Chapter 2
Kane
Morningstar Mortuary is fucking perfect.
Exposed red brick both inside and out, with original hardwood floors that date back decades and old glass windows that warp incoming light.
At night, the building looks as haunted as the surrounding landscape, and I fucking love it.
The recent updates to the driveway, doors, and inner workings feel out-of-place but up to code, a necessary evil for running a business in today’s world.
The lobby has been remodeled for modern times, but the back hallways and rooms preserve the morgue’s original charm.
As Mercy leads us through the front door and humors me with a brief tour of the building, she lights up like the North Star.
Every room has a story, and she sifts through them all to tell her favorites.
What began as mild curiosity about her family and their business experience quickly turns into something deeper.
The stories are fine and all, but Mercy is exceptional.
Everything she says makes me fall in love with this place—and the woman within it.
She may as well be guiding me home. I never want to leave.
While she brushes her fingertips over an old velvet couch and speaks fondly of a man who couldn’t bear to leave his wife’s side—for three days!
—while the Morningstars prepared her body in the next room, I watch the subtle intricacies of Mercy’s face in the lowlight, committing them to memory.
To Sam’s credit, he doesn’t interrupt, keeping his hands in his pockets as he nods along to Mercy’s story.
I guess he’s heard this one before, or maybe he was here with her when it happened.
He could have met the mourning man and listened as he sang songs of love for his dearly departed.
As we enter the next room, an ornate stained glass window casts soft blue light across the floor.
An image of a riverbank, complete with a crescent moon hanging in the sky overhead, decorates the center of the far wall.
Here, Mercy tells a story about a woman whose sister drowned in a nearby river after the current carried her away.
Heavy rainstorms had filled a lake past capacity, so the city authorized more water to be released from the dam than usual, thus picking up the current, cooling the waters, and subsequently resulting in her sister’s untimely death.
But the strangest thing about the tale is that her sister was smiling as she drifted away, letting nature carry her into the next life.
Mercy tells at least half a dozen of such stories in a hushed whisper, likely aiming to be respectful of the dead and their loved ones, but there’s no need for caution. The warmth in her eyes says it all. This place—these stories—are as much a part of her as the bricks are to the walls.
Taking her hand, I lace our fingers together. For one of the first times in my life, I don’t have anything to say. Nothing to contribute to the conversation. But I feel it—the gentle tug on my heart—and I want to share this moment with her.
She stumbles with her story, pulled out of a monologue by our joined hands. Blinking, she looks down at our interlocked fingers, like she’s surprised. We held hands the other day when I led her from the fine arts building to the cemetery, so it’s not like this is new.
But somehow… it feels different.
I don’t pull her closer like I have in the past. Instead, with a gentle nod, I encourage her to keep going. “I’m listening, Siren.”
The blush on her cheeks makes holding back so fucking worth it.
Sam, the fucker, slides up to Mercy’s other side and takes the opposite hand, copying me as he laces their fingers together.
Our eyes meet over Mercy’s head, and I glare.
He doesn’t deserve to touch her after what happened tonight.
As far as I’m concerned, everything is his damn fault for taking her to the party in the first place.
The spell between Mercy and me breaks, and she laughs awkwardly. “Um, we should—it’s getting—I mean—”
I hate to cut the tour short, but fine. We’re technically on the clock. If Zane were here, he’d be throwing a fucking tantrum about the delay. Keeping my eye on Sam, I address Mercy without looking at her. “Prep the room for us. We’ll bring the body around back. Can you prop the door open?”
“Sure,” she breathes, tugging her hands free. When neither me or Sam let go, a tiny laugh fizzles past her lips. “Guys, c’mon, this is ridiculous.”
“Is it?” My eyebrow lifts. “Let go, Sam.”
The guard dog shows his teeth. “You let go.”
“Both of you, let go!” Mercy jostles both of us. “Stop playing tug of war with me.”
I lick a stripe across my top row of teeth.
“He hasn’t earned you, Mercy.” If I have any say in how things unravel between them, he’ll have to watch as I split his girl open with my cock.
My girl. Our girl. Fuck, this is getting complicated.
Regardless, I want to watch Sam crumble into a pitiable pile of dust while Mercy writhes beneath me. Is that so fucking bad?
