray?

Before I could think to move, a hand covered my mouth just as a large body came down over mine, pinning me to the couch.

Adrenaline poured through me. Too late. Because, no matter how I struggled, bucking my entire body against my attacker, he held me trapped.

And all I could think about was Braylon, sleeping right across the room.

I needed to fight and survive for my son, but I couldn't move and I couldn't see a damned thing in the darkness.

"You scared?" a rough, dark voice whispered in my ear. "Wondering if you'll live through the night? What about your kid? I could rape and kill you and then sell him to some sick pedophile fuck. And you couldn't do a goddamned thing to stop me, now could you? How you gonna protect him living in a place like this, Mercedes?"

Fuck! I knew that voice.

Wringer...Sam.

He wouldn't hurt me. The asshole.

"I didn't even have to break through that pathetic lock you have on this shithole," he continued, shifting his hips over mine, emphasizing how little control I had. "Your window was open and so is the window in the hallway. I just stepped out on the fire escape and walked right over, which means anyone else could, too. Including that sick fuck who messed with our boy earlier. Is that bastard still in the building? I want him, Mercy. Nod your head if you'll stay quiet and I'll let you talk. Don't scare Bray."

I nodded my head as best I could, trying to calm the racing of my heart, torn between the remains of fear and my building anger.

How dare he judge me?

"If you scream, you'll be sorry."

I jerked my head. And he pulled his hand away.

I took several deep breaths, blinking rapidly, trying to decide if lunging at him with my teeth would be worth it.

Probably not...

He was heavy and he covered my entire body, his legs clamping down across mine, my arms trapped deep in the couch.

I couldn't remember him ever voluntarily touching me before...not for four years, at least.

But that was a good thing. Because something about him turned off my brain in a bad way, leaving my body in charge.

And the last time I left my body in charge, I got knocked up.

I'd never regret my son, but that didn't mean I should let my libido do the thinking for me again.

I'm older and wiser...twenty four to Sam's twenty eight...but still reasonably mature.

After things had finally fizzled between me and Shaun, I'd only gone out with very safe, very boring men.

In all, I had three lovers total in my life, and numbers two through three were nice and tame.

I didn't need a complication like my son's biker uncle...

But I had caught his familiar scent now...which led to an annoyingly predictable response in my nether regions.

Even angry, I wanted Sam.

In fact, I usually wanted him more when I was angry. This was unfortunate, because he had a gift for pissing me off.

Life would be so much simpler if I could just hate him. The man was truly an asshole.

He just happened to be an asshole who loved the hell out of my kid.

So now, he lay on top of me and I wanted to head-butt him or something, but I also felt embarrassing heat pool between my legs.

He was big and hard and right there, and I didn't know how to handle that.

He always kept his distance from me. And I expected him to let me up now that he'd made his point in the least constructive way possible.

But that didn't happen.

Instead, he shifted again, leaning up on his elbows on either side of me, holding me trapped.

Sam's legs moved, one coming to rest between mine...

Way too intimate.

I tried to close my knees, but he narrowed his eyes and slid his hips into the cradle of my pelvis.

That was wrong.

So wrong...

And unfair, too, because clenching him between my legs didn't exactly make my brain work better.

I squirmed, needing him to be far away from me. Immediately.

Yet, I couldn't help wondering whether I could reach down between us and open his fly.

The man was like heroin...seductive, addictive and a damned good way to wake up dead.

"Hold still," he whispered, voice strained. "Because the fact that my dick is in its happy place is probably saving your life right now. Trust me when I say I'm seriously considering strangling you, Mercedes. So thinking about screwing you helps balance that out."

I froze.

I couldn't believe he'd just said that.

We had an agreement.

We had never discussed it, but we both followed it scrupulously.

Sure enough, though, he pressed his hips into mine again and I felt his hard length growing against my stomach.

My inner muscles clenched, sending a wave of need wrenching through me.

This was cheating.

Though the infatuation went one way...I lusted after him...he ignored me. And we pretended nothing had ever happened between us.

I licked my lips and his eyes followed the small movement, they were unfathomable in the dim light that was starting to filter through the windows.

"You don't mean that," I whispered.

He narrowed his eyes, studying me like a lion scoping out the slowest gazelle.

Wait, did lions eat gazelles?

Was this really happening?

Think Mercedes...

"This isn't you, Sam," I told him. "Think about what you just said. Let me up and we'll talk."

"I fucking mean every word," he replied, harsh and angry. "I hear my kid is in trouble and his mom's nowhere to be found. Then I spend hours driving across the state, scared shitless that someone's molesting or murdering our boy. And when I finally get here, I find you in a total shithole with a broken lock on the downstairs door and easy access to your apartment through an open window. Then I crawled in and found you passed out on the couch half naked and smelling like beer."

