Page 54 of Begging for Mercy
Tome?
“I’ve slept with hundreds of people?—”
This isn’t making me feel any better about letting him touch Mercy.
“But that gives me hundreds of new experiences.” His gaze cuts across the sky to find mine. “How many have you had, Sam?”
I stare dumbly as the man I hate more than anyone smiles at me. Rather than wait for my answer—because it’s a rhetorical question—he puts on his helmet and kickstarts his bike, driving off before I have a chance to do anything about it. I spend ten minutes searching for the gun magazine and another ten minutes waiting for Mercy to stop crying. When she finally settles down, I slump against the bed of my truck and slam my fist into the tailgate. The throbbing pain doesn’t make me feel any better.
At this point, I don’t know what will.
Chapter 19
Mercy
Sleepless nights aren’tnew for me. After my mom passed away, I would lie awake and pretend she was sitting beside me. Braiding my hair, watching me draw, singing a lullaby—whatever small comforts I gave myself, I attributed to her. It worked for the most part. I could pretend that she wasn’t really gone and that everything was still okay.
But tonight, absolutely nothing feels okay.
The ache between my thighs throbs with its own heartbeat, the release Sam inevitably gave me only making my heart hurt even more. It’s not what I wanted, merely a cheap imitation. If I’d had my way, he would have taken my virginity—that I finally offered him!—and held me while we slept until daybreak, the two of us wrapped around each other so that we don’t have to face our demons alone.
I shut my eyes and cover my ears, but nothing drowns out their screams.
You’re so pathetic that even your best friend won’t sleep with you. He got you off so that you’d shut up about it.
Reaper’s only interested in you because you’re a virgin. As soon as you give it up, he’ll disappear, just like Sam.
Zane doesn’t want you—he’s priming you to take Reaper’s cock, and then he’s going to kill you for taking it so well.
Such a dirty little virgin, letting three men kiss you.
Round and round the thoughts spiral, chewing me up until there’s nothing left but dust. I try to stifle my sobs, but even my pillow is worn out, tired of my bullshit. A knock on my door barely registers in my brain, and it takes me a millennium to undo the new latches that Sam installed.
Not like they matter for keeping people out. I might as well lock myself inside.
Once I finally manage to unlock and crack open the door, my father’s face appears. Tired, wrinkled, with streaks of gray that didn’t used to be there. He brightens upon seeing me. It’s been a few days since our paths crossed.
“Hi, Daddy.”
“Hi, Pumpkin. Can I come in?”
I clutch the door handle and quickly glance behind me. My room is a mess—it usually is, but after Sam left, I tore up an entire sketchbook and threw the papers around the room. They litter the floor like ash, scattering with every gentle breeze through my open window. “No,” I murmur, closing the door another inch. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine.” He sighs. “I called your sister. She’ll be here in the morning.”
“Okay.” I scrub my hand down my face and take a breath. Having company keeps the shadows from crawling out of their corners of the room. Lilith will be a welcome distraction. But I can’t ask my father to step inside my perpetual den of sadness. It isn’t always this gloomy, but tonight, it feels suffocating. Before he can leave, I reach through the crack in the door and grab his hand. “Dad—” I swallow my hesitation. “Um, when you and Mom…” I think of how to phrase my question. “When you fell in love, did you know it wouldn’t last?”
My father used to be an upbeat man. He would sing with the songbirds and paint with my mother in the sunroom. They were so,soin love that it followed them everywhere, bringing comfort to grieving hearts that wandered in their path. Lately, he’s been so buried in work that I haven’t seen him smile. I rarely see him at all.
Sometimes I wonder if he could take it all back, would he?
“Are you asking if I regret marrying your mother?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Do you?”
His resounding exhale blows past the streaks of gray in his thick mustache. “Of course not, Pumpkin. Your mother—she was the light of my life. I still love her dearly.” He squeezes the tips of my fingers. “But you have your own light, too, you know. All of you kids do. In all different shades.” A small smile graces his features, making him appear a few years younger. “I’ll never regret a single moment with your mother. I only wish we had more time together…” His voice trails off. “But, that’s what makes every moment precious. We can’t go back and rewrite the past, so we need to enjoy the present. Your mother brought me so much joy, and she will always mean the world to me. Why would I want to erase that?”
I try to shrink in on myself, suddenly feeling very small. “Because it’s so much harder without her.”
