Page 11 of Stitch's Mercy

“I don’t want you to die for me.” Was he crazy? If I could go back to that day, I would’ve run for my life. Screamed for help before the big brute had shoved us into Noah’s car and driven us out of town. “It’s that mindset I want no part of. We’re in the medical field, Brady. We help people and save lives. Not kill and die for others.”

“Knights don’t kill innocent people, Mercy. You know that.”

“Yes. But every time I see a leather jacket or vest—”

“It’s leather cut.”

“Whatever.” I blew out an annoyed breath. “I still get triggered by bikers. Why do you think I’d only let you fuck me at the hospital or the hotel after our shift? I can’t handle seeing you in your leathercut.”

“Shit, that makes a lot of sense.”

I nodded.

“But I can’t quit the club. Don’t want to if I’m honest.”

My hopes and dreams came crashing down. I pushed his hands off me and climbed off his lap. “Take me home, please.” I went to the door and put on my boots.

“No.” He jumped to his feet and crossed his arms over his chest. “We need to work through this. Do you know what a tremendous breakthrough we’ve had? You opened up to me, sweetheart.”

“Yes. I poured out my heart and shared the most private, painful event in my life and you don’t give a shit!” I put my coat on. “If you won’t drive me, I’ll take an Uber.”

“There aren’t any up here.” The jerk smirked like he had me right where he wanted me—at his mercy. “And I give a shit. I love you, Mercy.”

“No, you don’t, or you’d do anything to be with me.” I flung the door open and trotted down the steps, then picked up speed toward the road. On foot, the frontage road was a lot farther than I recalled. It was around two in the afternoon, and it felt like the temperature was dropping. I’d be a frozen popsicle if I didn’t get a ride soon.

“Mercy! Goddammit!” he yelled.

I peered over my shoulder and saw him running after me. And making excellent progress. His boots weren’t like mine. They were made for traipsing through the snow, whereas mine were fashion boots.

Stupid, stupid, stupid girl.You should’ve gone for functional.

“Mercy, stop before you get hurt.”

It was as if he’d cursed me. Something made me lose my footing, and I tumbled onto packed snow along the side of the driveway. I landed on my stomach and my face.

“Baby, are you okay?” Brady dropped to his knees beside me. “Where do you hurt?” He gently rolled me onto my back. “Fuck, your nose is bleeding.”

“But that’s not what hurts.”

“What hurts, baby?” He plucked tissues out of his coat pocket and put them to my nose.

“My heart.” I held the wad of Kleenex against my nose. “But I’ll live. Wouldn’t be the first time my heart died.” I attempted to stand, but Brady scooped up off my feet and carried me back to his cabin.

“Dammit, Mercy. I’m not trying to break your heart. I only want to protect it and you.” He didn’t grunt or huff, carrying me. Could he not tell I’d gained nearly twenty pounds since the shooting?

“Put me down. I can walk on my own. You might pull something.” At my heaviest, I weighed a hundred and fifty pounds. But then I’d started messing around with Brady and dropped ten pounds, which I’d attributed to happy endorphins and being Doctor McHottie. The extra pounds had seemed to melt away on their own. But now, I was closing in on a hundred and sixty pounds, thanks to stress eating.

“Stop it. You know I love your curves.”

I huffed and snapped my mouth shut. Sure, he might have mentioned liking meat on a woman, but nothing about liking a chubby woman.

We entered the cabin. Brady kicked the door shut and set me on my feet.

“You’re infuriating, y’know?” He removed my coat and squatted to take off my boots. “You could’ve smashed your skull on the hard snow and killed yourself. Then I would’ve died too.” He repeated the words I’d told him earlier and stared at me with a penetrating gaze.

“I needed to get away from you.”

“Don’t ever do it again.” He removed his boots and set them beside mine on the rubber tray. “I’ll punish you if you do.”

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