He dropped his head down, scenting me and twisting his hips into mine.

Shit, that felt good.

And I actually ached between my legs. It felt that good.

"I could've taken him away from you, easy as fuck," he continued, raising his head, eyes burning through me. "And if I could, so could anyone else, which is not okay. So you'll just have to sit tight and wait for me to cool down a little, because right now I'm not feeling particularly reasonable. Until then, I'd suggest you not tell me what the hell I mean, you got that?"

I nodded my head, eyes wide. I believed every word he said.

He held my gaze as he shifted his legs again and then both were between mine and I felt every inch of his dick right up against my crotch.

He surrounded me completely, overwhelming me with his strength, and I had a sudden, crazy flashback to that night I'd lost my virginity to Shaun in his apartment.

Me sprawled on a couch, legs spread, watching my life fall to shit.

Full circle.

Adrenaline still raced through me, and Sam wasn't the only one who needed to cool down a bit.

He'd scared me, damn it, and now the bastard was turning me on...a sensation that mixed disturbingly well with the anger and fear already overwhelming my system.

I really couldn't move, either.

The man dropped his head down next to mine and groaned, grinding his hips into me. And a swirl of tingling, tightening, traitorous desire twisted up along my spine from my pelvis.

I moaned as he pressed hard against my core.

This felt good.

Too good.

And my inner slut suggested a surefire way to burn off tension...

As if reading my mind, Sam's breath caught. Then he pushed into me harder, rubbing his length back and forth against the thin layer of cotton covering my center.

Neither of us said anything but I tilted my hips up to feel him better...and he stiffened.

'This is a bad idea,' I thought, even as I arched into him, closing my eyes.

I'd wanted him for years. And every time I saw him, I secretly wondered what he'd feel like inside me.

Of course, if we did this, I'd still have to look at his smug, smirking face.

And he wouldn't even be embarrassed, the stupid jerk. So we had to stop immediately.

But he felt freaking incredible...

Sam's scent surrounded me, the hard strength of his body pinning and spreading me like a captured butterfly.

His nose brushed the curve of my ear and then he dropped lower, giving my neck a slow, sucking kiss, his lips dragging across my skin until I had to bite my own to stay quiet.

I twisted underneath him and acknowledged the truth. I wanted him deep inside me.

Now.

I didn't even care that captured butterflies die when they were pinned...

"Mama?"

Shit!

I tried to speak but nothing came out.

I cleared my throat and tried again, the heat of Sam's breath playing across my cheek.

My entire body throbbed, and he shifted, slowly dragging his hips across mine again, deliberately taunting me.

Bastard!

"Hey, baby," I called to Braylon, my voice unsteady. "Um, give me a sec, okay? We have company."

"Is it Uncle Wringer?"

At that, Sam thrusted against me one last time before jackknifing up.

I sat up unsteadily, rubbing my hands up and down my arms.

My son's voice should've been cold water on my libido, but no such luck.

I still felt Sam's delicious hardness between my legs.

"I'm here, little man," Sam said, standing and running his hands across his head.

I studied him in the dim morning light, wishing with all my heart he looked more like my former boss, Jonah.

Again, no such luck.

Sam was over six feet tall, roped with muscle and annoyingly handsome in an I'm-probably-a-murderer-but-I've-got-a-pretty-face-and-a-tight-ass-so-you'll-still-lust-after-me kind of way.

Sometimes he wore his hair long in a ponytail, but the last few months he'd taken to wearing the same buzz cut he'd had when we first met, the slightly longer hair on top a more darker blonde and a bit thicker.

Combined with his size, his eyebrow piercing, his black leather club vest, and the tattoos on both arms, he belonged on a "Wanted" poster.

Bray should've been terrified of him. But he didn't seem to notice how scary his uncle was.

He never had.

"I promised I'd come get you, didn't I?" Sam said softly.

Bray stumbled over to him, reaching his arms up for a hug. He caught my boy and swung him high, meeting his gaze eye-to-eye, man-to-man.

He always did that.

He took my son seriously.

"You okay, bud?"

Bray nodded, wrapping his arms around his uncle's neck and clutching him close.

He worshipped Sam, and the feeling was mutual.

But the sight was heartbreaking.

I always thought Shaun would be our son's hero. Obviously, my instincts were shit.

"I'm proud of you, little man," Sam told Bray. And I stood, planning to join them, but he turned away.

He wanted some privacy.

