Page 24 of Begging for Mercy
I’ll have to calm down if I’m going to win the game, but with twelve whole months ahead of us, that doesn’t have to be right now. Besides, maybe some distance will make her think about her mistake and how to make it up to me. I avoid looking at her as I turn around, knowing that if I see a tear in her eye, I’llreallywant to make her cry.
Pretty girls don’t fall in love with the men who put them there.
Chapter 10
Sam
When I’mon the practice field, it’s usually easy to let all the shit brewing in my head fade away until the only sensations left are the hard knocks on my body and the smell of freshly cut grass. I always look forward to challenging drills and tackle runs because every bruise on my body is a testament to the life I’ve chosen—far away from my father and the never-ending pressure of the Wright family legacy. But the one good thing he did for me was take me to those counseling sessions after my mom died.
That’s where I met Mercy Morningstar, the girl patiently waiting for me on the sideline. We agreed to meet up today, but I figured she’d want space after our impromptu sleepover. Instead, I find her standing at the sideline near the other girls watching their boyfriends practice. I glance in her direction every chance I get, often enough that Coach calls me out on it and my teammates rag on me. But it’s all good-natured fun. I get my tackles in, and she gets to watch me tear through the opposing team’s defensive line.
I work a little harder for her, unable to help myself when a pretty girl watches me play.
As soon as the whistle blows and we wrap up for the morning, I jog over to Mercy, unable to keep the grin off myface. “Hey, cutie. Haven’t seen you here before.” She looks just as pretty as she did this morning, wearing a ruffled skirt with a belt. Or is it a dress? My eyes travel from her face to her body, and that’s when I see it.
A goddamnhickey.
My mood sours instantly. I try to keep my voice level as I clutch my helmet to my side. “What have you been up to?” Swallowing, I tear my gaze back up to her face, but she’s already covering the spot with her hand, a pretty pink blush on her cheeks.
Oh, that’s a hickey, alright, and for some reason, I absolutely hate it. In all the years I’ve known Mercy, not once has she ever had a mark or bruise on her skin. I always thought that she had good veins, but I guess that was wishful thinking, because here’s all the proof I need. She bleeds like the rest of us.
“I had class,” she replies, pulling her hair over her shoulder to try to cover the mark. It’s too close to the front for that to work, so all she does is frizz the ends of her hair. “I, um, ran into Reaper. Or he ran into me. He was in my seat.” She frowns, the little divot between her eyebrows driving me crazy.
But not as much as the thought of Reaper’s teeth on her throat.
I tap the same spot on my neck. “You’ve got a—” I can’t bear to say the wordhickey, so I pivot. “Bruise. Did he touch you?”
She avoids my eyes, and I want to scream. Tossing my helmet to the ground, I close the distance between us and grab her chin. Tilting her head back, I examine the mark on her neck. It’s not nearly as bad as I imagined, but he had to have enjoyed himself. I knowIwould have.
“Yes,” Mercy answers honestly, “but we didn’t… really… do anything?” The divot between her eyebrows deepens. “Sort of?”
My blood simmers at her uncertainty. “What does that mean, Mercy?” Mental images of him pushing her against a wall andshoving his hand down her panties make me even hotter in all the wrong ways. “Did he hurt you?”
She tries to shake her head, but I’m still holding her chin. “No, he—” Her flush deepens.Fuck, I’ve never seen her this flustered. Is he winning? Does shelikehim?
Do I need to change for Mercy to fall for me?
“—he, um, masturbated in front of me.”
Jesus Fucking Christ.
What a goddamn degenerate.
“In the middle of class?” It has to be almost noon by now. Her class starts at eight-thirty and my practice started at nine, so there’s at least a thirty-minute window unaccounted for. “Or after?” I hate asking for details, but I need to know what I’m up against.
If he’s bribed his way into her classes, I might be in trouble.
“After.” Mercy grabs my wrist and removes my hand from her face. “But I’m not here to talk about?—”
“Did you enjoy it?” I grind my teeth as I think about her standing there—sitting? Fuck, where were they?—getting wet for another man. I’m not usually the jealous type, nor have I crossed the friend line with Mercy since we decided to remain platonic, but that wasn’tmywish, it was hers.
Now the lines are all crossed and tangled, and I can’t figure out what I’m supposed to do. Listen to her talk about Reaper jerking off and torture myself with the details, or force myself into the situation and remind her that I’m just as much of a man as he is. I’m better. Healthier for her. I’ll make sure she drinks enough water and takes walks in between painting sessions. I’ll hold her at night to keep her nightmares at bay, and I won’t tease her about all the makeup she wears to bed. I’ll be here for here, like I always have been, but more than before.
Better than before.
I run my hand through my sweaty hair and try to get the image of Reaper stroking his cock out of my mind, but all I can think about is Mercy turning the exact shade of red she is now while she watches him. “Well?”
She meets my ire with her own, straightening her spine and crossing her arms over her chest. “I pissed him off, actually. It was great. I had soooo much fun laughing at his dick. It’s really tiny, you know. I don’t know how anyone thinks it’s this massive monster cock.”
