No Mercy

By Mary Martel

“Do you know what the funny thing about Mercy is?” Cap asked her. Before she could answer he spoke again, “It can be a cold, hard, unforgiving bitch.”
Duchess runs The Dollhouse. An old, two story mansion she recently purchased in an attempt to create a safe home for herself and her girl Franky, something neither of them have ever had. A safe home is not all The Dollhouse is though. The downstairs is a bar and the upstairs is home to something much seedier. A modern day brothel. A brothel Duchess is the proprietress of.
Duchess is a cold, hard, tough as nails woman with a murky past. Her whole life revolves around taking care of her girls and keeping them safe.
Life at The Dollhouse is irrevocably altered when its sole neighbor, the Mercy MC, strolls through the front doors of the bar.
From that moment on Duchess’s fate is intertwined with theirs. She tries to fight it to no avail. They claimed her and her girls and that’s all there is to it.
She gets a family she never wanted. Friends she never needed. And a lover she never expected. She also suffers loss and has no qualms about killing anybody who stands in her way or threatens her or her girls.
This is the first part in a series and it is not a happy go lucky story.
Warning: this series is intended for a mature audience. It contains violence, murder, prostitution, foul language, suicide and sexual content.
This is a first part in a series. The books are meant to be read in order.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mary Martel
• Release date: Oct 28, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311492982

Mary Martel

Mary Martel was born in West Michigan and spent most of her life there. She currently resides in North Dakota with her two daughters and husband. She loves reading, zombies, mermaids and all forms of art.Follow on Instagram: @mary.martelEmail address: [e-mail]

Book preview

About six months ago, I bought a house. A huge, monster of a house. Best decision I’ve ever made in my whole fucked up life. I bought a huge house and I got a huge fuckin’ family right along with it. One that I might not have wanted, never thought I needed and fought like hell to not become a part of. But none of that mattered. Once you’re in, you’re in for life and there’s no scraping them off. Believe me, in the beginning, I tried. No such luck.

Now I’m stuck with them and honestly? I wouldn’t have it any other way. I might not have wanted, needed and fought against them but that’s all changed now. I’d fight to keep them, I’d bleed for them, I’d lay down my life for them, I’d even kill for them. I’d do it, all of it, in a heartbeat. And I’d do it without batting an eye. They’re my family and they’d do the same for me, hell they have done it for me. Like I said, buying this house was the best decision I’ve ever made.

The moment I laid eyes on this old ramshackle of a house I just knew. This was home. This was where I belonged. Something from inside was calling out my name, begging me to come inside and never leave. So I bought it, I couldn’t not buy it. I fixed her up. I poured my time, energy and money into her and now she’s not just some old ramshackle of a house. No, she’s a fucking beauty.

I had the downstairs completely gutted and I had a bar put in. There’s pool tables, a jukebox, a bunch of tables and chairs, stools at the bar, a small dance floor off of the main area, the whole deal.

The upstairs is a whole different story. The main room was a bunch of small rooms that I had the walls knocked down to make up a huge open space, which makes up the living room and kitchen area. There’s a hallway off of the living room area that leads to a bunch of bedrooms. Nine to be exact. Each room has its own bathroom. The rooms are a decent size, which is a perk from the house being so old. There were more bedrooms to start out with but I wanted each room to have its own bathroom so I had a few more walls taken out to accommodate that.

The first door on the left is my room. All the other rooms are empty except for two. Those rooms belong to Francesca Wright and Marcie Marie Lyde. No body calls them by their given names though. It’s just Franky and Mandy.

Franky is twenty four years old. She’s a rich girl, trust fund baby. Daddy’s little princess. She’s a tiny little thing with hair so blonde it sometimes looks white and beautiful baby blues. She looks sweet and innocent. Couple that with her size and every one she comes across has an urge to protect her. Not me though. She’s a tough as nails bitch, with a serious side of crazy and a whore by choice. She’s also my best friend in the whole world and I know she doesn’t want to be treated like a fragile flower that will crumple if you breathe wrong in her direction. She hates that shit.

