18. Sam
Sam
That night, I fix the locks on Mercy’s bedroom door, changing out her doorknob and adding three sliding locks—two across the top and one at the bottom.
“You have to use them,” I tell her, glancing at her for the thousandth time since we arrived.
She’s been sitting at her desk for the past hour, either staring outside her window or at that drawing of her and Zane in her sketchbook.
Every time I see the drawing, a cord of anger tightens inside my chest.
Setting my tools down, I cross to Mercy’s chair and grip the backrest. “Why did you draw that?” The man—dark hair, lean build, clearly not me or Reaper—mocks me with the level of intimacy displayed on the page.
Mercy’s legs are pulled up in front of her, squished between her torso and her desk. She taps a dull pencil against her knee.“I didn’t.”
I grab the sketchbook from over Mercy’s shoulder and tear the drawing out, the harsh riiiiip satisfying a lesser demon throwing a tantrum inside my heart.
Crumpling it in my hand, I toss it outside the open bedroom window, wishing it would crash into the earth and shatter, but it merely floats down to the dewy grass and gently tumbles another foot before rolling to a stop.
Mercy snatches the sketchbook from my hands and snaps it closed. “Don’t touch my stuff.”
I scoff aloud. “What, are you upset? I fixed it.” Something ugly scratches inside my chest, clawing to get out.
“I’ll fix everything, Mercy.” On the drive home from Lucio’s, I came up with a plan to leave the city.
It would take a few weeks to set everything up, but I could have fake IDs and a safe house set up for us.
Mercy would be my wife, the two of us fresh off our honeymoon and looking for a new start in another town—another life—while Grey gets rid of both Kane and Zane for good.
I don’t need to see their dossiers to know that they’re better off six feet under, where they won’t have a chance in hell of dragging her down with them.
If I’m being honest, I don’t even need Mercy’s permission. I’d like it, obviously, which is why I have to be delicate about how I propose the idea to her. She can’t think that we’re running away for good, or she’ll never agree to it. Her family means too much to her.
Spinning her chair around, I meet the flare of indignancy in her auburn eyes, and my proposal for a two-week getaway vacation dies on my lips. “Why are you?—”
So stubborn!
“—mad at me?”
She huffs. “Because it’s like—” The frantic tap tap tap of her pencil on her knee makes my eye twitch. “It’s like I don’t even know you, Sam.” Her jaw clenches as she looks me up and down. “I didn’t even know you had a gun.”
“I didn’t until yesterday.” Wincing, I admit, “Well, okay, my dad gave me one for my birthday once, but I don’t ever use it.
I specifically brought one to dinner last night because I don’t trust them.
And clearly, I was right!” The memory of Mercy with a gun pressed to her lips nearly tips me over the edge from moderately calm to I’m going to shoot that fucker.
“Kane’s a fucking psycho, Mercy. I tried to tell you that, but you wouldn’t listen. ”
“So this is my fault?” She shoves my arm. “Poor little Mercy Morningstar, so desperate for attention that the only men she pulls are murderers and psychos!” She lifts her chin. “So what does that make you, Samson Wright? A murderer or a psycho?”
“Neither,” I insist, planting my hands on her knees. “I’m the only one who’s good for you. You have to see that by now.”
She laughs, the sound catching in her throat like a bitter pill. “God, it’s like you’re trying to convince yourself. Wake up, Sam!” Her smile turns cruel, the corners of her eyes watering. “No one’s good for me.”
I stop her from spinning her chair back around. “You don’t honestly believe that.” A silent tear falls down her cheek, and I gently brush it away. “You’re not destined to be alone, Mercy.”
“Everyone ends up alone.” She blinks through a wave of tears, barely holding them back.
“I’ve seen thousands of people come through the funeral home, Sam, and every one of them walks away emptier than before.
Being alone is our default. We’re the ones fighting against it when we shack up with other people.
Make friends. Take lovers.” A broken laugh spills past her lips. “Not that I have either.”
I’ve seen her talk this way before when her depression gets bad. It’s usually seasonal, but we should be coming out of it instead of driving into the dark. “Have you been taking your meds?”
She purses her lips.
That would be a no.
