Page 6 of The Price of Mercy
At some point, I decided to bring Mercy over to our side. I like her. A lot. Andthatis what’s driving Zane over the edge.
Fuck.
I completely miss Sam’s right hook. His knuckles hit bone, and I crash to the gravel below, out of breath and out of luck. The bastard hits harder than I anticipated. My face throbs as the ache spreads from my eye socket to my cheek, and I can’t keep from grinning as nostalgia hits.
When Zane and I were kids, we used to get into fights with the other foster children. I’d stand up for him when they called him names for being too quiet or too smart, but he was the one who got revenge in the middle of the night, scheming in silence until they were tucked into their beds, completely defenseless as he shoved socks in their mouths and poured glue in their eyes.
Zane’s always been a mean fucking bastard. Revenge is his thing.
I’m halfway up off the ground when the truth slams into me like a freight train, nearly knocking me over. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before. It’s so fucking obvious. Sam’s fist must have knocked something loose in my brain—the missing puzzle piece that I couldn’t find. Wouldn’t even consider as a possibility. Because Zane wouldn’t hurt me.
Much like how Sam wouldn’t hurt Mercy.
But what Zane and Sam have in common is a compulsion to keep their loved ones safe. They aren’t cut from the same cloth, by any means. I doubt Sam would do something as nefarious as kill Mercy’s lover to ensure she stays with him rather than run off into the sunset with someone like me—although, the thought might cross his mind.
Zane wouldn’t dare kill Mercy while I’m still interested in her. That’s grounds for a big fucking problem between us.
But even if killing her is a no-go, hurting her isn’t off the table. The gears turn in my head as I stand up. Zane has never been one for flashy violence. Hurting her overtly isn’t his style. Especially not while I’m watching her so closely. But ensuring that she loses that virgin sparkle I find so alluring—thatsounds like Zane. If he wants to keep my interest, he needs to dull her shine so that I come crawling back into his bed.
So he thinks.
The fuckingidiot.
Sam looks like he wants to hit me again, so I shake my head and laugh. “Don’t push it, Wright. You got in a solid hit. She’s yours for tonight.” What I don’t say is that despite how much I want Mercy’s sweet virgin pussy on my lips, I won’t be able to get Zane out of my head until I confront the bastard, and Mercy deserves better than half-assed oral.
My mind quickly wanders. I don’t know how Zane pulled off that shit at the party. He’s not in the frat. He wasn’t even there at the party tonight. But if Sam didn’t do it, and Mercy didn’t do it, andIsure as shit didn’t do it, then who the fuck else would have set everything up?
And who the hell is rotting in the back of Sam’s truck?
I have more questions than answers, and unfortunately, the dead guy can’t talk.
Once I stop fighting, Sam finally realizes that I’m serious. Although he doesn’t punch me again, he glares like he’s picturing my demise. I can hardly blame him. If he were coming after Zane the way that I’m coming after Mercy, I’d do the same—except I’d actually kill the bastard for it. Sam’s too tame for that.
At least for now.
A smile curves on my lips. I’d pay good money to see Sam turned into a murdering bastard.
Regardless of what joys our bloodied future holds, however, he landed a solid hit. It’s my fault for being distracted. But he didn’t have to go in so goddamn hard. With a hiss, I touch the swollen flesh over my eye. It’s gonna bruise. Fuck me. I’m gonna have a black eye.
My mind wars with itself as images of Zane and Mercy tending to my injury swarm in my vision. First, it’s Mercy gently pressing an ice pack to my head, but then it’s Zane brushing a kiss over the bruise before sweeping my lips against his, devouring my mouth like his life depends on it. Back and forth,one gentle, one fierce, until the fantasies blend together and they’re both touching me, teasing me, driving me fucking wild.
It’s heaven and hell wrapped in a nice little package… at first. Then, all of a sudden, Zane pulls out a knife and stabs Mercy in the gut, grinning as she bleeds out in front of me.
I can’t let that happen. Mercy deserves a better death than what Zane would give her.
Taking a deep breath, I force myself to focus. The cold night air grounds me. There’s a dead body, a damaged girl, and a big goddamn mess to clean up. Usually, I rely on Zane to help me, but my partner-in-crime isn’t here.
Samson Wright is.
And he’s fuckingsmiling.
I might regret making that bet, but for now, I have to deal with it. Clearing my throat, I address Sam. “Hey.”
He tears his gaze off the exposed brick siding to glance at me. We were both lost in thought, and reality slaps like a bitch. We frown at each other, and I have to force myself to meet his eyes. They’re bright green, practically glowing in the moonlight. Nothing like Mercy’s. Nothing like Zane’s. I hardly know the man—don’t want to—and yet he might be my only lead for figuring out what happened tonight. Forming the words to ask, however, is hard as fuck. “Sam,” I start, grinding my teeth.
His bushy fucking eyebrows pinch together. “Yeah?”
I rap my knuckles on the tailgate of his pickup, the metal cold to the touch. “Help me with this, and then—” I drag in a lungful of crisp autumn air. God, I don’t want to believe that Zane is behind this. I want him to be at home, pacing the den, tearing his hair out as he waits up for me. Not sitting at his computer, grinning to himself over a triumphant night scheming to defile an innocent girl. He could be doing both, laughing under his breath as he paces the carpet, eager to see me but itching to know what happened at the party.
