Page 81 of The Price of Mercy
The first person he kills will be the one I care about most.
I’ve played this scenario over and over in my head ever since I came up with the idea. At first, it was a wishful, frantic thing muttered in the dark of my bedroom, but the longer I sat with it, the more it made sense. The best way for me to protect Mercy isto ensure that my father can’t touch her, and the only way to do that is to kill him.
Taking over his contracts and heading the dozens of companies he’s founded is a nightmare I’ll have to untangle, but it’ll be worth it if I can have Mercy.
I’ll do anything to keep her by my side.
Now that the day is finally here, everything is falling into place. Our gift is as ostentatious as it can get—a serif relief of the letter M that suspiciously looks like a W at the same time—and a case of the most expensive wine on the market. It’s not so expensive that no normal person has heard of it, but it’s well-known enough to prove just how much money the Wright family has.
A fuck ton.
I used to believe that my mother’s charitable efforts were what garnered so much finances, but the reality is much more grim. Working under my father has proven that behind the veneer of charitable deeds and fundraisers, he has innumerable underground contacts for drug smuggling, weapons deals, and laundering money.
It’s no wonder my mom grew to hate him.
The party is being held inside the mortuary itself; the few back rooms that aren’t used for storage are transformed into a quaint setting for mourners to gather for a rare moment of peace. A Christmas tree, decorated with homemade ornaments and a variety of gifted ones over the years, sits in the lobby for guests to enjoy with hot cocoa and a round of holiday bingo. This is the first time in years that I haven’t helped set up for the event. Knowing that Kane and Zane likely took over that duty makes me sadder than I realized it would. Next year, I’ll have to string the whole place in lights and set sparkling reindeer out front.
I can’t be outdone if I’m going to become the man of the house.
This year, however, I have an even greater surprise—something that I’ll never be able to top again.
“Are you ready?” I glance over at my special guest, noting the way he didn’t bother to dress up. I’d set out my best outfits for him to choose from, but he decided to wear what he arrived in this morning: a black denim jacket, heavy combat boots, a worn long-sleeve t-shirt, and ripped jeans. Playing with his lip piercing as he stares at the mortuary, he doesn’t respond.
“I know you haven’t been home in a while?—”
A flash of anger in his eyes makes me pause. Maybe bringing him wasn’t a good idea after all. Then again, if anyone’s got a grudge against my father, it’s him. We need that kind of energy if we’re going to win tonight.
“Stay behind me,” I instruct, stepping up to the front door. “They need to see me first.”
He chuffs. “Whatever, dude. Like I care who goes first.”
My father is actually the one who enters first, drawing eyes as he sweeps dramatically in front of our gifts—delivered this afternoon—and makes a show about checking them. When his gaze lands on Vinicius Morningstar, Mercy’s father, he smiles at the other man and inclines his head. They’ll speak at some point tonight, but my dad will take his time with the approach, luring Vinny with a slow pull rather than a direct approach. That’s usually how he handles things—pretending to be indirect while secretly aligning the pieces on the board until he’s the last person standing.
Ignoring him is easy. I follow him into the lobby and avoid the urge to look for Mercy. I’m starving for a glimpse of her, my stomach tying itself into knots. But this moment, for all of the planning that went into it, isn’t about me.
It’s about the man walking in behind me.
There aren’t many guests, but a whisper spreads around the room like smoke. It takes a moment for Vinicius to recognizethe words rumbling around him, but when he does, he drops his glass of wine.
A gasp catches my attention, and I turn my head to find Mercy struggling to hold back tears from across the room, but she isn’t crying at the sight of me.
She’s speechless at the sight of her younger brother Malachi.
The boy who’s been ‘at boarding school’ for years.
With a strangled cry, she rushes to him, barreling into his chest so hard that he stumbles. “Hey, Sis,” he mumbles, hiding his face in her raven hair. They wrap their arms around each other and share a private moment that the rest of the room politely ignores… but I can’t.
Staring at Mercy’s back is a kind of torture I’ve never experienced. Her chest rises with a sob that I long to soothe, and I clench my fist in my pocket to keep from reaching for her. Bringing Malachi here took groveling to my father to make it happen, but the payoff is a thousand times worth it.
Especially since it means we have another man in our corner when the time comes to kill my dad.
Someone punches my arm. “Sam, you fucking bastard. You made it.”
“Kane,” I greet numbly, refusing to look away from Mercy. She pulls away from her brother and futilely wipes the damp patch of tears on his jacket, or maybe it’s the makeup. At least he’s wearing black so it blends in.
Time slows to a crawl as she grips her brother’s hand tightly in hers and turns around, her watery eyes finally landing on me.
I hold my breath as another silent tear slides down her cheek. She’s curled her hair for the evening, two long strands framing her angelic face. Dark red lipstick matches the color of her blouse and the laces on her boots, but the tights, ruffled skirt, and leather on her shoes is pitch black. Standing next to her brother, the resemblance is undeniable. They both have palecomplexions, curled lashes, stormy emerald eyes, and a light flush to their cheeks.
