Page 70 of The Price of Mercy
Growling with frustration, Mercy clamps her hand over my mouth. “We talk about a lot of things, okay! My parents, my nightmares, what drives me, andyes, even my relationships. But I’ve been a little busy, so I haven’t had the chance to tell her about you. This is the perfect opportunity for you to get an outside perspective on your life and figure out what truly motivates you—because pushing yourself through life off of the fear that Kane’s going to leave you if you’re suddenly not good enough anymore?” She blows out a breath. “That’s not gonna last, Zane. You need another reason to live, and I bet Dr.Schwartz can help you see what’s inside your heart; what youreallywant out of life.”
I gently grab her wrist and pull her hand into my lap. “You know, Mercy, it almost sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”
She smiles wryly. “I know a thing or two.”
One of the staff calls my name to the front. “Hunter!”
Mercy’s way too enthusiastic as she jumps up and drags me with her to the counter. “Yes, he’s here. We’re ready.”
“You can wait here, ma’am. Come with me, sir. Dr. Schwartz is waiting.”
I watch Mercy’s face fall and sigh. “You can borrow my phone,” I tell her, pulling my cell from my pocket and placing it in her hand. “Text Kane if you want, but don’t download any games.” A laugh catches in my chest. “Unless it’s solitaire. We can see who gets the highest score.” I drop her hand and walk away.
Having an impromptu appointment sucks, but Granny’s been pretty okay company. I’d hate for her to think I’m not appreciative of what she and Mercy’s dad have been doing for us.
Shit, I’m going soft.
The staffer opens the door to Dr. Schwartz’ office and closes it behind me. There’s no one sitting at the obnoxious brown desk taking up a quarter the room, and the zen garden resting in front of the chair I’m supposed to take hasn’t even been raked clean. Frowning, I shove my hands in my pockets and glance around the room. Kind of unprofessional to say that she’s waiting and then find out that she’s not even here.
The hair on the back of my neck rises, and I spin on my heel just in time for a man in a suit to jump me. He slams his palm over my mouth and pushes me until I stumble onto the edge of the desk. Lifting my foot, I slam it into his crotch, and he wheezes, doubling over in pain.
“You piece of shit,it’s me!”
I hold a ballpoint pen like a knife. “Who the fuck—” I stop short as I realize who the idiot holding his ballsack is.
Samson goddamn Wright.
Wearing a navy suit and expensive cufflinks, he looks like a filthy rich asshole I’d stay the fuck away from if I had a choice. But there’s a nervousness about him that I’m not used to seeing; he’s jittery, quick to fidget, and his eyes—bloodshot to hell and back. As if hearing my thoughts, he pulls out eye drops and puts a few in each of his eyes.
“You look like hell, Sam.”
He laughs darkly and rakes his fingertips over the fresh fade along the side of his head. “I’ve felt better, thanks.” Giving me a once-over, he clenches his jaw. “I know whyIlook like shit, but why do you look like you’ve just come out of hibernation?”
I scratch the patch of facial hair on my cheek. “It’s not that bad.” I bet I’ve looked worse. The sweatpants probably don’t help, though.
Sighing, Sam drags one of the chairs away from Dr. Shwartz’ desk and sits down. “Look, I called in a lot of favors to make this happen. We don’t have much time.” He glances at the fancy watch on his wrist. “My dad will notice that I’m gone once he’s done on the shitter.”
I roll my eyes. “Paint a picture, why don’t you.”
“I gave him laxatives.” Sam bounces his knee and stares at me for a second, but his attention darts around the room, either too nervous or too hyped up on some kind of drug to sit still. “I had to rearrange our meetings, too, but that’s not the point. How’s Mercy?”
Keeping a straight face, I shrug. “Why don’t you ask her yourself? She’s right outside.”
Sam’s gaze flicks to the door. “I can’t.”
“You should.” I walk over to Sam and get in his face. “She can’t sleep because of you.”
Guilt cuts across his features. “Ican’t, Zane.”
“Why the hell not?” My anger flares hot as I pace in front of him. “What’s stopping you?Daddy?” I scoff aloud. “Didn’t know he had his dick up your ass.”
Taking a breath, Sam collects himself. It’s like watching a curtain fall over a stage, distracting viewers with its soft velvet that makes the theater look opulent when in reality, there are rats living in the walls and mold hiding beneath the floorboards. I’ve been watching Sam ever since I hooked into his dad’s camera feeds; he’s risking burn out by running so hard from one project to the next.
“What does he even have you doing?”
Sam shakes his head, dismissing my question. “I need to know if Vinny’s having their annual Christmas party.”
I damn near throw a paperweight at him. “Why the hell does that matter?”
