Page 5 of Begging for Mercy
“A lost cat?” His eyes flick up to the top of my head like he’s looking for cat ears. “I don’t know you, little kitten, but I’m sure I can make you purr?—”
The other man scoffs loudly. “Do youhaveto come on to every single fucking person on the planet?”
Reaper tosses a sidelong glance at his partner. “I haven’t come on toyou,” he retorts, smirking. “You finally gettin’ jealous?”
Ignoring Reaper’s remark, his partner drops his shovel and comes to stand beside him. “She’s a liability,” he says simply, turning his nose up. “You shouldn’t have taken her fucking wallet.”
Reaper’s eyes widen. “Siren?” He brushes hair from my face and smears a line of dirt across my cheek. “So she’s not a lost kitty cat.”
“She’s definitely lost,” Skinny Jeans huffs, frowning even deeper than earlier. He reaches into Reaper’s pocket and pulls out a familiar trifold wallet with tiny crescent moons patterned along the sides. “This yours?” He taps the corner against my bicep before unfolding it and reading my ID. “Mercy Morningstar. Your parents must hate you to name you after the devil.” Flipping through the wallet’s contents, he holds up my parents’ photograph beside my face and looks between the three of us. “You look like her. Is this your mother?”
I can’t answer because Reaper’s hand is still over my mouth, but resentment simmers in my blood as Skinny Jeans casually handles my belongings. That’s one of the only photos I have ofmy parents, and he just—my eyes widen as he slips the photo into his back pocket. I jerk against Reaper’s hold while Skinny Jeans reads one of my family’s business cards next.
“Morningstar Mortuary,” he notates, flicking the edge of the card. “Maybe she’s not so lost, after all. Maybe she feels right at home here in the dirt.” He puts the card into his pocket alongside the photograph and returns the wallet to Reaper’s cargo pants. Sighing, he runs a hand through his unruly dark hair, pulling his bangs back to expose his forehead. “I really didn’t want any trouble tonight, but curiosity killed the cat and all that. We’ll make room for you, Kitten.” He grabs something from Reaper’s waist, but before he can make another move, Reaper’s hand snaps out and grabs his wrist.
As they glare at each other, I catch a flash of silver in the moonlight. A sharp-tipped knife, serrated on one side, glints in Skinny Jeans’ hand.
Adrenaline kicks into overdrive, and so do I. Lifting my leg, I slam my knee into Reaper’s crotch and pry myself free from his grasp, dropping to the ground to avoid another grab. I dart for an abandoned shovel and grip it tight, spinning around towhackwhoever I can. The metal clangs as it hits someone, and Skinny Jeans suddenly shouts expletives.
“Fuck!” Gritting his teeth, he lunges for me. “Grab her!”
But instead of grabbing me, Reaper knocks the knife from his partner’s hand and slams him into the dirt wall.
“What are youdoing?” Skinny Jeans snaps, fuming. “Get off of me!”
Reaper’s voice, cold and detached, sends shivers down my spine. “No.”
“No?” Skinny Jeans sneers. “What, you need to nut one more time? Fine, go ahead,fuck her.Then we’ll kill her.”
Alarm bells ring loud and clear in my head, and I hold my shovel even tighter. These men are crazy. I need to get the hell out of here.
But before I can run, screaming truths freeze me to the spot.
They know my name.
They know where my family works.
They know where to find me.
Even if I run tonight, they could come looking for me tomorrow.
“I won’t say anything,” I interrupt, trying to keep my voice steady. I swallow the lump in my throat and ignore the heavy beat of my heart. “I don’t know who you are or what you’re doing. I don’t know anything. I’m not a threat.” Wincing, I wish I could take that last part back, but it’s too late. “Just let me go, and I’ll forget this ever happened.”
Reaper turns his head and pins me with a cold stare. “No.”
Dread coils in my gut. My hands shake as I quickly glance at the knife on the ground. It’s too far for me to reach, and there are two men standing between it and me. I would never make it there in time, and if Reaper lets Skinny Jeans go?—
“Siren,” Reaper calls out, his voice softer. “Pick up the knife.”
Skinny Jeans fights against Reaper’s hold. “You fucking idiot. She’s gonna stab you.”
“She might.” He takes a deep breath. “But if stabbing me means she’ll stick around, then so be it. Fucking stab me.”
They’re both crazy. MaybeI’mcrazy. Instead of calling the cops, I carefully maneuver around the two men and pick up the knife. It’s lightweight compared to the shovel, and I hold it out between me and the two men. Do I really think that this little knife is enough to take them down? Maybe, if I aim for the jugular. But do I think they could both disarm and overpower me in a split second?
Abso-fucking-lutely.
As I pick up the knife, Skinny Jeans rages against Reaper, but he’s no match for the other man’s strength. Reaper keeps his eyes locked on me, not bothered in the slightest by his partner’s thrashing. Moonlight filters through the clouds and gradually unveils his face. From this distance, I can see the great detail that someone put into the skull painted over his cheekbones, lips, and eyes. The paint contours his features perfectly, making him look like a living, breathing skeleton. But beyond that, I can’t tell what he really looks like. If I were shown a prison line-up tomorrow, I’d have no clue which man was him. I stare into his eyes and try to memorize their shape and color—a startlingly beautiful shade of ice blue framed in almond-shaped eyes—then glance at his slicked-back, dirty blonde hair, mussed from the night’s events. A lock falls over his eyes, but he pays it no mind, too preoccupied with staring right back at me.
