Page 26 of Shot For Mercy

He acted like a fucking madman tonight, torturing the guy for hours on end—for the fun of it. Maybe that’s an exaggeration, though. He’s clearly angry at me and needed to take it out on someone, and I can understand that. I’m not judging him. I’m just a bit concerned?—

“Em,” Cole grunts, his bloody hand coming to rest on my thigh. He squeezes painfully, then lets go suddenly, as if it never even happened. Before I can say anything to him, his breathing evens out and he’s snoring softly once more.

The ride back to the penthouse is silent, and I keep my eyes on him the entire time. He looks so innocent in his sleep.

I shake my head at that thought.

There’s not one innocent bone in Cole’s body. Not anymore. His mother’s death snuffed that out. He never talks about it, and even in the past he never mentioned her to me, only Matteo. But I know it’s affected him—I’m just not sure the extent of the damage yet.

Speaking of Matteo, he hasn’t been home in days. I was able to reach him a few hours ago to ask when he was coming back, to which he said that he didn’t know. Apparently, Cole and him are not speaking because Cole said it would be better to remain friends. Matteo is absolutely gutted, and I can’t blame him. After all the years he spent wishing and hoping for more, this has to be a slap in the face. And knowing I may have something to do with it is a stab in the back to my own child. I fucked up—and I continue to fuck up. I just don’t know how to stop doing it anymore.

Iachefor Cole, and I’m not above begging for relief anymore.

Finally, we pull up to the parking garage, and Luca drops us off near the elevators. I assist Cole with getting out, holding him up as he takes tentative steps, and we get in. The ride up is short, and we’re jolted when we get to the top, making Cole almost fall on his face. Before that can happen, the doors open and I rush him inside the penthouse.

“Matteo—” he groans.

“Not home,” I say softly, redirecting him toward my room. “You need to get cleaned up.”

“I can do that just fine by myself,” Cole says, his eyes finally open all the way, though it’s clear that it’s taking him some effort. “Just take me to my room.”

“No.” I shake my head, continuing to pull him toward my room. “You need a First Aid kit, and a shower.”

Cole fights me, but I haul him harder, until I’ve shut the bedroom door behind us and locked it. The sound of his panting is loud in the darkness as I walk us through the bedroom, then turn on the bathroom light and practically shove him into it. He doesn’t fight me anymore, instead he sits on top of the closed toilet lid as I rummage under my bathroom sink for the supplies I need. I usually keep a kit under here for myself. I just never know when I might need it, and our doctor might not always be available. Though I pay him a generous amount of money to be at our disposal.

I spend the next few minutes cleaning up Cole’s knuckles. They’re red and swollen, the skin shredded, and he winces and inhales sharply at the contact. It should make me feel bad; instead, I’m rougher with him.

“Fuck, take it easy,” he whines. “It fucking hurts.”

“Don’t be a little bitch now.” I grin, and he huffs. “You didn’t even feel it when you fucked up that man’s face.”

“The adrenaline is gone, you asshole,” Cole mutters, and I roll my eyes. “I can shower now.”

I nod, going to the shower and turning it on, then check the spray for the temperature. I wait until it’s warm, then begin to strip down to my underwear. Cole watches me intently, then shakes his head quickly.

“I can do it alone,” he tells me, though he’s slumped on the toilet seat, exhaustion weighing him down. “I’ll be quick.”

“And let you break your neck?” I chuckle. “No fucking chance.”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re dramatic?” he asks as he looks into my eyes, and my brows kiss my hairline. “Because you are.”

“Cry me a fucking river, Cole.” I sigh. “Just get in while you do it.”

“Fine,” he growls, pulling off his shirt one-handed. Possibly one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen him do. “What’s your plan, though? You gonna wash me? Tuck me in, Daddy?”

“Brat,” I mutter, watching him take off the rest of his clothes until he stands before me, naked.

My breath catches in my throat as I take him in. He has two tattoo sleeves. His right arm is more visible than his left as he makes his way to me, and I halt him to take a better look. There’s a skull on his upper arm that’s surrounded by roses and other flowers. Then his forearm has a woman with horns on her head, hollow white eyes, and skulls surrounding her body. There’s another tattoo on his hand all the way down to his fingers, too.

“Like them?” he murmurs.

“They look good on you,” I admit.

My hand reaches up toward his hair, pushing it away from his bloody face, and he sucks in a sharp breath. Before I can do something stupid like fuck him in front of the mirror, I grab his arm and direct him right to the shower spray. He winces when the water hits his hands, but other than that, he goes about rinsing off his face and hair of all the blood.

I grab the shampoo when he takes a step back from under the spray, then lather his hair with it, making sure to get all the blood. I massage his scalp with my fingertips, and he throws his head back with a groan. We don’t say anything at all, but actions definitely speak louder than words.

Cole rinses his hair as I grab the body wash, then I begin to wash his neck from behind, his shoulders, his back. I pause when I get to the two dimples right above his ass, and he chuckles.

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