Page 44 of Begging for Mercy
She bites down on my palm hard enough thatIyell, quickly shoving her away from me. “Fuckingbitch!” My hand throbs as she truly screams, running from the room before I can grab her.
“Sam!”
I follow her trail, catching up to her as she passes through the front door. Tackling her on the stairs, we slam into the grass, one on top of the other. My bones rattle as she kicks my ribs with her combat boot and tries to scramble away, aiming her next kick at my face. I dodge, growling as I grab her calf and drag her body back to mine. “You stupid bitch!” A laugh cracks in my chest. “God, I should have killed you that night. Then this whole thing would be over!”
“Get off of me!”
Using my body weight to my advantage, I grapple her and lock her head in a chokehold. “He wants you.” My chest heaves as I hold her in submission. “God knows why.” The truth grates on my nerves like a nail file, tearing my flesh open after so long spent in denial.
Mercy is a beautiful woman. Her eyes hold the warmth of the setting sun, and her skin—I press my cheek against hers—is softer than velvet. Wrapping my legs around her ankles, I hold on until she whimpers, the fight draining from her body. But it’s more than her appearance that draws Kane in—it’s the way she sits at her desk for hours, staring out the window long after the sun sets, a forgotten pencil tucked between her fingers. The lingering loneliness on her bedroom walls. Not a single picture frame hangs on nails or sits on a shelf, like she doesn’t have a single memory worth keeping. How she sings to the dead ina mausoleum on Halloween night, unafraid of the spirits she summons with her voice.
Kane is the most observant man I know. He’ll take one glance at a person and pinpoint their core wounds in the span of a few heartbeats. It’s how he picks his targets. They make perfect art pieces because of how much weight they carry on their backs.
If I ruin Mercy before Kane has a chance to paint her, I destroy his only outlet for all of the feelings he can’t contain within his body. They’ll spill over, and we’ll backslide into even worse habits at a breakneck pace. It’ll break him from the inside out.
But watching him obsess over this girl is breakingme.
I thought I could lessen the blow by taking away the pieces of her that appeal to Kane the most. All of the shiny new experiences she has yet to have call to him like the sweetest song. I could claim them one by one until there aren’t any left for him. Then, he’ll realize that she’s nothing special, and we can move on with our lives.
I’d thought that Sam would have handled the physical parts by now, but it seems like lover boy has dropped the ball. He’s moving so slowly that he’s inadvertently making room for Kane to steal Mercy’s firsts.
“Shhh.” Tightening the headlock, I wait for her body to slump. As soon as she’s unconscious, I lie on my back on the grass and stare up at the darkening night sky. The closer we move to winter, the shorter the days are, and tonight feels especially dark. I catch my breath and ignore the aches in my body, but a light breeze flutters the ends of Mercy’s hair across my arm, and her head suddenly lolls onto my bicep. I stare at her smudged lipstick, then the gentle slope of her nose, the thick scratch of brows over her eyes, the bright red scrape along her hairline.
I hate how goddamn pretty she is.
I hate how inadequate she makes me feel.
I hate how I curl my body into hers and weep for all the things I can’t control.
The ghost of her breath tickling my cheek.
The curl of her fingers in my shirt.
The way she doesn’t leave even though she should.
Chapter 16
Kane
The facethat walks through the door of Lucio’s Italiano isn’t the one I’m expecting. Either one of them.
It’s Samson fucking Wright, the frat boy with a pretty mouth and a whole lot of daddy’s money burning a hole in his pocket, according to Zane. His eyes scan the room until they snag on mine, the scowl on his face downrightmeanas he ignores the Maitre d’ and takes the seat directly across the table from me.
“Sam.” His name sounds foreign on my tongue, but it’s such a boring name that I doubt many people have to suffer it.
“Where’s Mercy?”
I sip my drink with an air of nonchalance. Truthfully, I’m wondering the same thing. Zane should have been here by now. It’s not like him to detour—that’smything.
“Avoiding this happy reunion, if I had to guess.” I signal to our server, and they quickly bring Sam a glass of his own. “You like gin?” Before he can answer, I pour a generous amount over ice and slide it over to him. “You look like you want to kill someone.” My smile is genuine. “Can’t say I disapprove. Who’s the lucky bastard?”
Oh, if looks could kill.
Glee makes my personality louder, and I smack my hand on the edge of the table. “See, that’s what I’m talking about. That fire burning in your chest? The need to just—” I mimic stabbing, twisting my waist for the full swing of motion. “Nothing like it.”
Sam scoffs, but the way his emerald eyes smolder gives him away. He doesn’t disapprove nearly as much as he pretends. “You’re insane.”
I clink my glass against his. “Makes life more interesting, doesn’t it?”
