Mercy's Angels Box Set (Mercy's Angel #1-3) Page 4

  “My name is Jax Carter. This is Mercy’s shelter and I help run the place. There is no reason for you to be afraid here.” Jax, his name rolled through my mind like sweet, warm honey. He turned, and I assumed he expected me to follow and while my mind said ‘no’ my feet said ‘hell yes’ and caught up to the giant man as he strolled with casual ease through the doorway and into a big warm room. Damn he was tall. Marcus had been a big man, but Jax was bigger. And for some reason, even though his overwhelming presence was frightening, I also felt curiously safe. Safe like I had not felt in a very long time.

  “Do you have a name?” He asked over his shoulder. I had gone by many names over the years. Kylie, Jemmah, Melanie, but something made me want to tell this stranger the truth. I had no idea why. Perhaps my brain had frozen somewhere between the bus depot and the shelter. He glanced over his shoulder again, most likely to see if I would answer. His lopsided grin sent my heart into some crazy acrobatic somersault.

  "Ella," I mumbled. His smile widened, and small dimples made those roguish good looks more boyish, more innocent, younger somehow.

  “That’s a pretty name.” He turned back to lead me through the shelter. Pretty! Ahhh geez. Well if he didn't blow my senses to hell with his cheeky grin and gentle eyes, the compliment sure as hell did it. I forced myself to look away and take in my surroundings. As far as shelters went, this was by far one of the nicest I'd been in, but also one of the smallest. I wondered if they had room for me. A few curious gazes watched me though not for long. As soon as my eyes met theirs they looked away, normal for places like this. Everyone was running from something or someone. Nobody wanted to give away their miserable stories with the honest truth behind their eyes. A middle-aged woman with curly brown hair pulled into a messy pony tail nodded at Jax. I couldn’t pick her age, maybe fifty, sixty at most? Her eyes were full of understanding like she knew the truth, and maybe she did. She looked tired and beat and I didn't doubt that she had her own demon and nightmares. She seemed as tired as I felt, but her smile was warm and friendly. She showed no sign of pity. I appreciated that, I hated pity, didn't need it or want it. Only moments ago I had been filled with so much pity for myself I could have drowned an entire city in it. She was placing a plate of food onto the lap of a young girl who looked to be around twelve. The little girl glanced my way and I saw it. The shattered innocence and despair. God, I hated that I could spot it so easily. If I hadn't of lived this life I might have been able to be comfortably oblivious to such hopelessness. Would I though? Could I ignore these people, these places? People who hadn't spent time on the streets, who didn't struggle, they didn't truly understand and most of them had no trouble turning their heads and looking the other way. I would like to think I wouldn't be so callous, but maybe, if my life had been different, if my dad hadn't of died I would be one of those people who was blissfully ignorant of such a tragic existence.

  "Hope you left some for me, Sam," Jax said playfully. The little girl attempted a smile but it didn’t reach her eyes. Suddenly her plate of food became the most interesting thing in the room.

  “Who do we have here?” The woman asked, her voice rough and husky.

  “Beth, Ella, Ella, Beth.” Jax introduced us and her smile grew bigger.

  "Nice to meet you, Ella. You look like you could use a warm shower.” I was shivering uncontrollably, my teeth almost clicking together, my fingers and toes felt numb.

  “Jax, you remember it’s a full house tonight?” She turned her attention to Jax, though her kind smile remained firmly in place.

  “How can I forget when you keep reminding me?” Jax continued to move through the room, waving me on. “Come on angel, let me show you where you can wash up. I'll prepare you a plate of food while you get warm." First pretty, now angel? The sentiments made my heart do silly things. Hold up, full house? That meant no beds.

  "I don't need a bed. If I could just wait out the storm, I'll find somewhere else to stay as soon as it's passed." Jax shook his head as he led me around the rows of tidy beds and to a doorway at the back of the room.

  “It won’t be a problem Ella. Have a shower, warm up. I’ll get you something to eat. I can drag my bed out of the staff quarters and bunk down on the couch in Mercy’s office for the night.” He handed me a big fluffy towel, it was soft and smelt wonderfully clean. Yep, this was officially the best shelter I had ever stepped foot in.

