Jackson (Mercy Ring Book 1)

Ryker Louis Harp. Jackson’s gaze skittered over his best friend’s name on the tombstone. A friend he would never see again. Never speak to or fight beside. He stared at the name so long that his eyes ached with the need to look away. Blink. Anything.

Eventually, he glanced at the date of birth and date of death. Two things telling the world he was too fucking young to die.

And then that little inscription: A loving son, brother, friend, soldier, and defender. Rest in peace.

Jackson wished he could feel the pain of losing the man who was basically his brother. He wished he could cry. Scream. Feel the rupturing of his chest. But all he felt was numb.

The priest was talking, but Jackson barely heard a word.

For the thousandth time, he wondered about his friend’s final minutes. There was supposed to be a moment right before a person died where they saw everything, right? The highs. The lows. The moments of deep regret that tore the soul to shreds and made the tiny fragments of the heart squeeze and clench.

Had Ryker experienced that? Had he felt the impossible weight of every decision he’d made press down on him seconds before he’d lost control and his car had careened off the side of that bridge?

Jackson’s jaw clenched as the casket began to lower into the ground. Suddenly, the numbness started to disintegrate, and a wild anger rose in his chest. Anger that something so fucking tragic had happened to such a good man. Anger that scumbags still breathed on this Earth while Ryker would never suck in another breath again.

Ryker may not have been his brother by blood, but in every other way, he was exactly that. The guy had taken Jackson in and welcomed him into his family. There’d barely been a day since they’d met at fifteen years of age when the two of them had been apart.

Inseparable. That’s what they’d been. Finishing school together. Enlisting together. Hell, they’d even become Delta Force operators together in the same damn team.

He heard Declan’s sharp intake of breath beside him at the light thud of the casket hitting the bottom of the grave. Cole, on the other hand, was silent.

Those small differences described his teammates to a T. Declan was the extroverted one who wasn’t afraid to show emotion. Cole was the quiet one. Ryker had been a bit of both. The glue that kept them strong. Kept them alive on their deadliest missions.

He didn’t know what the hell he was. Right now, he’d describe himself as pretty damn lost.

They weren’t active operators anymore. A year ago, they’d decided not to reenlist after their last mission in the Middle East. All of them had needed to get out and take some time off. The plan had been to stay close, though. Keep in contact and talk every day.

That hadn’t happened—and it made him feel raw inside that he’d missed the last year of his best friend’s life.

The priest continued to talk, spewing words Jackson didn’t believe in.

Finally, he dragged his gaze off the tombstone to look at her. The woman he’d been so damn sure he’d never see again.

River. Ryker’s little sister.

She stood across the large gathering, her mother on one side and her friend Michele on the other.

Even though his heart felt torn in two, and an ache had taken root inside that he was sure would never heal, he couldn’t stop how his body reacted to her. The way something deep inside him flicked on, like a lightbulb. Even after sixteen long years of separation, his chest heated at the sight of her.

An old, familiar fire pulsed through his blood. A primal need that heaved through his stomach. One he hadn’t felt since he was a teenager. Because no other woman had ever made him feel what she did.

When the wind pushed locks of soft black hair over her face, she didn’t even attempt to push them away. Her entire focus remained on the grave.

He expected to see tears and heartbreak on her face. A deep, inconsolable pain.

He didn’t see any of that.

All he saw was anger. It darkened her eyes to the color of the sky when there was no moon or stars. It reddened her cheeks and straightened her spine.

Jackson’s brows tugged together. He’d glanced her way a few times throughout the day, and the anger was always there. And it had him wondering.

River had always been close to her brother. One year separated them in age, but growing up, a lot of people mistook them for twins. Ryker had been her brother first, friend second. Every chance the man had, he’d contacted his sister. Returned home for holidays. Checked in to see that she was okay.

Questions skittered around in his head. What else was she feeling that she wasn’t showing? Why was anger the dominant emotion? Maybe anger was her way of dealing with the pain. But something in his gut told him there was more to it than that.

She hadn’t looked at him once. In fact, she’d barely looked at anyone. She’d stood by her parents and friend the entire day, silent.

When her head finally rose, she scanned the crowd. That’s when he saw it. The first flicker of emotion other than anger. Surprise.

Her lips slipped open, her eyes widening.

Jackson followed her gaze across the crowd of people to a young Asian man standing at the back. When his gaze met River’s, his eyes rounded slightly. Not just in surprise. But like he hadn’t wanted anyone to catch him there. Like he’d been trying to lurk in the shadows without being seen.

“Mr. And Mrs. Harp have organized some food and drinks at their house,” the priest said. “If you can, they would love for everyone to join them.”

People started moving around Jackson, but his focus remained on her. On the way she immediately started shuffling through the crowd, beelining for this mystery man, a desperate look in her eyes.

Jackson could already see she wasn’t going to make it. The guy was walking away, and he was walking quickly. And while every step she took was fast, there were too many people she had to weave through, and every so often, someone stopped her with a light touch on her arm. A sad smile as they blocked her path.