Then there’s Mandy. She’s twenty five. I have no idea where she comes from or anything about her background. All I know is that Franky showed up with her a couple of months ago, said she was looking for a job and a place to stay. She also had a black eye and was walking funny, holding her side like she was in serious pain. I took one look at her and that was all I needed. She moved in later that day. I didn’t ask because I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know. She’s quiet and keeps to herself. Like Franky she’s a tiny little thing. But that’s where the similarity ends. Mandy is a curvy Hispanic girl with dark hair and very large, dark eyes. She doesn’t have a look to her that says protect me she has a look that says fuck with me and I will kick you in the nuts. Even though I don’t know shit about her, I like her, a lot. She’s another whore by choice.

And yeah, I called them both whores. Because that’s what they are. That’s why they both live with me. That’s the job that Mandy was looking for. They are going to work in my bar downstairs and on their backs upstairs. And they’re going to make good money doing both. They don’t pay for rent or utilities. Hell, they don’t even have to pay for food if they don’t want to, they could just eat mine that’s already in the cupboards and fridge. I wouldn’t care.

It’s my job to take care of them and that’s what I do. It’s the only thing I really know how to do. It’s what my mom schooled me to be. It’s just not something I could ever have done for her. I didn’t care enough then and even when I think about her now I still can’t find it in me to care. It’s what I live for now though, taking care of my girls.

It’s why I bought my house. The bar is just a front, a legitimate business. Also, an added bonus because it was love at first sight.

I put an ad in the paper looking for a couple of competent bartenders and wait staff and I got lucky. Well, kind of lucky.

See, some people from next door came over to apply for the jobs. And by next door I mean the Mercy MC’s compound that sits behind its scary ass looking fence that is my neighbor. My one and only neighbor.

When I viewed my house I had no idea what lay beyond that fence. It just looked like a very large old warehouse that for some reason hid behind a scary ass looking fence. My realtor never made a peep about it and I was too in awe of my house at the time to care.

I should have paid better attention.

Now don’t get me wrong. I don’t mind rough and rowdy. And these boys have a look that just screams it. I’m opening a bar and I’m basically a pimp for fucks sake. I don’t judge. And that’s not what I’m doing now. I’m certain they are dirty and that’s my problem. And no, I’m not a hypocrite. I know dirty because I see it every day looking back at me in the mirror. I know dirty because I grew up incased in it. It took me all of two seconds to recognize the filth that was clinging all over these motherfuckers. The kind of dirty that’s way more than just dabbling in a little pussy, way more. The kind that sends you to prison for life and you don’t make it past the first year because one of your clubs enemies shanked your ass. The kind that draws attention, and therein lies my problem. I need attention of any kind like I need a fucking hole drilled into my head. Attention brings unnecessary drama and problems that I want to avoid like the plague.

When they came over to apply to the ad was the first time that I had met any of them. Not the first time I had seen them, but the first time I had met them. Two women showed up with three men. The women had skanky clothes on, you know the kind, barely there and what’s there is way too fucking tight. And they had bad hair. Or, I should say bad dye jobs in their hair. The three men were tall and lean. They all wore jeans, boots, t-shirts and their cuts. Two had brown hair and one was blonde. What you could see of their bodies was covered in tattoos.

Franky, Mandy and I were sitting on some stools at the bar shooting the shit, drinking some beer and waiting to see if anyone would show up for the open interviews when they walked in. All five of them strolled in with confidence, even the skanks with bad hair walked like they had it going on and they knew it. I hated these bitches on sight. My girls are whores but they don’t look like what you would think a whore looked like. These bitches looked like whores. I doubted they were though. Just skanky sluts. Not smart enough to get more than an orgasm, if you were lucky enough to get even that, out of it.

The blonde guy walked right up to where I was seated with a huge grin on his face. When he reached me he stuck out a tattooed and heavily ringed hand.

Hey, girl. Thought we’d come introduce ourselves seeing as we’re neighbors and all. Saw your ad in the paper and the girls and Hash wanted to come over and check your place out, see if you still got openings. Oh, and I’m Batey, by the way. When he was done speaking he pulled his hand from mine and took a step back.