Sighing, I reach around her to open her desk drawer. “You shouldn’t skip them?—”
“Like you care.”
“I do care, Mercy. I want you to feel better.”
The pill bottle is half full. By now, she can take them dry, but it still sucks. “Let me get you a glass of water.”
“I’m not taking them.”
I swallow my sigh this time. “You’re not thinking clearly, Mercy.” No wonder she’s been letting those two darken her doorstep. It’s all that she thinks she deserves. “You need to take them.” I place two in her hand and curl her fingers over them. I guess the water’s a no-go. “Please. For me.”
Glaring, she unravels her fist to stare at the two little white pills. They practically glow in the moonlight. “It doesn’t change anything. I’m still The Dead Girl. I might as well be dead.”
Panic mixes with dread. I can’t let Mercy out of my sight if she’s talking like this.
As much as I hate to admit it, maybe having Kane and Zane stalk her is a good thing if it keeps her breathing.
“If you die, Mercy, then take me with you.” It’s not what I should say, but it’s the most honest thing I have right now.
“Because I don’t want to know what life is like without you. ”
She avoids my eyes. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do.” Slipping my hand into hers, I lace our fingers together, the pills pressed tightly between our palms. “So don’t make me find out.” Gently, I turn her face towards mine. “I love you, Mercy. No matter what you think about yourself, know that I think the world of you.”
Bathed in moonlight, Mercy always takes my breath away. It doesn’t matter the time of year or what she’s wearing—she was born for the night, and even the most shadowed parts of her don’t scare me away.
Finally, she relents, slipping her hand from mine to pinch the pills between her fingers.
She offers one to me, pushing it past the seam of my lips, before slipping the other into her mouth.
As she swallows, I slide my fingers into her hair and slant my lips over hers, gently licking into her mouth.
The pill she gave me passes between us. “Swallow.” I cup her throat, unable to stop a full-bodied shudder as she obeys, swallowing like a good fucking girl.
Sighing against her lips, I kiss her as gently as I can.
This is all I’ve wanted. Tender moments with the girl I never want to live without.
Her arms wind around my neck, and she deepens our kiss.
My heart seizes inside my chest, begging me for more, and I greedily oblige.
Lifting her into my arms, I carry Mercy to her bed and lay her down.
She stretches her arms over her head and parts her lips, the tears catching on her lashes shimmering like diamonds.
I don’t ask her what she wants, fearing that she’ll tell me no.
Instead, I pop open the front of my shirt and tear it off my body.
She does the same with her dress, tugging it over her hips, then her breasts, lifting it over her head before tossing it to the floor. Her pussy glistens in the soft, silvery glow of the moon, the bundle of curls framing her entrance still damp from earlier.
My cock stands at full mast and I groan at the memory of her taste bursting on my tongue, sweet and succulent and filthy . She may not realize it, but she rocked her hips all over my face when she came, her innocence quickly fading as she chased her release.
Stepping over the friendship line is something I’ve yearned for, and now that it’s close, I’m desperate.
My need for this woman soars, and I undress in record time, kicking off my shoes and shucking my pants, carefully tucking the gun away beneath them.
When all that’s left are my boxers, I catch her eyes as I pull them down. “You can tell me to stop.”
Please don’t.
I watch for the subtlest shake of her head.
An aversion of her gaze. A flicker of doubt.
When none arrive, I climb onto her rickety bed and wind my fingers in the waves of her hair, sealing my lips over hers.
I groan into her mouth as she reciprocates, kissing me like she used to.
Back then, she was nervous but eager, the two of us stopping because she didn’t want to ruin our friendship.
Tonight is a different story. She lifts her legs to trap me between them, eagerly locking her ankles around my waist. Our hips align like they were made for each other, my cock nestling against her curls as she drags her pussy over my length, a needy whine catching in her throat. If she’s not careful?—
I clench my entire body to keep from moving as the tip slips inside her sticky sweet center.
Mercy tries to angle her hips to go deeper, but I fight against her vice grip.
Every vein in my body threatens to burst from how hard my heart is pumping, spurring me on, begging me to claim her before any other man has the chance.
But I have to be sure that she wants this with me. That she won’t wake up tomorrow full of aches and pains and… regrets.