Page 15 of The Price of Mercy
Clutching her tightly to my chest, I carry her up the stairs to her bedroom. She stirs as we cross the threshold, like she can sense that she’s finally safe and sound where she belongs. As I set her down on her bed, she cracks her eyes open and peers up at me. “Sam,” she mumbles, sighing sleepily. “What time is it?”
I don’t actually know. “Morning.” Patting my pocket, I fish out my phone and check the time. Before I can read the numbers, however, my father’s name screams at me from my lock screen, the text message icon beside his name ominous. Dread fills my gut like lead. What could he possibly want? Closing my eyes, I press the pads of my thumbs to the back of my eyelids. Stress ripples through my body. I knew he would contact me after I called in one hell of a favor last night, but I didn’t anticipate it being so soon. Surely he can’t know what he wants from me already…
Unless he’s been waiting for the right opportunity to dig his claws into me. Shit.
Mercy’s voice is still heavy with sleep. “What’s wrong?” Kane’s leather jacket slips from one of her shoulders as she sits up, exposing more skin and snagging my attention. Specks of blood paint her arm, creating freckles where there are none. I stare at the change in her appearance—mussed up hair, falling loose from her braid, wavy tendrils framing her puffy face. No doubt from crying. Stress. A lack of sleep or water or any number of things she needs to stay healthy.
This is all my fault.
I swallow my guilt and put on a smile. “It’s nothing. Football stuff.” I toss my phone onto her desk chair and hope that shedoesn’t pry, because I won’t know what to say. My narcissistic father contacted me for the first time in a year, all because I used his influence and connections to cover up a murder we committed—no, notwe.Kane.
Clenching my fists, I try not to pinallof the blame on him, but it’s hard not to. If he never entered our lives, Mercy and I wouldn’t be playing his stupid fucking murder game. We’d be back to normal, dancing around each other as friends but notmore thanfriends. Would we be happy then? Playing pretend instead of whatever the fuck it is we’re doing now?
Thankfully, Mercy’s attention has already drifted, her gaze unfocused. I watch her for a few seconds before stepping in front of her. “Hey, you okay?” Frowning, I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. I don’t like the look in her eyes. It’s like she’s… haunted. I’ve seen it before, and it always gives me chills. Someone as young as the two of us shouldn’t carry ghosts on our backs.
Grandma Star might claim that we all have demons—how heavy they are depends on how well equipped we are to handle them. I try not to picture a shadowy creature clinging to Mercy’s shoulders and dragging her down into misery.
Mercy rubs her eyes. “Yeah. I’m just tired. And sticky.” Peeling off Kane’s jacket, she touches her arms and frowns. “I smell, too. Like beer.” Her nose crinkles, and I imagine that she can smell the blood, too. A reddish smear trails down her chest from her collarbone to her breasts, disappearing between the valley of her tits. Another one is shaped like a handprint on her shoulder, but I don’t think she’s seen that one yet. I’d rather she didn’t.
“I’ll start the shower.” Such a small gesture isn’t nearly enough to make up for my sins, but it’s a start. I turn on my heel to leave, but Mercy grabs my hand to stop me. I glance at her over my shoulder. “Do you want to come with me?” She nods, taking a quick breath and standing. We walk hand in hand to theshared bath in the hall. While I turn on the shower and test the temp, she stares at her reflection in the mirror. I’m sure that she thinks she looks like a fucking mess, but?—
“You’re beautiful, Mercy.” Our eyes meet in the mirror’s reflection. “No matter what you think you look like—” I pull my hand from the shower stream and shake the water off. “You’re beautiful to me.”
She bites her bottom lip, the barest hint of pink dusting her cheeks. “I don’t know…” Her gaze returns to her reflection, and she lets the leather jacket slide off her shoulders to the floor. Wearing only a black bra and panties, she scrutinizes her appearance. “I’m…” Taking a breath, she shakes her head. “Plain.”
What?
Coming up behind her, I wrap my arms around her waist and stare at our reflection in the mirror. Her skin is as pale as the moon, softer than satin, and magnificent to touch. I resist the urge to run my hands along her body and settle for holding her. “You are anything but plain.” By contrast,I’mthe plain one. On the football field, I don’t stand out amongst the other players. I’m not gifted athletically, and I could never make calls like a quarterback. My only job is to act as a wall to keep the other team from scoring. And my looks—compared to Mercy, I’m bathed in color, but that’s merely because she’s so extraordinary. My golden skin stands out against hers, makingmelook like the dirty one. I shouldn’t touch her.
If anything here is ugly, it’s me—the man who refuses to leave her alone now that I’ve decided to have her. It’s not like I gave her much choice. I inserted myself into her life when we first met, and today is no different. I’m by her side because I choose to be, not because she’s asked me to stay.
I always criticize Kane for being selfish, but when we stand side-by-side, I’m no better than him.
Mercy scrunches her nose like she disagrees with me. Rather than say anything, however, she slips away to check the shower temp. “Will you stay with me?” Facing the shower, she reaches behind her back to undo her bra strap, easily unclasping it and letting it fall to the floor. Her panties come next, sliding down her thighs to reveal the swell of her ass, bare and beautiful and—holy shit,she’s bending over.
My nostrils flare as I catch a glimpse of her naked pussy, rosy pink and glistening, before she kicks away her panties and steps into the shower. The curtain closes, and I’m left to my imagination, picturing her naked body beneath the water. “Always,” I murmur, clearing my throat when it comes out raspy. Fuck. She doesn’t need a horn-dog right now. She needs a man who can control himself.
I’ll be that and more.
Anything she needs.
I’m not going anywhere ever again.
Chapter 6
Mercy
Standingbeneath the shower’s spray can remove the evidence of last night, but it won’t erase the memory. As I scrub down my body and avoid looking at the bruises along my waist and hips, I take measured breaths to stay calm. Surprisingly, it’s not difficult. I’m not freaking out. When I picture Fake Reaper’s painted face, it crumbles to ash before my eyes.
The very ash that Sam and I poured into a ceramic urn after my father finalized the cremation process and unknowingly helped cover up our crime. Unless Sam told him something while I was asleep—but he won’t fess up to anything, keeping suspiciously silent about their conversation this morning. Even now, I listen for any sign of him behind the shower curtain. Rummaging through the cabinet drawers. Fiddling with my makeup on the counter. Kicking the heel of his foot against the wall. When I don’t hear anything, I peek around the curtain to find him reading the back of an ointment tube while sitting on the closed toilet seat, our family’s first aid kit open on the counter next to him.
“You could let Grandma patch you up.”
He chuffs and uncaps the tube before applying a dollop of ointment to his cut bottom lip. “Your grandma’s hands shakewhen she drinks tea. I doubt she can stitch people up anymore.” His emerald eyes flick over to me. “I’ll be fine.”
My body runs hot at his stare. It’s not like I’m exposed since I’m standing behind the curtain, but the drop of water that trails down my neck might as well be his fingertip.Or his tongue.I bite my bottom lip and quickly retreat behind the curtain, determined not to go down that route. The sexy one. Sam’s only here this morning because he’s being overprotective and overly cautious—he’s not here to slip his tongue into my mouth or his hand between my thighs.
As much as that might be nice.