Hey Batey, I’m Duchess. The blonde on the right is Franky and the dark haired one is Mandy. My girls tipped their heads down in acknowledgment at their names. There’s actually only been one person that’s showed up for an interview so far. I turned my attention from Batey to the skanks and the brown haired men behind him. Any of you have experience working in a bar?

The shorter of the two brown haired men stepped forward. He was different from the other two. Where the others wore cuts with multiple patches on them, this guy only had one patch on his vest, and it read ‘prospect.’ When he was about two feet from where I was sitting he stopped. No offering of a hand though like Batey had done.

Hash. He said while looking me straight in the eyes. He spoke quietly and with a deep voice.

Silence after that. Oookkkay. Apparently Hash wasn’t the chatty type.

Hey, nice to meet you. Maybe. I wasn’t sure how I felt about these assholes strolling on in here like they owned the place but I could put on a smile and fake being nicey nice with the best of them.

So, I said, dismissing Hash and looked back to Batey, who seemed to be in charge of them. "What kind of jobs are you guys looking for?

One of the skanks stepped up in front of Batey before he had a chance to answer my question. She was giving Franky and Mandy the evil eye while thrusting her chest out. Franky smiled at her and Mandy’s face, as usual, stayed blank. Neither looked away. Yeah, it was official, skank number one wasn’t just a skank but a mega bitch. I didn’t give a fuck what this bitch could do, no way in hell was I giving her a job.

I’m Avery. She snipped after tossing her bleached hair over her shoulder, finally looking at me. I’m looking for a waitressing job. I worked at Pete’s in town for a couple of years, back before he sold it. I know my way around a bar.

Skank number two stepped forward, not sparring Franky or Mandy a glance, and stuck her hand out at me. I’m Bec. I don’t have experience, but I need a job. And I mean, really, how hard can it be?

I picked up my beer and took a sip, then I looked over at Franky. She was grinning and nodding her head at me like she thought this was a splendid idea. Oh no, no way. I wasn’t going to give them a job in the first place but I definitely wasn’t going to give them a job after seeing Frankys smile. That crazy bitch would get them alone the first chance she got and God only knows what fate would befall them when she got her hands on them. It would not be pretty. And I’m guessing that since they looked to be tight with the boys from next door, it would be even less pretty than normal. I shook my head at her.

I appreciate you ladies coming over, I really do. I plastered on my sweetest smile for their benefit, I’m just not looking for waitresses right now. I have no idea how busy things are going to be right off the bat but I’m thinking that between the three of us we can manage. I looked to Hash and pointed my finger at him. You wanted a job too, right? He nodded his head. Great. How do you feel about bartending?

Never done it before, but I got no problem learning.

Perfect. You can come back tomorrow around noonish, if that works for you. One of the girls will be here to set you up and show you around. Sound good?

He nodded his head again. Yeah girl, that works just fine for me.

Thanks for stopping by guys. I appreciate the neighborly gesture. Hope you guys can make it on opening night. Should be packed and we are going to have kick ass drink specials going all night long.

When I was done talking Avery took a step forward and grabbed onto my arm with her hand. I could feel her nails digging into my skin. Immediately I was off my stool and had my hand, the one that she hadn’t grabbed onto, wrapped around her throat. I put pressure on her throat, squeezing just enough to get her attention, and both her hands went up to latch onto mine.

The room around us went wired. I could feel it, pressing in on my skin. The men were tense, Franky had gotten up off of her stool and was staring at Bec like she was getting ready to tackle her and Mandy was just sitting there, sipping her beer, like this was normal.

And me, I was fucking livid. I leaned into Avery’s face. She clawed at my hand, trying to get me to let go. Not fucking happening.

Let’s get a few things straight, sweetheart. You don’t ever put your fucking hands on me. Not ever. You. Do. Not. Touch. Me. You do, and we are going to have a serious problem. I squeezed her throat a little bit tighter, just to make sure she was getting my message. Do you get what I’m saying to you?

She tried to nod as best as she could with my hand still wrapped around her throat. I dropped her and took a step back. She bent over at the waist, coughing and sputtering, rubbing her hands at her throat.

You fucking bitch! Bec snarled at me and took a step forward. Franky was in