Page 18 of The Price of Mercy
She’s awake. I think she’s okay.
I’m fine, too.
Thanks for asking.
Jackass.
ME
I’m going to get her phone from your place. Do you need anything?
I don’t know why I’m asking; it’s not like the grown-ass-man can’t get things for himself. But he’s with Mercy right now and I don’t want him to leave. In fact, he shouldn’t go back to his frat house at all. I doubt his fraternity brothers will be forgiving of what went down over some pussy. Clenching my jaw, I grind my teeth as I lace up my boots. I also need sleep, but caffeine is one hell of a drug and it’s good enough to get me from point A to point B.
As I’m grabbing my keys, a floorboard in the hallway creaks. I glance over my shoulder to find my boyfriend peering at me from across the living room.
“You’re leaving again?” Zane’s crumpled t-shirt—myt-shirt, actually—is so fucking cute. It hangs low over his hips and slides off of one shoulder, exposing the hickey I gave him last night. Mmm. He rubs his bloodshot eyes and sighs. “Let me grab my shoes.” Glancing down at his bare legs, he frowns. “Pants.”
Sweeping into the room, I pull him in for a quick kiss. “I’ll be right back. Get some rest.”
“No.” His frown deepens. “I’m going with you. Wait up for five fucking seconds.” Slipping from my grasp, he grumbles under his breath while he dresses in yesterday’s jeans and switches out my shirt for his own, quickly transforming into the grunge grump he is at heart. Hand-combing his hair and taking a quick piss counts for his morning routine, and he’s good to go. “I’m driving. We’re not taking your bike.”
“Too fast for ya, gramps?” I tease.
He punches my ribcage as he pushes past me out the front door. “Too loud.”
I guess I can agree with that. “Fiiiine. But we’re going to Sam’s frat, then to Mercy’s house.” I raise an eyebrow. “You cool with that?”
“Yeah.” Avoiding my gaze, he unlocks his four-door snooze fest and slides into the driver’s seat. “Get in.”
The car ride is unbearable. Zane isn’t fully awake, but I can practically taste his sour mood the closer we get to King Street. I refuse to humor him and put on my favorite music to drown out the angst. It only works so well. By the time we make it to Frat Row, I’m itching to get out of the car.
“Would you calm down?” Zane parks on the curb. “You’re like a cat trying to claw its way out of a cage. Chill the fuck out.”
Other than bouncing my knee, I’ve barely moved for the entire ride over. “I’m fine.” I tear open the car door and walk as slowly and calmly as possible to the house, bouncing up the front steps and pushing inside without any resistance.
The place is completely empty. All of the furniture from last night—even the empty beer cans and red plastic cups—have been swept away. The floor’s been professionally cleaned, too, damn near spotless for how old it is. I avoid the urge to explore the main floor and head up to the second story, eager to get this pit stop over with.
The faster we wrap up here, the faster I can check on Mercy.
Glancing at my phone, I make a mental note of Sam’s wish list before checking the bedrooms. The first room is just like the main floor—completely fucking empty. Weird. The next room is the same. And the next. Even the bathroom has been gutted. “Are we at the right house?” I call out, knowing that Zane is nearby. My voice echoes in the empty space. I didn’t exactly check the address, but this should be it. Where the fuck did everything go?
“The greek letters are out front.” Zane huffs as he climbs the staircase. “Unless they moved overnight, this is the place.”He follows my path through each room, going further than me and checking the closets. When he comes up empty, he returns just in time to watch me lower the attic stairs. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Nothing’s here. We should go.”
“Scared of the dark?”
A shadow crosses his face. “No. This is a waste of time. What did we even come for?”
“Mercy’s phone. Her wallet.” According to Sam’s texts, she had a tiny purse with her. He also requested a change of clothes, but that’s not gonna happen with the house suddenly abandoned. It’s like Frat HQ picked up and left before they could be pinned for unauthorized brawling and first degree murder. Fucking weird.
The attic stairs slot into place and I climb up, turning on my phone’s flashlight to check the dark, stuffy room. It’s empty, too. Even the dust has been swept away, forgotten swirls and smudges of dirt the only clue that anything was ever stored here. Fuckingweirder.“What the fuck?”
Who the hell played Cleaning Fairy overnight?
Zane watches me climb back down the attic stairs. He fiddles with a hangnail, looking bored out of his mind while I breeze past him to check all the rooms again. “Maybe you’re right. This is the wrong house.”
I try not to get annoyed, but the flip-floppingisannoying. “Make up your damn mind,” I mutter under my breath, slamming a door shut. After I find nothing upstairs, we return to the main level. I retrace my steps from last night, envisioning the brawl, the weight of the gun in my hand, the body on the floor. “This is it, Zane, I’m telling you. Someone cleaned up.”
His response is immediate. “Why would anyone care that much about a party?”
