Page 19 of Merciless
In any case, woman or not, she was here to enact her personal brand of torture on Reaper.
“Stop touching him!” I yelled again when she ignored me the first time. “You want to fuck with someone, fuck with me.”
Her next glance at me was narrow-eyed and annoyed. “You don’t have to take my help, but I’m your best shot at living if you do.”
“Help?” I couldn’t have heard her correctly. I was hallucinating.
The woman returned to her task, which I realized was washing Reaper’s face. His sounds of pain were quiet, more discomfort than anything else. A bloodied rag was discarded on the floor next to her, while she dipped a clean rag in a bowl of actual water and wrung it out before wiping it over Reaper’s face and neck.
Her passes over his skin were light, intentionally being careful of his injuries. I found myself feeling envious as I watched her tend to him. Fuck, water over my skin would feel so fucking good.
“Who are you?” I asked, settling back against my wall. “Why are you helping us?”
“He has a fever,” she said by way of answer, placing the back of her palm against Reaper’s forehead. “A lot of his wounds are already infected. I made him swallow Tylenol before you woke up, but it might not do much. I’ll do what I can to bring water and better food, but it may not be for another day.”
“You’re not under the Sha’s control.” If she was ignoring me, two could play at that game. “You have your own mind and are on the Sha’s personal guard, but you’re working against him. Why?”
The woman collected her rags and now-empty water bowl, then headed for the door. She adjusted her hood as she unlocked the door, and I thought I caught a glimpse of dark brown hair. “If I tell you now, the Sha may be able to extract the information from your mind and compromise both of us.” The woman let herself out and paused on the other side of the door. “But you’ll know when the time is right.”
She turned to leave and, with my keen sight in the darkness, I caught something with a bright and glossy pattern hidden under her hood.
A pattern that looked like snake scales.
Eight
MARIPOSA
The hospital was where I always used to go to get my mind off things. Being busy used to help me cope.
Now, seeing Robert Anderson and some of the others who recovered from the mind control, only reminded me that my husbands were now captured by the source of that abuse. I could barely function at home, I couldn’t focus at work. I was just a mess.
I had ridden out alone into the unknown for one man once. Every cell in my body wanted to go out and find my two, but Jandro and Gunner stopped me every time I attempted. They stuck to me like velcro, making sure I didn’t run out and do anything stupid.
Jandro was in the day room across the hall now, spending time with patients as they recovered, but I knew he was also there to keep an eye on me. I couldn’t get a single moment alone and hated how stagnant everything felt. The army was planning, strategizing supposedly, butnothingwas being done. And every time I had enough and got off my ass, someone made sure to stop me.
I had screamed and cried and hit so many pillows over the lack of action to get my men back. I was exhausted, and nothing would release the rage at what had taken them from me.
Medics and patients alike barely talked to me anymore, so I was surprised to hear the door to the break room open. The Pop-Tart in my mouth tasted like cardboard as I turned in my seat to see my dad standing in front of the door.
He was looking better. His eye was healing and the staples in his head wound had been removed. Still, my chest cracked at the sight of him. He’d been one of Tash’s victims and couldn’t remember me or the second language he was fluent in.
“Buenos dias,” I said absently to him before turning back around. Technically, he wasn’t allowed in this room, but fuck if I cared about hospital protocol anymore.
He was silent for several long seconds before I heard a soft, “Morning,mijita.”
I froze, my pulse shooting up to pound furiously as I processed those words. When I turned around again, it was with the heartbreaking fear that I had misheard him. “What did you say?” I whispered.
My dad’s lips trembled and his dark eyes were filled with unspent tears. “I said good morning to my daughter.”
I stood shakily from my chair, unable to believe what I heard as I gripped the armrest until my hand ached. “You…you…”
“Yes!” My dad rushed forward with his arms out. “I remember you, Mariposa.”
Emotion burst so hard from my chest, I was barely aware of what my body was doing until we crushed each other into the hug I’d spent years yearning for.
I thought I couldn’t cry anymore, but his thin hospital shirt was soaked through after moments of being pressed to his chest. He felt thinner and more frail than I remembered, but this hug was exactly the same as all the other ones we shared before. When he’d come home after weeks of fighting, Mom and I would cling to him like we’d never see him again. Then he’d leave again and we held onto him like we’d never let him go.
“Oh my daughter, I’m so sorry.” He kissed my hair and rubbed my back. “I should have recognized you the moment I saw you.”
