Page 13 of No Mercy

“So you can’t call her?”

“She doesn’t have her phone.”She doesn’t have anything.A cold reminder that spurs my frustration and reinforces my ire toward Austin.I’m going to kill him.

“Call Liliana.” Jonah doesn’t know her well enough to call her Lili.

I call her Liliana out of respect for Donovan. She’s Donovan’s Lili. She’s Liliana to me no matter how much I like her as a friend. No matter how many times I jump with her at her Redd's Skydiving School. It’s her baby, her passion, but she’s still Liliana. Never Lili. There’s a bro code you don’t cross, and the line, for me, begins with her nickname.

It’s a distinction I kept solid with Frankie too by only calling her Francesca, until a few days ago. Now, I can’t seem to stop calling herAngelandFrankie, even to her face—especially to her face. Her gray eyes fill my vision, and it fucks up my rhythm. Again.

Jonah laughs. “You’re gonna have a shit day if you don’t call and check up on her.”

I grunt in response, giving up on the bag. Weights will be a better distraction.

Three hours later, I’m pouring sweat and steaming with frustration. It was a shit show of a training session, and everyone knows it. They were kind enough not to razz me about it too much. No one mentions Austin or what he did to Frankie other than to ask how she’s doing. I gave vague, half-grunted answers since I don’t knowhow the fuck she is today.

When I arrive at her apartment, I use the key Austin gave me. We’ve always had keys to each other’s places. Today, I feel like a creeper using it without her okay. I’d never invade their privacy, but it seems necessary in order to get her some clothes and any personal items she may need.

I enter on high alert, expecting Austin to be hiding out, but there’s no one. It’s eerily quiet when I shut the door behind me. They don’t have any pets, so the place is still with no echo of life having been here in days. My sight immediately goes to the clothes strewn on the floor from the front door to the couch. Though I hate the thought, it’s obvious they didn’t waste any time getting naked on Friday night. If they were in the mood for sex, what the hell happened to turn things south where Austin ended up hurting her? The thought has my anger simmering.

I kick the clothes into a pile. Her panties and bra looking like they were ripped from her body only fuel the fire. It’s then I notice the bloodstain on the floor by the couch. It’s not huge, but it’s not small either. She didn’t have a busted lip or any open wounds I could see. She could possibly have some I can’t see. My darker thoughts take over, and my anger boils into rage. “What the fuck did you do, Austin?”

Maybe it’s his.I don’t entertain the thought for long. He’s been an ass lately, and that’s saying a lot coming from me, King Asshole. No, I doubt it’s his blood.

He made my Angel bleed, a fact I can hardly swallow. I kept my distance, purposely keeping Frankie at arm’s length because he loved her, and she loved him. I knew he’d been off with her since his accident. He’s a tightlipped motherfucker. I assumed he’d come around, and time was what they needed. I was wrong. Now she’s hurt. I can’t help but blame myself for not seeing it sooner. I was so busy focusing on building the wall between us to keep her safe from the likes of me, I didn’t ensure she was safe from Austin. I never thought he’d harm a hair on her head.

I can’t wait to get my hands on him. I won’t let him hurt her again. Ever.

Texting Donovan to confirm I can clean up the blood and dispose of her ripped clothes, I make use of my time and throw a week’s worth of clothes and what I assume are her toiletries in a duffle bag I found in the closet. I find her purse, cell, iPad, laptop, and all cables, and add them to the bag. When I get the okay from Donovan, I place her stuff by the door and look for cleaning supplies. Hydrogen peroxide is the best choice to get the blood out. It may lighten the carpet, but it’s better than leaving a dark stain. After I find some in the bathroom, it’s a quick cleanup.

I throw her ripped clothes away and put the others in the laundry. I’m relieved when the evidence of what happened here is gone. I don’t want Frankie walking in and feeling like it’s a crime scene. Though, I guess it is. Maybe. What did he do? Is she pressing charges?

The thoughts tumble around in my head as I make my way home, anger my only companion.

Slamming cabinets jar me from sleep. What is it with this house and rude awakenings?It’s a sign you need to find other accommodations.

Was Gabriel trying to wake me as a hint he wants me out? Lili left sometime after lunch and my second nap. Yeah, I’m a joy to be around, but between the meds and my emotional breakdown, I was worn out.

I trudge into the kitchen to find Gabriel at the stove. “Hey.”

He whips around, scanning me from head to toe, lingering on my face, which I’m sure is puffy from my emotional collapse. Obviously finding me annoying, he resumes his tasks, ignoring my greeting.

“Training go okay today?” I don’t want to jump to conclusions. It’s not all about me. Maybe he had a bad day. Got bad news. Or is simply in a bad mood. It happens, especially to Mr. Asshole.

“Fine,” he grumbles. “Dinner will be ready in ten.” He covers the pot and stomps out of the kitchen.

“Okay, then…”

Dinner’s not much better. I make small talk as we sit at the kitchen table. I thank him for breakfast and for letting me stay here. When all I get are one-word responses and no eye-contact, I take my bowl to the sink, dumping my uneaten food in the disposal before rinsing it out as best I can and placing it in the dishwasher.

Anger, shame, and disappointment have my pulse pounding and words forming in my throat. “I’ll find another place to say.” I make for the stairs. “I’ll be out of your hair tomorrow.”

“Angel.” His chair scrapes across the floor as he stands.

I pause, my back to him, unwilling to show what his new pet name does to me. For the last thirty minutes he’s made me feel like less than the dirt on his shoes, and that one word—Angel—has tears threatening and hope blooming that I’m not nothing to him too. That he’s not discarding me like my father and Austin so easily did.

He stops behind me, so close I can feel his heat. I brace for his touch on my back, my shoulder, my hair. But nothing comes. He takes a filling breath and lets it out slowly. His voice is like razors on my skin when he speaks, “Did he rape you?”

I grip the counter with my one usable hand as my knees try to give way. A sob attempts an escape, but I clamp down, unwilling to give it air. With my eyes pinched shut, I shake my head.

---