Page 137 of Merciless

“I’m sorry.” She darts around me and flees the room, faster than I thought possible, leaving me standing there with nothing but my regrets and a raging boner.

The loud slam of a door deeper in the house jolts through me and I hang my head in shame.

My eyes fly open. Or at least they want to, but the reality is that they barely move. The swelling is still too bad.

A loud groan spills from my lips as I fall onto my back. My ribs, my face, my everything hurt as memories from the night before come back to me.

What the fuck was I thinking?

The bang of a door and then footsteps force me to lift my head from the pillow. My heart jumps into my throat as hope blooms within me.

Alana.

Something clatters against the kitchen counter and my pulse begins to race.

“Alana,” I rasp, but much like the rest of my body, my voice doesn’t want to work.

The coffee machine turns on as I fight to sit up and swing my legs from the bed.

My ribs scream in protest. But nothing is going to stop me from getting to her.

Nothing.

My feet barely hit the floor when the footsteps get closer.

Please. Please.

A shadow falls over the doorway and I swear I stop breathing.

My hands tremble as I force my eyes open wider. If it’s her then I want to see everything.

“Doll?” I say, my voice a little stronger this time.

My visitor finally steps into the doorway and the world falls out from beneath me as my hope shatters and dies right before my eyes.

“Sheila,” I mutter, studying the older lady for a beat before giving up and crashing back to the bed in defeat.

“Maverick,” she warns, marching toward me with her hands on her hips and a fierce look in her eyes. “Have you even bothered to clean up those cuts?”

I don’t respond. What’s the point? She knows the answer just from looking at me.

I barely made it home last night. Honestly, I’ve no idea how I didn’t end up in a ditch, forced to spend the night in my car. The first time I woke up in bed, I was shocked to find the softness of my sheets beneath me.

But while I knew I needed to clean up, I couldn’t do it. Physically, I could have probably managed. But emotionally… nope. Not a chance.

When I gave up fighting regularly after I got a concussion so bad Alana thought I’d died, the only thing I really missed were our clean-up sessions. It was the one time I allowed her to get that close. I craved it like a junkie. But I knew it needed to stop.

Every time I came that little bit closer to forgetting my promises, taking her in my arms and slamming her back against the wall.

“Fuck.” I groan, throwing my arm over my head as my memories haunt me all over again.

I realize my mistake instantly when pain explodes from my face.

“I thought my ears were deceiving me when I heard the kids talking about Reid Harris stepping into the ring last night with none other than Maverick Murray.”

I groan, but it’s not enough to stop her.

“What the hell were you thinking? You didn’t think you actually stood a chance, did you?”

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