Page 52 of Mercy & Her Devils

Lark pulls down my nightie to cover me, before turning to glare over his shoulder, although he looks smug as well.

“How long have you been there?” Lark demands. “Have you been to ninja school?”

Antonio is shifting restlessly in the corridor. “Something like that.”

“Are you simply here as a voyeur?”

“The online auction is happening now.” Antonio stalks even closer.

Lark and I freeze. Our gazes meet.

I whine in distress, reaching down to Lark, who sits up. He grasps my hand.

This is our last day together.

I’m not ready.

I’m not fucking ready to lose Lark.

To lose either of these men.

“Calm down.” Antonio’s eyes are hard, and suddenly, he looks older.

What the hell is going on?

I’m shaking, but this time, not from pleasure but rather, from fear of the auction.

“Don’t order us around,” Lark growls. “When it comes down to it, we’re prisoners who are going to be sold. You’re still a guard who gets to go home to his pack after work.”

I wince.

Antonio only slips his hand in his pocket and slouches, looking even more disreputable than normal.

He pulls out the key to the cell and holds it up dramatically. “This is going to come as a shock, so hold onto your pretty asses, but I’m not actually a guard. I guess I am, since the assholes employed me. Idiots. But I reckon that you’d call it being undercover. I’m a criminal…well, outlaw…well, mafia. Stop looking at me like that. I’m a bad guy who’s doing a good thing. I’m breaking you out.”

Then he opens the cell door and swings it open.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The Institute

Istumble along the silent back corridor of the Institute, keeping my head down.

My legs feel like jelly and only adrenaline is keeping me going. If it wasn’t for my physiotherapy sessions with Lark, I’d have fallen down by now.

Lark still has one arm around me and is taking most of my weight. I’m glad that he’s so tall, although his breathing is labored. Despite the strength in his arms and his attempts to hide it, he’s been suffering himself through Broken Bond Syndrome for longer than me.

Lark may have to carry me, however, if we need to go much further.

My hair hangs over my face, and my heart hammers in my chest. My bare feet are cold on the wooden floor, and the stuffy stench makes my nose wrinkle.

The neon light flickers overhead.

Antonio’s warm hand rests on the back of my neck, firmly. He’s holding Lark in the same way, pushing us both to walk in front of him.

The clatter of Antonio’s boots echo in the corridor.

I’m sweating with anxiety.

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