  “I don’t want you to go to any trouble I can sleep on a couch. I’m smaller than you so I’m sure I’ll be more comfortable on a couch.” I argued while discreetly inhaling the scent of the fresh towel. Jax grinned.

  “It wouldn’t be very chivalrous of me to allow a lady to sleep on the couch while I snuggled in a nice warm bed and I am quite the gentleman around here so don’t bother arguing.”

  “I’ll be out of your hair first thing tomorrow,” I said.

  "We don't usually have a full house. There are a few regulars out there who only come when they need a break from home and old Thelma hates being indoors, she’s only here to escape the storm. There will be at least two empty beds by tomorrow night. You can stay as long as you need." Suddenly I felt uncomfortable. Never before had it bothered me to bunk down for a few nights, sometimes even a few weeks, in a shelter. It beat sleeping in doorways and stairwells, but standing here before this handsome man who obviously had a home, most likely a wife with the standard 2.5 kids, dog, the whole cozy deal, I suddenly felt like the failure Marcus had assured me I was. I clenched down my jaw hard, pressing away the tears, the weak and pathetic tears that always came at the most inappropriate times. Like when Rita, BJ, and Larry had come to my rescue all those years ago. Even now when I put in my regular ‘I'm okay' phone call to Rita, her kindness and concern still brought tears to my eyes. Give me anger and violence and not a drop would fall, but kindness got me blubbering within seconds. I couldn't say anything, so I simply nodded.

  “Door locks from the inside, so don’t worry about anyone walking in on you. There are three showers in the shelter, but this one is the largest. Have you got dry clothes in there?” He nodded to my backpack.

  “Yes,” I growled, the looming sorrow disappearing with irritation. I knew I sounded like an ungrateful brat, after-all Jax was only trying to help me, but it pissed me off that he thought I was so inept I couldn’t even scrounge together dry clothes.

  "Soap," he tried to hand me a clean wrapped cake of soap, and I shook my head.

  “I h-have my own s-soap.” Damn, between the shivering, the effort it took not to cry and being pissed off, I could barely talk now.

  "Well get cleaned up. When you're done I'll be in the kitchen. Just go through the doorway on the other side of the room, turn right and follow the corridor. The kitchen is at the very end. You can't miss it, it smells amazing." I simply nodded as Jax strolled away, and I backed into the large cubicle behind me, locking the door.

  It was simple, nothing fancy but again clean. It smelled a little like detergent and bleach. Dumping my bag on the small counter I quickly shed my wet clothes and got under the steaming hot spray. My fingers and toes stung from the sudden rise in temperature. It was a delicious pain, a biting warmth and reminder that I was alive. Suck shit Marcus, Mister I-can- find-a-needle-in-a-haystack-if-I-so-wish. I smiled at the thought of Marcus's departing words. Didn't find me though did you asshole?

  Once the stinging pain had seeped from my extremities, I dug out my bottle of coconut body wash. I always carried my own toiletries. Living in shelters and share accommodation had taught me that no matter how low on cash I was, I had to have those luxuries. I quickly and efficiently washed. I never lingered under the hot spray of water that wasn't my own, there were always others who needed that hot water too. I also had no desire to see or feel the scars that covered my arms. They reminded me of my weakness and just how low I had let my life sink. And the deep ugly scars on my wrists, I hated them most. They reminded me of Marcus, just as he said they would. They were ugly and made me feel ugly. What woul
d a man like Jax think seeing those scars? I bet his beautiful wife had no scars. Stop feeling sorry for yourself Ella. You're alive, and you escaped. You're better off than most. I didn't have another jacket. Only long sleeved shirts and a couple of jumpers. But it seemed warm in the shelter and my jacket would be dry enough to wear come morning. I left my hair out, as always, to cover the scar by my eye. Collecting my damp clothes I stuffed them in a plastic shopping bag I always carried with me and grabbed my backpack heading off to find the kitchen. Hopefully, there was somewhere I could hang my wet clothes.