And I wasn't going to argue if it made my son feel safe, but I still strained to hear the conversation as he carried my boy back to bed.

"You did good calling for help," I heard him say faintly. "If you ever get into a situation like that again, call me. Or call your mama. You can call the cops, too. You remember how to do that?"

"Nine one one," Bray muttered, his voice sleepy and thick. A giant yawn caught him off guard and he slumped against Sam's shoulder. "But I'm only supposed to do that in an emergency and I wasn't sure if I'd get in trouble..."

"If a bad man touches you, that's an emergency," Sam murmured. "But you did your best, you did what I said. You hid and that was real good, little man. I want you to lie down and go back to sleep, okay? In the morning I'm taking you to my house and you'll never have to see those people or this place again. But you can't come with me if you're too tired."

My breath hitched.

What the hell?

I watched as he tucked my son in, my mood far from mellow. And seconds later my kiddo was out again, clearly still exhausted.

I pulled on a robe and waited for Sam to come back, crossing my arms and bracing for battle.

He cocked a brow at me, deliberately checking me out.

Was he trying to use sex to bully me?

That might explain his little seduction-on-the-couch game …

"You forget the part about not pissing me off?"

"Why did you tell Bray he's going to your house? You can't make promises like that."

"I'm taking him home with me," he replied, his voice matter-of-fact.

He tilted his head to the side, waiting for the fight he had to know was coming. His neck was thick with muscles and his biceps flexed as he crossed his arms, matching my stance.

It really wasn't fair.

A man this frustrating should be short and fat, with hairy ears or something. But it didn't matter how sexy he was this time, I wouldn't cave...he wasn't Bray's dad and he could step the fuck off.

"I'm betting you'll want to come with us, and that's great. But he's not staying in this shithole another night."

I shook my head slowly and deliberately.

I felt the same way about our apartment...it didn't feel safe anymore...but I wasn't going to let him just swoop in and take over.

I'd find us a new place. I wasn't quite sure how, but I'd do it.

I've spent the last seven years honing my survival skills...

"You don't get to make that decision. He's not your son, Sam."

"The decision is made," he replied. "And he may not be my son, but he's definitely my kid. I claimed him the minute he was born. And you damned well know it's true. I didn't like how you took him so far from me, but I respect why you did it. Things have changed now. My mom is dead, Shaun is gone, and this..."

He gestured around the ratty little studio.

"...this isn't good enough. What the hell do you need in your life that's more important than giving Bray a safe place to live?"

I glared at him.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Keep it down," he told me, stepping forward into my space, making me step back.

It was a power play, pure physical intimidation. And I bet it usually worked for him, too, because when he loomed over me like that, every survival instinct I had told me to roll over and follow his orders.

And something quivered down below...

Stupid body.

"It means exactly what it sounds like," he continued. "What the hell are you spending your child support on, Mercedes? Because it sure as shit isn't this hellhole. And why the hell did you move out of your other place? It wasn't great, but it was okay. And it had that little park and playground. When you told me you were moving, I thought that meant you'd found something nicer."

"I'm here because I got evicted for not paying my rent!"

His eyes widened.

'Yeah. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, motherfucker!'

Sam's jaw tightened convulsively.

His expression darkened, something impossible to read filling his eyes.

"You wanna tell me why exactly I'm just hearing about this situation?"

"No," I replied honestly. "I don't want to tell you anything. It's none of your business."

He stilled, taking a series of deep breaths.

Long seconds passed, and I realized he was consciously forcing himself to calm down.

I thought he'd been angry before, but the cold fury that came off of him now was a whole new level...

I shivered.

That was one of the many problems with Sam. Sometimes he scared me. And the guys in his club?

Even scarier.

He was poison to a woman in my situation, no matter how sweet he was to Bray or how badly my body craved his touch.

Poison, poison, poison.

"Braylon is my business," he finally said, each word slow and deliberate. "Everything that touches him is my business. You don't get it. And that's your problem. But it ends tonight. I'm taking him home where it's safe, so I won't ever get another fucking phone call like that one again. Jesus! You haven't even done the basics to secure this place, Mercedes. Don't you ever listen to me? I told you to get some of those little alarms for the windows until I could come over and wire the place up the right way."

I steeled my spine and held fast.

"One, you don't get to take him anywhere," I said, trying very hard not to flinch or let my voice tremble.

I couldn't afford to show any weakness, despite the fact that I was perilously close to peeing myself.

"And two, your asshole brother hasn't paid me any child support for nearly a year now. Health and Welfare can't find a trace of him, either. I did my best, Sam but I couldn't keep up the rent on the other place. I can afford the rent here. So we moved. And you have no right to judge me. I'd like to see you raise a child on what I earn. And they don't just give out those window alarms for free, either."

