Page 15 of Turn That River Red

Mercy twists her head toward me, her brown eyes big and glossy and bloodshot from crying. Her cheeks are ruddy. I will not be forgetting this pretty picture anytime soon.

“Why are you here?” she snarls, with more vehemence than I’d expect.

I give a hapless sort of sigh and rearrange my features into an expression of sheepishness, as if I’m not used to doing this sort of thing. “I originally thought God brought me here for one reason?—”

“You’re taking advantage of us,” she snarls. “Our grief?—”

“No,” I interrupt. “I came here for one thing, yes. But when I arrived, I knew my presence was needed for other reasons as well. My desire to see the church through their grief is genuine.”

All lies, of course. But ones she wants to believe, given the way her eyes soften.

“I’m not supposed to be alone in a man’s home,” she snaps. “And you dragged me here against your will.”

“I apologize for that.” I hold my hands up, trying to look as hapless as possible. “Truly. But I wanted to speak to you privately. About what I—” I swallow as if this topic upsets me. “Saw.”

Mercy’s eyes darken. “You were spying on me and my husband.”

There’s the slightest pause before she sayshusband, a small quiver of hesitation. I make myself look hapless again.

“We all have our vices,” I say, channeling every disgraced preacher I’ve ever seen—and I’ve seen a lot of them. “I’ll admit the sins of the flesh are something I struggle with.”

Mercy’s fear flickers like a candle. Just for a moment, it turns to lust.

Interesting.

“There’s something I need,” I continue. “And with what I saw—well, Sterling Gunner is still married to his first wife, isn’t he? It would do some damage to his reputation if his arrangement with you were to become public knowledge.”

Blackmail, the last refuge of a coward. But if it’ll get me those adoption records so I can move on with my life?—

Mercy lets out a sharp, bitter laugh. “I should have known.” Her fear has subsided somehow, giving way to a kind of darkness I don’t know how to read. “You want to fuck me, don’t you?”

It is utterly bizarre hearing this woman of God say the wordfuck.So bizarre, in fact, that I don’t even register what she’s getting at until she says, “You don’t need to threaten me. Just ask Reverend Gunner. He’s willing to share if you give him something.”

“What?” I didn’t expect to be surprised tonight, but Mercy just pulled it off. “You think I brought you here torapeyou?”

I’m almost offended. I’m a murderer and a cannibal. I hunt humans the way humans hunt deer.

I’m not a fuckingrapist.

Mercy’s brows draw together. “What do you want, then?”

I tilt my head toward the couch. “Sit.”

Mercy stares at me in defiance.

“Do it,” I say, and I let just enough of my true self through that this time, she listens.

CHAPTER SEVEN

MERCY

Isink into the cheap, flimsy sofa, my entire body trembling. Ambrose ambles toward me with a slow, lazy swagger, and I peer up at him, my tongue dry and thick in my mouth.

“What do you want?” I manage to whisper.

Ambrose stops a few feet from me, his eyes pinned to mine. “The Church of the Well organizes adoptions.”

Of all the things he could have said in this moment, this sentence is the absolute last thing I expected.

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