  “Hi,” came a little voice from beside me as I stepped out of the shower. He was a little brown haired blue eyed bundle of joy and innocence, and as cute as a button to boot. There was no stopping the smile that he brought to my face.

  “Hi yourself.”

  “What were you doing out in the storm?”

  “Oh, I only just got into town. I didn’t realize there was going to be a storm.” He nodded thoughtfully.

  “Did your mom and dad bring you?” Such an innocent question and it made my smile drop slightly.

  “No, I caught a bus. Have you ridden on a bus before?” I easily deflected the conversation away from family. His eyes widened.

  "Sure, I went on a bus to school once." My smile was back in place. "I'm Eli." His little hand outstretched mimicking the manners of an adult, and I politely shook it.

  "It' nice to meet you, Eli, my name's Ella." His blue eyes lit up.

  “Ella and Eli. We kind of match.”

  “We kinda do, we’ve got pretty awesome names.” Eli suddenly disappeared in a rush of excitement, squealing to his mother how our names ‘kind of’ matched. Floating on a euphoric cloud of childish innocence, clean and warm from the shower I wandered through a long corridor, following the incredible smell that wafted through the air. Holding my clothes in front of me like a shield, I stepped into the large kitchen. Like the rest of the shelter, it was clean, all but a few dirty dishes. A significantly round woman laughed with a loud shrill, her rosy cheeks flushed. She spotted me by the door, and I shrunk back suddenly wishing I could disappear into the corridor behind me. I hated being the center of attention.

  "Come on in before this big oaf eats all your dinner." Jax had his back to me, but when he heard the stout woman's invite he casually turned around and smiled.

  "Feeling a bit warmer now, angel?" Flip went my heart, stupid Ella. He more than likely had pet names for all the women in the shelter and no doubt saved the truly heart melting sentiments for his wife.

  “Does angel have a name?” The woman beside him asked, wiping her hands on a large apron. She gave Jax a curious smirk.

  “Sorry Mary, this is Ella, she just blew in with the storm.” Jax lifted two plates and put them down at a tall bench in the center of the room.

  "It's nice to meet you, Ella. And I mean it, get your skinny backside in here and get some supper before Jax eats it all. I mean look at him, he's the size of a damn Oak, he needs all the food he can get to fill those long legs.” My eyes automatically went to those impressive legs before my mind caught up and realized what I was doing. Jax grinned, I was totally busted and I could feel my blush heating my cheeks. I needed to resurrect those shields that protected me, so putting my trademark scowl back in place, I let my veil of long hair fall forward, shrouding my face.

  “Here, let me take those for you. We have a laundry room and I’ve got a few things to throw on. You have anything else that needs washing?” Shaking my head I hesitated in handing over my clothes to Mary. I didn’t like handing over my possessions to others. I had so few things of my own that I preferred to take care of them myself, that way I could be sure not to lose anything. To some they might only be material things, replaceable things, but to me they were all I had. Money was always scarce which meant being extra careful of what little I did have. Mary winked as if recognizing my hesitance.

  “I will take good care of these Ella and make sure you have them back before you go to bed tonight.”

  Jax was already sitting down to his own plate of food. He didn't force me to join him, no expectations, just the silent offer of a meal. My backpack slid from my shoulders, and I let it fall to my feet as I climbed onto the tall chair at the counter.

  "I hope you're not a vegetarian. Not that Mary minds cooking vegetables, but she's got this thing about fattening everyone up, and she seems to think that it's done with three food groups, pig, beef, and lamb." I took a deep breath and drew in the spicy aroma of what I think was beef casserole, with what looked like real beef and veggies.

  “Yep, real beef,” Jax murmured. “Not many shelters offer the real thing, so I’m told. Most the women who stay are surprised with the food. Mary’s husband is a butcher. He provides us with enough meat to feed a small army and trust me, it tastes a hell of a lot better than the food I was forced to eat in the military.” I cast him a sideways glance.

  “You’re a soldier?” I asked the words so low I wondered if he would even hear me.

  “Was,” Jax wiped his mouth politely with a napkin. “I served for nine years, right out of school. I finished up my last tour a bit over eight months ago.”