His jaw twitched.

"Shaun is working the oil fields in North Dakota," he said slowly. "Making damned good money. I talked to him two months ago, about mom's estate. And he said everything was okay between you two."

"He lied," I said forcefully. "That's what he does, Sam. This isn't news. Are you really surprised?"

I felt suddenly tired. Thinking about Shaun always made me tired. And sleep wasn't the answer. Because he waited for me in my dreams, too. And I always woke up screaming.

Sam turned and walked over to the window, leaning on the sill and looking outside thoughtfully.

Thank God, he seemed to be calming down. And if he didn't look so deceptively attractive silhouetted in my window, my world would make sense again.

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised," he said after a long pause. "We both know he's a fucking loser. But you should've told me. I wouldn't have let this happen."

"It wasn't your problem," I replied softly. "We were doing fine...at least until tonight. My regular sitters all have that flu that's going around. I made a mistake. But I won't make it again."

"No, you won't," he said, turning to face me. He tilted his head to the side, his green eyes boring through me.

He looked a little different, I realized. But his expression was pure steel.

"I won't let you. It's time to admit you can't do it all on your own, Mercedes. The club is full of women who love kids. They'll help out. We're a family. And family doesn't stand by when someone's in trouble."

I had just opened my mouth to argue when I heard a light knock on the door. Sam pushed off the window and strode over to open it.

Another tall man walked in. Slightly taller than Sam, which was saying something.

He wore faded jeans, a dark shirt, and a black leather vest covered with patches, just like Sam's, including his name and a little red diamond with a 1% symbol on it.

All the Collectors had them. And my old friend Marley had told me it meant they were all outlaws.

That...I had no trouble believing.

This new guy had shoulder-length, darkish hair and a face so perfectly handsome he could've been a movie star.

Under one arm he held a stack of broken-down cardboard boxes, tied together with what looked like baling wire.

In the other, he held an aluminum baseball bat and a roll of duct tape...

I swallowed and nearly fainted. Then my hands actually started sweating, because I'm cliché like that.

My nemesis hadn't just come to rescue us, he'd brought along one of his accomplices. That was the biggest problem with Sam. The man was a package deal.

If you bought one Collector, you bought them all.

Well, all of them who weren't currently serving time.

"This is Stud, one of my brothers," Sam said, closing the door behind him. "He's gonna help us move your stuff. Stay quiet, but start packing whatever you want to bring. You'll be staying in the basement at my place. I don't think you've seen my new property," he added pointedly.

I rolled my eyes. Because I knew it was a dig at me for refusing his offer of a room at the beginning of the summer when we visited Colorado.

"The new place has got a daylight basement with a kitchen and everything, and you'll have your own little patio. And there's tons of space for Bray to run around, too. Oh, it's furnished, so only bring what you really care about. The rest of this shit can stay."

With that, he glanced around the room, judging my furniture.

But I saw his point. Most of it had been scrounged off curbs next to dumpsters. The others...the finer pieces...came from thrift stores.

"How's the kid?" Stud asked softly, setting the boxes down and leaning them against the wall.

Then he hefted the bat, giving it a little toss and catching it with his other hand. And I couldn't help but notice how thick his arms were.

Apparently, club life wasn't all drinking and whoring, because Sam and his friend obviously did some serious weight lifting.

"Did the bastard touch him? What're we dealing with?" Stud asked.

"Bray's fine," I said quickly. I eyed the tape, which he'd failed to deposit next to the folded boxes. "He was scared, but it's over now. And we really don't need your help, because we aren't going back to Colorado."

The man ignored me, glancing towards Sam.

"Is the guy still here?"

"Dunno yet," Sam replied. He looked to me. "Mercedes, show us which apartment they're in."

"What are you going to do?" I asked, glancing between them. Their faces were completely blank. "You can't actually kill him. You know that, right?"

"We don't kill people," Sam said, his voice calm and almost soothing. "But sometimes assholes like him have accidents when they aren't careful. We can't control that...it's a fact of life. Show us where he is."

I looked at Stud's big, strong hands holding his baseball bat and the roll of duct tape, one thumb caressing the silver surface.

Then I thought about my son clinging to a fire escape, four stories high, hiding from a 'bad man' who wanted him to sit on his lap so he could tickle him.

I thought about the booze and the pot and the porn .

Then I walked to the door, opened it, and pointed across the hall towards Rachel's studio.

"They're in there."

As usual, please forgive any extreme mistakes.

Stay safe!