My lips twitch into a frown. Zane won’t like that. He’s already possessive of me. When I fuck Mercy—because I will—he’ll be right there with us. Watching, grinding his molars the entire time, unable to see the beauty past his own jealousy.
But that’s the thing. There’s nothing for him to be jealous of.
Running my fingers through my hair, I sigh and let go of Mercy’s hand.
I need to talk with Zane before I get too carried away with Mercy, or he’ll never forgive me.
Jealous bastard. Greedy bastard. He’s had me all to himself for years.
Now he decides to throw a fuss about who I sleep with?
When he’s the only one who’s seen the parts of me that matter most?
What’s more intimate—a quick fuck against a gate with some stranger or spooning the most important person in your life during a thunderstorm?
Knowing him, he wants all of it. The quickies in the dark corners of the graveyard and the long nights wrapped in each other’s arms.
Fucking hell, man. This is why I don’t date. It’s messy.
Mercy seems taken aback when I let her go, and I absolutely hate the way her tiny little smile rattles in the wind, falling flat in a heartbeat. She drags in a lungful of air and carefully pries her hand free from Sam’s grasp, too.
At the very least, his faltering confidence brings me a spoonful of satisfaction. Not a lot, but enough to keep me from being completely down in the dumps about pumping the brakes with Mercy.
Sam’s not getting any, either.
While Mercy steps away to check the crematorium and do whatever the fuck else morticians do before receiving a body, I grab Sam by the base of the neck and haul his ass out the front door. He slams into the back of his truck and growls at me.
Like I give a damn about his feelings. “Listen up, Samson fucking Wright—”
Spinning around, he aims a punch at my jaw. I barely dodge in time, feeling the whoosh of air from the power behind it. Shit. That was close. My heart pumps harder, and I adjust my stance for a fight.
“You’re a dick!” Sam throws the words at me and squares his shoulders, resetting his posture as he lifts both fists like a boxer. I know he’s an athlete, but I didn’t realize they taught martial arts as an elective at the college. He continues to surprise me. “Where’d you learn to fight?”
The question throws him off for a half second. “What?”
“Your stance.” I widen mine and nod towards his feet.
“It’s pretty.” He’s been taught good form, but he doesn’t have much experience or he wouldn’t leave his side open like that.
He’s forgetting to tuck his elbows in. An idea pops into my head, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning.
“Wanna make this interesting?” It’s a stupid idea, and it goes against my attempt at restraint with Mercy, but fuck it.
Zane isn’t here. What he doesn’t know won’t kill him.
Exasperated, Sam huffs. “Is all you do play games?”
“No.” How stupid would that be? I just like to have a little fun sometimes.
“Are you in or not?” Excitement zings up my spine.
He’ll take the bait for the right incentive.
“The first man to hit the other, no blocks, gets to kiss Mercy while the other watches.” I lick my lips. “Tonight. While we burn the body.”
Yes, yes, yes! She’ll be trapped in the morgue with us all night. It’s the perfect chance to stoke Sam’s fury and make him do something stupid. Then I can kill the bastard, and Mercy might not hate me for it if I have just cause.
I tap the edge of Sam’s knuckles with my own while he stands there, glaring, and not taking this seriously enough.
I’m being genuine. Yeah, I want Sam to suffer for what happened to Mercy earlier, but I’ll throw the man a bone for a little entertainment.
“Second base,” I offer, trying to sweeten the deal.
Or is it third base? I always get those fucking things confused.
“Whatever, I want to eat her out.” It’s not fair that Zane fingered her and Sam already got a taste of that sweet pussy. When is it my fucking turn?
Tonight, I tell myself, quickly getting lost in the idea. Tonight is my fucking night. I’ve earned it. I saved Mercy’s life. Her virginity. Her dignity. A whole truck load of things. That was me—I’m the one who pulled her out of the fire.
And Sam’s the fucking one who lit the match.
I strike without thinking as my anger boils over. Sam dodges, sidestepping the hit, and tries to jab me in the ribs. I skid out of the way and look back at him to find that his demeanor has completely changed.
I’m suddenly standing in front of a different man.
Eyes narrowed, breaths even, completely in control of his body and emotions.
I guess I gave him the right incentive.