Jackson shot his gaze back to the man who’d just reached the parking lot. He might be walking away now, but Jackson had noted the guy’s face at the service and committed it to memory. It was obvious he meant something to River.

Now that Ryker was gone, the responsibility fell on his shoulders to look after her. He owed it to his best friend. And he’d sure as hell be taking that responsibility seriously.

River took a sip of juice, barely tasting it. It could have been a cup of mud for all the attention she paid. She was too busy searching the crowd for Kenny.

Where was he? Why was he at the funeral? Did he know something?

Her gut clenched at the thought.

Her brother had officially been declared dead seven days ago. It had been a long week of comforting her parents while they mourned the loss of their son. A week of trying to work out what the hell was going on.

And a week of organizing a funeral for a man she knew wasn’t dead.

She hadn’t mentioned the last part to anyone. Not just because they’d probably think she was just a grieving sister in denial over her brother’s death. But because there was clearly a reason behind him being declared dead—probably a very dangerous one.

Even though there was no way she’d put her parents in danger by telling them, she sure as hell wasn’t going to just sit on the knowledge.

“Still doing okay?”

River swung her gaze beside her to Michele. They’d been best friends since high school and usually told each other everything. This was the first secret she’d kept in…well, since they’d met.

“I’m okay.”

Michele frowned, her indigo-blue eyes darkening. “River…” Oh boy, here it comes. “I can’t begin to imagine what you’re going through right now. I feel like my own heart is breaking,” her voice cracked a little bit, but she recovered quickly, “and he wasn’t even my brother.”

Wasn’t. Past tense. Everyone had been speaking about him in past tense, and it killed her.

Michele touched her arm. “But I think it’s important you feel what you need to feel.”

Oh, River was feeling plenty. Confusion. Frustration. An anger so powerful that sometimes she swore she’d drown in it. The anger wasn’t directed at anyone else, though. It was only toward herself. All of it. Because she was pretty sure that whatever was going on, whatever the reason Ryker had faked his own death…it had something to do with River and that damn club she never should have walked into.

“We all handle grief in our own way, I know that,” Michele continued. “But you’re almost acting like…”

Like he’s not dead?

The words were right there on the tip of River’s tongue. She only just kept them to herself.

She forced a small smile to her lips. Out of the two of them, River was the risktaker. The adventurer. And Michele was the calm. The voice of reason.

“Thank you, Chele. You’ve been such a wonderful friend. And trust me, I’m feeling so much, I just…” She stopped when her gaze landed on a man across the room. His back was turned to her, but she was almost certain it was him. Kenny. “Sorry, Chele, I’ll be right back.”

The words had only just left her lips when she was zipping through the throng of people, pushing and weaving until she reached the man.

She pressed a hand to his shoulder. “Kenny—”

The man turned, and her stomach dropped. Not Kenny. Even though he looked similar from behind in height, breadth, and hair color, he was older, and not of Asian descent.

“Sorry, I, um, thought you were someone else.”

Sympathy softened the guy’s eyes.

Oh God. She couldn’t handle another person looking at her like that. Like they were waiting for her to break before their eyes.

She needed space. Silence.

Turning away, she headed up the stairs. But instead of moving to her old room, she went to Ryker’s.

The second she stepped inside, she felt like she could breathe again. Her parents had left his room untouched since he’d left for the military.

Memories flooded her. Of dropping onto his bed and talking about nothing and everything. Complaining about dumb stuff that she couldn’t even remember. Bugging him until he’d physically remove her from the room.

She smiled, touching the surface of his dresser.

Over the last year, he’d mostly lived at her house, but he still stayed with their parents on the odd occasion. There were little things that sat out here and there, like his watch, a couple of shirts…and she just knew that her mother hadn’t had the strength to touch anything since he’d been declared dead.

“Where are you, Ryker?” she asked quietly.

Why was he hiding? Could he see what he was doing to Mom and Dad?

She sat on the bed, smoothing the sheets beneath her fingers. Then, reaching over, she ran her hand over the light layer of dust on the side table. The drawer was slightly cracked open, something white poking out.

Frowning, she pulled it from the drawer. A napkin with a name and phone number.

She traced her finger over the name. Angel.

Then she started tracing the number, already itching to call it. It could be nothing. A random girl had probably given him her number. Ryker was tall, good-looking, and took great care of his body. He was also funny and smart. All the things women loved, so they naturally gravitated toward him.

The thing was, he wasn’t the kind of guy to keep any number. Definitely not on a napkin in a drawer. He’d enter it into his phone or just toss it altogether. More the latter in the last year, since he’d returned home.

Unless the number was important. So important that he wanted to keep it, but not in his phone.

At the sound of footsteps approaching the doorway, River jumped to her feet, spinning around while hiding the napkin behind her back.

Immediately, her breath caught, her stomach doing a little flip.

Jackson.