Page 53 of Of Sinners & Salvation
Her voice breaks off in a sob, and I pull her to me, gently cradling her head to my chest. Only a minute later, the door swings open, and I look up, expecting to see my Hellhounds coming back. But the face that blinks in at us is unfamiliar.
Mercy bolts to her feet. “What did you do to her?” she demands, her fists clenching at her sides.
“I have no idea who you mean,” he says.
She takes two steps towards him, and he turns as if to bolt. I’m up and across the floor in seconds. I reach for him, my fingers closing around the back of his neck. He yells out as I drag him backwards into the office. I slam the door shut and stand in front of it, then shake him at Mercy.
“Answer her question,” I order.
“You haven’t even given me a name!” he says, sounding huffy and self-righteous.
My fingers itch to wrap around his throat, to watch the tips of his ears turn red and then purple. No one should speak to my lamb that way, and knowing he’s been in charge of whatever traumas have ensued while she was here makes my blood boil.
“Eternity Stone,” Mercy grits out, stepping in front of him. Her eyes are bright and fierce, boring into his, her whole body trembling with rage.
“You expect me to know every patient who’s ever been here?” he whines.
Without warning, Mercy slams her fist into his face. His glasses go flying, and he stumbles back against me. The heavy warmth of his body repulses me, and I hurl him away from me, sending him sliding on the loose papers underfoot. He crashes into the heavy wooden desk, and when I see the way Mercy’s eyes blaze at the sight of such violence, it sets loose something dangerous that’s been lurking inside me for a thousand years, an instinct from the primordial depths of my soul.
I step toward him, then meet her eyes. Forks of blinding white lightning flash outside, bathing the room in otherworldly luminescence. Mercy stands with feet planted wide, wild strands of her hair turning silvery in the momentary illumination. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips parted, and she looks both fearsome and ethereal, a goddess of wrath and mercy.
The crack of thunder shakes the asylum, booming and rumbling as it ripples out from the island. In the silence, the manon the desk grunts. Suddenly he shoves off, lunging for Mercy in the same motion.
“Goddamn bitch,” he howls. He whips a gun from behind his back and squeezes the trigger. Mercy screams and drops into a crouch, holding her head. I lunge for him, fear and fury blinding me as I hurl him backwards. He crashes into the desk and starts to fall sideways, but I grab his hair, my fingers curling into the short, bristly strands. I slam him face down on the surface, and the gun goes off again, the bullet lodging in the wall. I rip the gun from his hand and slam it down on the back of his head.
“What did you do to her?” I snarl, the voice coming from me belonging to another man, one as brutal and savage as the father I never truly understood until this moment, when the urge to destroy something weak overcomes me. I’ve always protected the weak, but the evil this man has done with his power makes me sick, makes me want to stamp out his life, erase his very existence the way he erased the girl in that photo with the callous word stamped on her face, as if she were a damaged library book and not a human being who was loved by so many. Loved by my lamb, who is hurting so much at her loss.
“I’m a doctor,” the man cries.
I lift his head and slam it down on the wooden surface this time.
“Then it’s even more vile that you’d hurt someone,” I growl.
“Help,” he cries, one arm flailing toward Mercy. “Help me!”
“Then answer the question,” she says, her sweet voice cold now. I didn’t even notice her rising, but she’s beside me, standing sentinel over us. “What did you do with Eternity?”
“Nothing,” he cries.
I slam his face down again. I feel a sickeningly satisfying crunch. “What did you do?”
“You broke my nose,” he howls.
He tries to rise, but Mercy slams a fist into his lower back, and he flops forward again. This time, a pool of blood remains when I lift his head. I hurl his head down, my fingers slipping from the short, thin hair. His face smacks into the surface so hard it rebounds, bouncing up.
“Where is she?” Mercy demands.
“She’s where she belongs,” he snarls back, flailing. “And you’ll be there too if I have anything to do with it.”
All sense leaves me when I hear him threaten my angel. After what he did, he doesn’t deserve to live. I grab his head with both hands and slam it down again and again, lost in a blind fury at his defiance, his callousness, his hypocrisy at taking an oath to help and then using the trust to sell girls into the horrors of their worst nightmare.
“Father.”
Forgive me.
“Father!”
Forgive me.
