Page 67 of Turn That River Red

MERCY

Ican’t believe I let him do that to me—twice. I let him have me twice, even though I know what he is, a murderer and a monster and an abomination.

The boogeyman.

And yet the boogeyman lets me take a shower to wash the rest of his blood away. I stand motionless under the spray, the water steaming around me, my thoughts empty. I’m too exhausted to be confused.

He also brings a change of clothes—an oversized T-shirt, a pair of men’s boxer shorts. “Don’t have any ladies’ clothes,” he says apologetically, but that actually makes me feel better. It would be so much worse if he had women’s clothes in this house. Women’s clothes, but no women.

He’s a murderer, I think as I slip on the T-shirt and the boxers. They feel utterly strange to me after a lifetime of dressing for modesty. Decadent, almost. They aren’t even particularly revealing, and yet Ifeelexposed, with my bare thighs peaking below the boxers, my knees open to the cool air of his house. Ambrose glances at me when I walk into the livingroom after my shower, sweeping his gaze over my body, making me feel naked and beautiful all at once.

“Want something to eat?”

I should say no. I should fight. I should run. I’m not chained up. But Ambrose would certainly catch me. I’ve seen what he’s capable of, even if it feels impossible.

And even if he didn’t—where would I go? I’ve looked out the windows. We’re in the middle of nowhere.

So I just nod, smoothing my shirt down distractedly. “Yes, “ I tell him. “Yes, something to eat would be nice.”

What he fixes for lunch isn’t anything fancy: just a can of tomato soup heated up on the stove, a grilled cheese sandwich. I eat it because I’m hungry, and I feel dizzy with everything that’s happened.

And because it tastes good.

When we’re finished, Ambrose clears the dishes. I sit at the table in the dining room, listening to him clatter around in the kitchen, fighting the urge to get up and help him the way I was taught. Max snoozes at my feet, his body warm against my leg. He’s followed me everywhere since?—

Since what happened earlier.

Roxi keeps her distance, though, sitting on her haunches in the kitchen doorway, her eyes on Ambrose. He sings as he puts the dishes away, a soft, haunting melody, the lyrics in Spanish. I catch every other word—something about a witch, something about children.

When he finishes, he comes to stand in the doorway next to Roxi, wiping his hands on a towel before flinging it over his shoulder and then, to my dismay, smiling at me in a way that makes my stomach clench up.

He’s so handsome. As handsome as the devil, especially with the dark, blurry tattoos crawling over his bare shoulders.

All of Reverend Gunner’s sermons were right. Satan really is Heaven’s most beautiful angel. And now I’m in hell with him.

Even if it doesn’t feel like hell.

“You’ve got free run of the house,” Ambrose says, leaning in the doorway. “You can go out in the yard if you want, although with this heat?—”

I stare at him from across the table. “And if I run?”

His expression doesn’t waver. “You’re welcome to try. We’re fifteen miles from the closest highway. Twenty miles from the nearest gas station. There aren’t any other houses out here.” He smiles a little, and fear and lust both quiver down my spine. “Plus, I told you. I’m faster and stronger than you. I’ll hunt you down before you reach either one.”

“And kill me?” I shoot back.

“No.”

We stare at each other, neither of us speaking. The silence burns around me.

“What about clothes?” I finally say. “I can’t wear T-shirts and boxers for the rest of my life.”

“I told you—your life isn’t going to end in the next few days.”

Icy fear shoots down my spine; I hadn’t even been thinking of it in that sense. I don’t say anything, though, just wring my hands together under the table.

“We can order some things for you,” he says. “Have them delivered in the next few days.”

“Why are you being so kind to me?” I spit out the question before I can stop myself. Ambrose tilts his head.

---