Page 22 of Turn That River Red

“God sent me to him,” I say quietly. “That’s why my parents died. So I could come here to him and support his work here on Earth.”

I’ve said these words, or had them said to me, hundreds of times. They’ve always felt hollow.

At this moment, they feel like a lie.

“Your parents died,” Ambrose says, interest curling in his voice. “So you were adopted, too?”

“I should go.” I turn to leave, and I’m not completely surprised when Ambrose catches my arm and pulls me, somewhat roughly, up toward him.

“We had a deal.” He speaks into my ear, and little shivers work through my body. “Tell me where the adoption files are.”

This really doesn’t feel like a fair trade, that he gave me all that physical pleasure and asked for none in return. I swallow nervously. “Remember, I don’t have access to them.”

“That’s fine. Just show me where they are.”

“They’re in the emergency bunker,” I say softly, his rough fingers burning a bracelet around my wrist. “On the western side of the campus, past the training fields. I can show youtomorrow morning before I get you set up for the prayer sessions.”

Ambrose immediately releases me and gives me a dazzling smile. “Excellent. Thank you, Mercy.”

We stare at each other for a few moments. My whole body still feels shaky. Weak.

I’mweak, for letting him do that.

And yet I desperately want him to do it again.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say, and then I flee.

CHAPTER NINE

AMBROSE

Iwake up the next morning to harsh sunlight falling across my eyes and Max’s big sloppy tongue slurping against my cheek. “Yeah, I know, I know,” I mutter, tackling him into a hug. Roxi sits patiently by the door, thumping her tail against the tile. “Well, I’m up now. Give me a second and I’ll feed you.”

As soon as Max hears the wordfeed, he’s off like a shot, skittering into the kitchen. He’s gonna be disappointed, though, since they’re getting dry grocery store kibble and not their usual chopped-up organ meats.

I drag myself out of bed, splash some water on my face, and try to ignore Mercy’s lingering scent on my fingers. I showered last night, but I’ve got a Hunter’s heightened senses, and I can still smell her all over my hand—sweet and musky, like dried roses. I had to jerk myself off as soon as she left, the memory of her moans and thrusts and the horny, horrified expression she gave me when I told her to just piss on my hand seeing me through to completion.

The dogs follow me around as I pour the kibble into the bowls—Roxi gives me a baleful look when she sees it, although Max dives right in. I put on a pot of coffee and lean against thecounter, trying to get myself back into preacher mode. I let it slip last night when I dragged Mercy back here, and although she clearly doesn’t suspect I’m the one who killed Raul Alvarez—she would have been much more afraid—it was still stupid.I’mbeing stupid, honestly. I’m not here to get laid. I’m here to get those fucking adoption records for Charlotte and then get out.

But fuck, Mercy squirmed so deliciously while I stroked her to orgasm. And I can’t get over the shock on her face after she came for the first time. And before that, too, while she was in the middle of it. Her eyes rolled back and she arched her back and her cunt fluttered furiously around my finger, like a butterfly desperate to get free. The crimson flush above her breasts. Her bright eyes staring at me like she had just seen God.

And I did that to her. Gunner has been using her for his own pleasure for fuck knows how long, butI’mthe one that made her come. Helpmeet, my ass.

An orphan, too.God sent me to him, she said, and I wonder how old she was when that happened. She changed the subject real quick when I brought up her being adopted.

And then there was shit about how he “shared” her with his right-hand man, Sullivan. Gunner is lending her around like a library book, a thought that makes my stomach clench up and the void surge up in my throat?—

I’d love to dismember the fucker limb by limb and smoke his thighs like a brisket.

The coffee machine gurgles, and a soft wet nose nudges against my calf—Max, drawing me out of his bloodlust. I take a deep breath and reach down to rub between his silky ears. It’s a good thing I kill regularly. Otherwise, I don’t think I’d be able to stop myself from going after Gunner. I’m fighting the urge enough as it is. Wanting to fuck and wanting to kill have alwaysfelt the same to me, so Mercy’s presence, however intoxicating it may be, is complicating my little mission.

“Thanks, buddy,” I tell Max, who barks and wags his tail and nudges against me again before trotting into the living room and settling down next to the door like a good guard dog. Roxi just watches me. She’s more ruthless, and I bet she felt the spike in my blood. I bet she’s waiting for instructions to attack.

“Not today, girl,” I tell her as I fix my coffee. “Today, you’re a pastor’s dog.”

She has nothing to say about that. I take my coffee over to the front window and peer out through the curtains. The little courtyard in front of the houses is empty and quiet, the grass yellowing from the heat despite the rain we’ve had. There’s a spray of wild sunflowers bursting along the walkway, heads tilted toward the east.

I need to get ready. Mercy will be here soon enough, and I’ve got to keep this preacher ruse up for a little while longer.

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