Page 77 of The Price of Mercy
“But the paint?—”
“Isn’t a problem,” Kane interrupts, holding his palms up. They’re absolutely covered in paint. “I don’t have to touch you.” Inclining his head, he motions to Zane. “He does.”
Dark eyes smoldering with heat, Zane takes one step closer, then another, and another, quickly eliminating the distance between us. He grabs my chin and tilts my head back to stare into my eyes. “I don’t fuck just anyone.” His grip tightens as his gaze roams my face. “They have to be important to me, or I don’t… I can’t…” Swallowing hard, he clenches his eyes shut. “But youareimportant to me.”
I bite my bottom lip. Nothing about the way he’s holding my face hostage makes me feel important. “Are… are you sure?”
Zane takes a deep breath and holds it. Slowly,so slowly, he lowers his forehead onto mine and releases his breath, dissipating the tension lingering inside his body. “Yeah,” he murmurs, sliding his palm to my cheek. Our noses brush as he caresses my face. “I’m sure.”
Chapter 30
Zane
I’ve spent morehours stressing over Sam’s new schedule than I can count. From the video footage and tracking I’ve done online, I’ve come to the conclusion that he isn’t just busy—he’s being run ragged at his father’s behest, likely as some twisted form of punishment for disobeying him over the past few years. Seeing him at the psychiatrist’s office today only solidifies my theory.
His dad’s a fucking maniac.
It begs the question, though: why did he let Sam loose at all? Why not cage his son before he ran amok and tasted freedom?
I’ve turned those questions over in my head night after night, wondering what exactly Samuel Wright has been waiting for. His arrival at the cabin wasn’t random; it was planned, much like the way he’s been stringing Vinicius Morningstar along ever since the day they met. Everything Samuel does is calculated with precision, so why—why did he wait until now to rein in Sam’s leash?
It isn’t until I’m weaving my fingers through the soft waves of Mercy’s hair, breathing in her every exhale, feeling the unsteady beat of her heart beneath my palm, aching for the taste of her lips… that I begin to understand.
Samuel Wright was waiting for his son to fall in love.
Even as the realization dawns on me, I’m too distracted to recognize it for what it is, too wrapped up in the warmth of her skin and the tinkle of laughter that falls past her lips. She’s nervous, but so am I. Excited, a little scared, but ready.
It’s time to try something new.
Mercy shivers as I walk her backwards through the studio doorway and into the chapel. For once, I don’t have a plan. All I know is that I’m not some heathen that’s going to touch her—fuck her—love her—on the dirty floor; if we have a mattress, we might as well use it.
The string lights hanging in the rafters sparkle like stars as I steer Mercy across the empty pews to the mattress lying on the floor behind the pulpit. I’ve spent countless hours in this church cleaning the place up, dusting twice a day, sweeping out crinkling leaves and abandoned bird nests, patching the holes in the roof, and the end result has been good enough for Kane and I to pack up our entire lives and rough it until tensions with Samuel Wright die down. With Kane, things have felt perfect because he makes them perfect. Smiling at me over lukewarm coffee in the mornings, traipsing the short distance across the cemetery to visit his new favorite family in the evenings, making love to me every night until neither of us can catch our breath. To my complete and utter surprise, I have few complaints about this new chapter in our lives.
But as I stand hand in hand with Mercy and glimpse the bare-bones essentials surrounding us, I can’t help but feel that it’s inadequate. She won’t want to brush out her bed head without a mirror or pee in the woods when nature calls in the middle of the night. Expecting anything more from her when I can offer so little is asking for disappointment.
Her smile is a comfort I don’t deserve, yet she gives it anyway. The brush of her lips over mine, shy and sweet and so fucking patient, is a balm to my soul.
I don’t deserve any of this.
I don’t deserveher.
“I’ve hurt you,” I whisper, unable to stop the words from tumbling out. There are few things in life that I regret, but Mercy is the biggest of all. How I’ve treated her. How I’ve touched her. How I’ve hurt both her and the man I love by holding on so tightly. How I’ve hurtmyself.I cup her cheek and say the words that I’ve been holding onto ever since she first welcomed us into her home. “I’m sorry.”
She places her hand over mine and leans into my touch. “I’m sorry, too.”
The warmth of Mercy’s heart is so gentle that it burns, leaving me breathless and aching. For more, for less—the push and pull between us so familiar by now that I’m not sure which lead to follow. She brushes the tip of her nose against my jawline and exhales shakily, visibly nervous. That, I understand all too well.
I’m trembling more than she is.
We hold each other’s gaze for as long as we dare, both of us breaking away at the same time. My face flushes, and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. Weeks I’ve spent at her kitchen table, brushing elbows with her at the sink, fapping in her shower to the scent of her shampoo, watching her and Kane dance around their feelings, pretending that I’m not as taken with her as I am. And now, here she is.
I’ll have to thank Kane for inviting her over.
“We don’t have to… you know,” she mumbles, her cheeks turning pink. “We can stop here.”
I swallow the lump stuck in my throat and force my vocal cords to work. “Do you want to stop?”
She gazes up at me from beneath long lashes. “Only if… you do?”
