Page 19 of The Price of Mercy
“It’s not the party.” Running a hand through my hair, I meet Zane’s eyes. “It’s the murder. I killed someone last night. Weran before the cops could arrive and took the body with us. And Mercy—” I stop myself and gauge Zane’s reaction to her name, hoping for something,anything, that shows guilt or remorse. Hell, I’d take a confession so long as he purged himself of every fucked-up thought running through his head. Envy is a fucking poison. It’ll kill him.
When Zane doesn’t so much as twitch, I tear my gaze away.Fuck, that hurts. I push my fist into my chest in a vain attempt to soothe the ache in my heart. Clearing my throat, I continue. “Sam called in a favor.” I stare at the sliding glass door that Sam stood by when he made the phone call. “To Daddy Wright.”
In the span of a single heartbeat, Zane goes from cool and collected to shitting a goddamn brick. “He gotSamuel Wrightinvolved?” Zane crumbles, crouching low and holding his head in his hands. “Shit. Fuck.” His hands shake as he blows out a breath.
It’s not the murder confession that makes Zane sweat—it’s the enigma that’s Sam’s fucking father.
I shrug, not following Zane into a spiral about the news. “So what? He’s just some fogey with money.”
“Who knows how to wipe a scene.” Zane pulls himself off the floor and grabs my hand. “We need to leave.” He’s insistent, pulling me away without his usual meticulousness. Each step is a flurry of anxiety as his natural rhythm goes out of wack. He damn near trips down the front porch steps. “Involving Sam is bad news. I told you this when you first invited him into the game.”
I take the keys from Zane’s shaking hands. “Hey. Easy.” Inhaling deeply, I place my palm on Zane’s chest and urge him to do the same. “Nice and slow. That’s it. Just breathe, babe.”
He shakes his head, a quick burst of nervous laughter making him even twitchier. “You don’t understand.” Zane glances around like he’s checking our surroundings for threats. “Sam’san idiot, but his father’s a menace. He doesn’t destroy his enemies, he incinerates them. If anything is going to damage his reputation—a person, a city council vote, a competitor—he gets rid of them and wipes the evidence. Records have been falsified. I’ve seen literal newspapers get rewritten, Kane, withinhoursof publication.” It only takes a few seconds for Zane’s breathing to shallow again, and he fumbles with the door latch before stealing the keys back and unlocking the car. “We need to leave.”
“What, you think Daddy’s gonna erase—” I wrack my brain for what the fuck could be so scary but come up empty. “It’s a good thing, right? He got rid of the evidence for us. That’s less work and more playtime. Mercy’s lost her phone, but hey, that’s easy to replace.” The wallet, not so much, but maybe she didn’t have a lot in there. And who cares what happens to the frat? It’s not like Sam loved being a member, anyway, from what I could tell.
I slip in front of Zane and claim the driver’s seat before his anxious ass can attempt to drive. He quickly darts around the car and plops into the passenger seat, immediately starting his ritual for calming down. Bending in half and locking his hands behind his neck, he drops his head between his knees. “Drive,” he groans, “fast.”
That won’t help him feel better. “I can drive slow?—”
“Fast,” he snaps, reaching over and clawing my thigh. “Now!”
“Okay, okay! Jeez!” I slam down the gas pedal and we speed away, blowing past a stop sign and damn near hitting a pedestrian.
“Is anyone following us?” Zane takes a quick breath before popping his head up to check. “We need to run. Pack our bags.” I can see him start to calm down as he forms a plan. “Mine’s already halfway packed. That’s good. Really, I only need my computer. We can pick up everything else on the road?—”
I slam on the breaks, and he nearly faceplants into the dash. “Kane! What the fuck!”
“We aren’t running.” I clench my fists around the steering wheel. “We have nothing to run from! We’ve killed dozens of people! That asshole from last night is no different.” That last part is a lie; the asshole from last night iswaydifferent than anyone else I’ve ever killed. He fucking deserved it and worse. But for the sake of this argument, they’re all the same. “I’m not leaving.”
Zane huffs. “You’re not leavingher.” He glares out the window. “Great. We’re risking our lives so you canget some.” He spits out the last few words like a poison. “Samuel Wright cleans up his messes, and what exactly do you think a couple of black market dealers are to his empire?”
“We’re not a threat.” It’s not like we sell a lot of things on the black market. A few untagged organs, some macabre paintings, that’s all. “Besides, the Baranovas would protect us if we asked.” If push comes to shove and I ask really nicely, they might. But our contacts within the bratva aren’t exactly high up on the chain of command. Ever since Zane and I declined their invitation to join the mafia, they only contact us when their own guys are too busy to clean up their messes. We’re contracted for dead body extraction on a case-by-case basis. It’s not like they’ll roll out the red carpet for a couple of grunts who aren’t even official members. I doubt they’d spare the resources to help us at all.
Even then, it’s not like we’re in any real danger, right?
I try to understand Zane’s panic. Ireallydo. But I just don’t see it. “Samuel Wright won’t come after men like us. We’re ants to him.”
“Exactly.” Zane blows out a breath. “We’renothing. Sam—our Sam—would be happy to have us killed and out of the picture.”
“So he can have Mercy to himself.” Like hell, that’s gonna happen.
A beat of silence passes before Zane speaks. “I’m not so sure about that.”
I roll my eyes. “Please. Sam wouldloveto stash Mercy away somewhere as his secret little wifey.”
“He might—but would his dad allow that? The heir to the Wright fortune, keeping a pet chained up in the basement?” Zane lifts an eyebrow. “At best, Mercy’s an eyesore to her classmates. You know how important networking is in this city. Do you really think that Samuel Wright will let his son marry—breed—whatever you want to call it—someone without pedigree, money, or social status? It’s easier to just?—”
“Get rid of her.” Anger flares in my veins. “Get rid ofus.”
We’re the complication keeping Sam from ascending to his rightful place as King of the Dicks—or, well, King Jr. His father wouldn’t give up the thronethateasily. With the right leverage, he could pry Sam’s fingers from Mercy’s cold, dead body and finally bring his son to heel.
Zane and I would be collateral damage.
…like Sam’s fraternity. If the local chapter hasn’t been disbanded, I bet all of its members are on suspension, or at the very least, paid off with fat wads of cash in their pockets. But to do that in, what, twelve hours? Daddy Wright must have people working within the college. Hell, maybe even higher up than that. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s planted individuals on his payroll not just within Greek life but all major systems in the city for the sole purpose of sticking his fingers where they don’t belong. Zane might call it tactical, but I call it splooging all over the map to lay claim on everything his cum touches.
What a fucking d-bag.