  “You didn’t like it?” I was genuinely curious. Even though he was built like a soldier, he didn’t exactly look military. His hair was too long, his eyes too gentle and warm. He nodded towards my food.

  “Tell you what, I’ll talk if you eat.” I glanced at my food; it smelt delicious. He didn’t need to make me a deal to force me to eat it. But the chance to sit and listen to this beautiful man was too much to refuse. I should have been scared of Jax. I was always reluctant and cautious around men and large men like this one usually just freaked me out. However, sitting here alone in this kitchen with Jax felt unusually comfortable and there seemed to be no hostility in him, no hatred or violence. Not like Marcus where the hatred in that man’s stare was almost as punishing as his fists. The violence he had brought to my world not only left me physically scarred but emotionally scarred. All it took was a raised voice for my heart to break into a panicked stutter and the violence of a fight, the slapping sounds of fists hitting flesh, pushing, screaming, it all sent me into a full-blown panic attack. I had other triggers too. If someone came at me from behind, I would lose my shit, the smell of cigars made my stomach turn, big men dressed in expensive suits sent me into run and flee mode, basically any memory that was associated with Marcus caused me to slip into a panic that would cause my lungs to squeeze closed until I either passed out or regained control.

  “Hey,” Jax’s gentle voice bought me straight back to Mercy’s kitchen where I realized I was rubbing my wrists as the memories threatened to drag me away from this moment. “Lost you there for a minute,” he noted. Letting my hair fall forward again, protecting me from his knowing gaze I scooped up some beef and put it in my mouth. Delicious!

  “I didn’t hate the army. I was good at it.” Jaxon said, leaping straight into conversation. “I moved my way up the ladder quickly, but in the end I was more interested in saving lives, rather than taking them. Don’t get me wrong, I believe in what our soldiers are doing for our country and others, but it just wasn’t for me.” I nodded as I greedily shoved food in my mouth.

  "I like to build things. I've built a lot of the furniture here in the shelter. I've set myself up a small construction company. Little jobs, sometimes sheds, shop fit outs. I've helped build a couple of homes for friends, for Mercy, even my own." I glanced at his hands, big, strong, calloused hands. They were nothing like Marcus's soft hands that only knew violence and hate. Jax's hands were made to create and protect. I looked at my own hands. A little soft from my last job, eight weeks washing dishes, easy work, crap money. It had been a long time since charcoal had colored my fingers. Almost twelve months to be exact and over the last four years there were only four portraits that had I sketched, and they currently lay safely folded at the bottom of my backpack. Sketching brought me painful memories of what could have been. However muc
h I loved to do it, I just couldn’t bring myself to keep it up.

  "There you go again." Jax was watching me carefully. "Am I boring you?" He teased. I blushed like a school girl and rolled my eyes at my ridiculous bashfulness. We finished up our meals. Jax talked, I listened. I enjoyed his voice, it was strong yet gentle and always enthusiastic, like even the most insignificant moment was important. He told me all about the shelter and a little more about his business. He never asked questions, never pried, not once. I wasn't sure if I was relieved or disappointed. When I realized we had sat talking for over an hour, I was stunned that the time had passed so quickly and easily. I followed Jax back out into the common room, noticing the lights had been dimmed and most of the women had gone to bed. Eli sat at a table with an array of crayons and paper. A woman sat quietly at his side reading, his mother I assumed. I quickly made my way over to my new friend and slid into the free chair at his other side, placing my backpack safely at my feet.

  "Mind if I join you?" Eli smiled and pushed a piece of paper my way. I could see he had drawn a very impressive looking bus. "The bus I came in on was red," I offered. Without hesitation Eli grabbed a red crayon and started coloring. I thumbed the crayon for a long time until eventually picking it up, my fingers caressing it almost nervously like it might be a live missile or something. Then, with great hesitation I pressed it to the page. After a few testing lines, my hand took over. The worry in my mind seemed to disappear, the tension in my body lost. The world around me ceased to exist. I didn't even notice that I had reached for another piece of paper, nor had I noticed when Eli was dragged off to bed by his mother. I especially did not notice Jax sitting across the table from me, staring at me like I was some sort of mutant freak.