Page 6 of Brutal Mercy

Leaving the prisoner in my brother’s capable hands, I take one of the golf carts on the half-mile trek to the elevator. I ride it back up to the surface, where I exit the shed, blinking at the bright sunlight. It’s a beautiful, crisp fall day with a nearly cloudless sky. One of those early fall gems where it’s warm enough to wear short sleeves.

I march toward the gate, passing my house on my right. The mansion is enormous, but it gives my siblings and me space when we’re all in residence. Both Ares and our sister, Athena, have their own suites on the third and fourth floors, respectively. But as head of our family, it’s my home.

I have a place closer to the city as well that I use when I have business in Denver. But these days, I prefer life at the compound, away from the hustle of the city.

I pass the guardhouse on the left as I near the steel gate. Beside the entrance is the guard station, with access stairs to the top where men patrol around the clock. But I don’t need to go up. We’ve got a bank of security monitors with cameras catching every angle on all sides. I step in behind Gio, one of my most trusted bodyguards, to get a look at our visitor.

“Take a look.” Gio nods as I enter.

Staring at the bank of screens, I see her. She’s limping, favoring her right leg, while her left looks like a strong wind would take it out from under her. There’s blood on her face and on her knees. Most of her inky hair escaped its braid. Her red plaid shirt is torn down the center. She keeps looking over her shoulder like she’s running from something or someone.

Fuck, I know that look. Someone hurt her. Badly, from the looks of it.

“She’s not a threat. Open the gate.” I waltz back out into the sunlight and stand in front of the gate as it silently retracts.

She’s limping as fast as her injured leg will carry her. I examine her form. She’s tall for a woman, with long, shapely legs encased in skinny jeans that appear spray-painted on. And she’s wearing tennis shoes, which are about as good out on a mountain hiking trail as dancing shoes.

The moment she spies me, her eyes light up. But it’s the expression etched onto her fucking stunning face that enchants me. Because she stares like I’m her salvation.

But most consider me the devil incarnate. In Denver’s criminal underbelly, I’m known as the King of Torture. Unafraid to cut down my enemies and exact my lethal brand of vengeance.

The right thing to do would be to race to her side and help her. But I make no move to go to her. If she wants my help, she must come to me willingly. If we were anywhere else but my compound, I would help her immediately. But I have too many enemies. And even though she doesn’t look like a threat, if I step beyond these walls, there’s no guarantee there’s not an ambush lying in wait to take me out.

And so I wait, studying her beauty beneath the grime, tears, and blood as she nears.

She’s twenty yards away.

Even with the blood and grime and her hair all a mess, she’s enchanting.

Then she’s fifteen yards out, and I can see she’s struggling. Her teeth are clenched, agony etched onto her gorgeous features. A sizzle ignites my blood as she approaches, and my dick twitches. It’s been a while since a woman has engaged my lust, which makes her unique.

And her fortitude to keep going amazes me. Her pain looks debilitating, yet she keeps hobbling toward me as fast as her injuries allow. This poor thing thinks whoever hurt her is scarier than me.

The irony isn’t lost on me. But it makes me wonder who hurt her. We might be thieves and murderers, but we don’t harm women and children. Ever.

Ten yards left to go. Her strides, even limping and painful, don’t slow.

Then five.

Christ, but she’s gorgeous—and young. Much younger than me. Yet it’s the look on her face that has my dick hardening in my slacks.

She thinks I’m safe. That I will help her.

And I will. But I am the furthest thing from altruistic or a safe space. If we don’t let her in and she dies out here, it’ll create problems I don’t need. The Feds are always breathing down my neck and looking for a reason to raid this place. A young, beautiful, dead woman on my doorstep, and there would be nothing I could do to stop their invasion. No amount of greasing pockets would keep them off my property.

She eradicates the remaining distance.

“Please.” Her voice is raspy. She reaches toward me, her slender arms outstretched.

Me.

A man likened to the devil. A man who has taken more lives than this beauty has ever known. A man who revels in torture to get what I want. I kill. I steal. And I control the criminal elements in Denver. It’s my drugs on the street. And it’s one of the many enterprises I oversee.

Fuck, but she’s the most stunning creature I’ve ever seen. After forty-one years on this planet, I’ve met plenty of gorgeous women. I’ve fucked a lot of them too. But not like her.

Because she looks at me like I’m her deliverance.

She’s a yard away when her left leg gives out. Her shout of pain as her leg crumples beneath her galvanizes me into action.

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