Page 58 of The Price of Mercy
Sam lunges, snarling like a demon as he tackles the man who kicked me. They knock into a china cabinet and break every dishinside, the clatter of cracking porcelain and splintering wood spilling into the air. But the man at Sam’s mercy doesn’t fight back; he lets Sam beat him bloody, barely holding his arms up to cover his head from serious injury, like he isn’t taking the fight seriously.
Or he’s been paid not to injure his employer’s son.
Kane shouts as he shrugs off one of the men holding him, head-butting them in the nose and launching himself at the man keeping Zane hostage. They tumble to the floor in a tangle of limbs and fury, but unlike the man facing Sam’s wrath, these two don’t hold back. One of them pulls out a gun and shoots, missing Kane’s head by an inch. I scream at the burst of gunfire and cover my ears.
The bastard responsible for everything sits at the table and uses a cloth napkin to dab the cut on his face, going so far as to dip a corner into a water glass to wipe away the blood. Then he takes the only knife remaining on the table and carves a slice of turkey for himself, unconcerned with the carnage taking place a few feet away. “Hold,” he orders, sawing into the meat like a novice butcher. As the rest of his hired men pull out guns of their own, the room goes still… and Sam keeps punching. Once his victim finally falls unconscious, he drops the man to the ground and turns to face his father—no, to faceme.
Falling at my feet, he scans my body for injuries. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
I grab Sam’s hands and wince at his bloodied and bruised knuckles. “Areyouokay?” This is the second time he’s gotten into a fight over me, and each time seems to get worse. Guilt gnaws at my heart. It shouldn’t be this way, not for normal people like us. We’re not military or law enforcement or anyone remotely dangerous, and yet, bad things keep happening.
It’s like we’re cursed when we’re together.
“Mercy,” Sam murmurs, wiping away a silent tear tracking down my cheek. “Everything will be okay. I promise.”
I shake my head. “You can’t know that.”
“I do.” He smiles as he tries to reassure me. “Because I have you.” Capturing my lips, he kisses me hard and fast, like he’s trying to hold onto the belief that everythingisokay and that hedoeshave me. I cling to his shirt as he sweeps me into his arms and carries me to the dining room table, remaining calm despite the dead body on the floor and the armed guards surrounding us. Sam sits, keeping a wide berth from the table, and cradles me in his lap. “What do you want?”
“Respect.” Samuel’s smile is as cold as his eyes. “I did you a favor, Samson. The least you could do is return a phone call.”
“I’m not coming home.”
“Your fraternity is on suspension,” Samuel says cooly. “The historic building you and your brothers have been vandalizing is on its way to demolition—at full fault of your own—and your membership has been revoked for infighting. You have also been summarily removed from any sports teams or clubs on campus, and your withdrawal from the school itself is pending approval, which will, of course, go through as soon as their offices reopen next week. I am notsuggestingthat you return home. I am demanding.” He steeples his hands over the table. “Unruly children do not have the privilege of freedom. I will not have any son of mine ruin his life over some—” His lip curls. “Dead Girl.”
Ice freezes inside my veins. I stop breathing. A harsh ringing fills my ears. How does he know that name? Why would Sam’s father, mister moneybags, know anything about me?
Sam raises his voice. “She’s the reason my life is better. All you’ve ever given me are ultimatums and broken promises. Ever since Mom died?—”
“Donotspeak of your mother!”
“Ever since Mom died,” Sam shouts over his father, “you’ve been a fucking maniac. You can’t control the world! You can’t controlme!”
Samuel folds his napkin and lays it on top of his untouched plate. “You will arrive home by midnight, alone, without another word.”
The hairs on the back of my neck rise. Sam’s dad is eerily calm, like he’s five steps ahead of us on the board and everything is stacked in his favor. He who controls the landscape can shape the game and bend its rules, like a game master.
Yet another way Samuel Wright behaves like he owns the universe.
“I’m not going anywhere?—”
“I’m not giving you a choice.”
“You don’t own me!”
“No,” Samuel concedes, suddenly meeting my gaze instead of his son’s. A pit opens up in the bottom of my stomach. “But I own Morningstar Mortuary, along with every one of its permanent residents.” He lists my family members off with his fingers, like we’re collectable cards. “A desperate father foolish enough to barter his family’s lives away, a batty old woman better off dead than alive, a psychiatric patient abandoned by his own family, and a stupid girl who thinks her virginity is worth millions.” Sneering, he glances down at my body. “I wouldn’t touch her for free.”
Kane or Zane, I’m not sure which, must throw a fit, because one of them gets punched in the face and thrown to the ground. I barely hear thethudover the ringing in my ears.
“Lilith,” I breathe, my voice scratchy. “My sister.” He didn’t include her on the list. She must be safe.
“Ah, yes, the older sister.” A look of longing appears on Samuel’s face. “Nowthat’sa body I could enjoy.”
Bile rises to the back of my throat. What the hell is he saying? That he would—I swallow hard—touch her?
“Unfortunately, your sister’s already bound to another man. Their contract is airtight, I’m afraid.” Samuel tuts like he’s disappointed about this. “It’ll take a little more time to unravel that situation, but…” He licks his lips. “It’s well worth the prize.”
I’m going to be sick. My body quivers as equal parts anger and disgust roil within my gut. How dare he—how dare he!—treat us like toys for his amusement. “My family,” I seethe, “is not for sale!”
