Page 101 of Penance

I lean back, a smirk playing on my lips. I meet the eyes of every single one of the holier-than-thou bastards that dare to challenge me, and I stare them down. They all fold easily. They look away, but they start their whispering again.

Let them look.

Let them wonder.

Let them judge.

Their opinions mean nothing to me. But Mercy—she’s delicate. She’s scared, and she’s letting it get to her. Reaching out, I grab her hand again and hold it firmly in mine.

Maybe it will help, but probably not. It will probably make it worse.

The organ music starts to play, and it raises memories in me that I’d rather forget, but I shake it away. I won’t let it make me weak. The minister takes his place, his eyes sweeping over the congregation, and I am acutely aware of the moment he notices me. His gaze lingers on Mercy, then flicks to me again, cold and disapproving.

He doesn’t want me here.

None of them do.

Good.

Throughout the service, Mercy’s parents sit rigid and uncomfortable, and their disapproval washes over me in waves. Her mother casts occasional glances at me, her eyes filled with unease. Her father’s jaw is set in a hard line, his hands clenched on his knees. I can see the pulse throbbing in his temple, a vein pulsing in anger.

Great. Exactly what I was hoping for.

The service ends, and the church begins to empty, and I can’t help but notice that it seems a little quicker than usual. No one stops to mingle when there is a wolf in their ranks. We step out into the blinding sunlight, and I take a deep breath, pulling in fresh air and diluting the incense that swims in me.

Mercy’s father turns to me, his expression grim.

Damn, he’s looking at me like someone died.

“A word, Killian,” he says, his voice a low growl.

I raise an eyebrow, feigning innocence.

I’m not innocent, and he knows it.

Maybe he can sense it.

“Of course, Mr. Clarke.”

We step off the church stairs, leaving Mercy with her mother, and step out of the way, into the grass.

“It’s been nice to see you,” he says, but even with his kind words, I can tell he is uncomfortable. “It’s been a while.”

I nod.

“About 15 years,” I say, nodding in agreement.

“Heard what happened to your daddy,” he says, and he sighs. Mercy’s father and mine had been good friends at one point. “It’s a shame.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Nobody expected it.”

“Horrible way to die.”

It was, but he got what he deserved. A fiery car crash after a night of drinking. He hit that tree on purpose, ashamed of what happened to me.

No one will convince me otherwise.

He couldn’t look me in the face.

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