Chapter 5 #2
Of everyone I’ve ever met, Vinicius Morningstar has always been a polite, positive man.
He has a quiet gentleness about him that makes him comfortable company.
Short, thick around the middle, with kind eyes and a kinder soul, no one would mistake Mercy’s father as anything other than a teddy bear you can confide your deepest regrets or darkest secrets to, and he’d never bat an eye.
From what Mercy has told me, he eagerly took over the mortuary once his own father passed away.
If he wasn’t in the funerary business, he could easily be a counselor.
This side of him—a hardened man protecting his daughter—isn’t one that I’m familiar with.
I guess we all have our multitudes.
“Kane didn’t hurt her.” I caress Mercy’s upper arm with tiny sweeps of my thumb. She doesn’t stir, passed the fuck out for once. I almost envy her. “This was someone else.”
Vinicius—or Vinny, as most people call him—stares at me like he’s searching for answers to questions he doesn’t dare ask. Tension coils in the air around us. “Is it handled?”
I contemplate how to answer. By now, clean-up at the crime scene will be over.
Someone from my father’s expansive team of professionals should have contacted my fraternity brothers and gotten a list of all party attendees to begin payoffs and cover ups.
Hospital staff may have been ordered to keep any visits from the injured fraternity president and his lackeys confidential.
The police officers on my father’s payroll have likely been advised of the situation, as well.
The body has been taken care of, too, thanks to Kane, Mercy, and me.
“Yes,” I answer confidently. “Everything’s been taken care of.”
Nodding, Vinny relaxes. If he suspects that we murdered someone, he’s being oddly chill about it. Then again, working as a mortician means that he’s probably seen some shit I can’t begin to imagine. Maybe it’s a good thing that he takes the unexpected in stride.
“And you two?” He tips his head towards his daughter. “Have you mended things?”
The last time I saw Mr. Morningstar, Mercy was crying her eyes out in her bedroom.
Kane and I were getting into a fight on his front porch.
Of course, he’d be concerned about my relationship with his daughter.
My heart yearns to say yes, we’re good, but I know that nothing is that simple.
I can’t get too comfortable just because Mercy’s letting me hold her right now.
There’s no telling what a clear head will bring when she wakes up.
She might resent me once the dust settles and reveals the fucking crater I’ve blown into our relationship.
“We’re working things out.” It’s as much truth as I can give without cracking my chest open and pouring my heart out.
Vinicius is like a father to me, but his concern is first and foremost for his daughter, not his almost-adoptive-son.
I’ve relied on Mercy as my emotional anchor for years, but I can’t place this burden on her, either, when she has just as much shit going on as I do.
Going to one of my frat brothers to vent is out of the question, as is the football team.
I’d rather die than go to a school counselor.
I haven’t spoken with my therapist regularly since I was a teenager, but it might be time to give them a call.
Vinny exhales slowly. “Take things slowly if you need to. Very slowly.” Holding my gaze, he makes sure that the message settles in. After a moment, he continues, “Do I need to know anything about that other boy? Kane?”
This time, I lie by omission. “He’s rough around the edges, but I think he genuinely likes Mercy.
” As much as it pains me to admit it…after seeing the aftermath of his anger—and how easily he shot and killed a man for touching Mercy—I have little doubt that he likes her as more than as a trophy kill to hang on his wall.
That’s a problem.
We aren’t playing a sexed up game of life and death anymore. Hearts are involved…and love makes people dangerous.
Zane is a perfect example of the lengths people will go to protect their loved ones from perceived threats.
But if Kane has genuine feelings for Mercy, I can’t help but wonder if that will be enough for him to change course.
Instead of hurting her—killing her—could he fall hard enough to back out of the game entirely?
Could he spare her life instead of taking it?
I hold Mercy tight as fear flickers inside my heart. No matter what rules we create or who wins the game, I have a feeling that things are only going to get messier from here. With so many people grabbing hold of each other, cracks are bound to form. Bonds will break. And someone’s going to bleed.
Leaving Mr. Morningstar alone in the morgue to clean up our mess feels wrong, but the older man insists.
“Take my baby girl home,” he instructs, leveling me with a look that doesn’t leave room for argument.
“Clean her up and tuck her in so that she can get some actual rest. But, Sam—” He pulls out a bottle of painkillers from a side cabinet and places it in my hand.
“Stay with her. I don’t want her to wake up alone. ”
The unspoken truth that passes between us is that Mercy has nightmares—we both know it—and that if she has a really bad one, she’ll scream until she wakes herself up.
I don’t actually know what Mercy dreams about; she’s mentioned something about shadows before, but by the time she wakes up, the images in her head turn fuzzy and indistinct.
I think that’s why she took up drawing at such a young age; she was grasping at what flickers of her nightmares she could remember.
Of course, if we believe what Grandma Star has to say, it was her mom who gifted her that first sketchbook many years before I ever met Mercy, which would mean that Mercy has been having nightmares since she was a preteen, if not earlier.
“She sees things that we can’t,” Star has always said, remaining mysterious about Mercy’s affliction.
But she’s said that about Mercy’s older brother Malachi, too—that he glimpses a realm beyond our own.
I think their grandmother has wishful thinking about her family’s alleged psychic abilities, conjuring up fantasies that suit her version of reality.
The truth about Malachi Morningstar isn’t that he has psychic powers—it’s that he hallucinated hard enough to attack his classmates.
His mother had just passed away, and after enough sleepless nights, the lines between reality and fantasy began to blur.
One short stint in a rehabilitation facility later, he was cleared to return to school on a trial basis.
I don’t know the full details of what happened next, but I know the aftermath: Malachi was sent to boarding school across the country.
I never met him, and because of how long he’s been away, I’m not sure that I ever will.
He might not return to Harlin Heights… ever.
Mercy doesn’t talk about him much, and I’m never around their older sister Lilith long enough to ask.
But Grandma Star will mention him from time to time, telling stories as though both he and her late husband are still around.
Sometimes, I worry that Mercy will follow a similar path as her brother and slip through my fingers like smoke.
Clutching her tightly to my chest, I carry her up the stairs to her bedroom.
She stirs as we cross the threshold, like she can sense that she’s finally safe and sound where she belongs.
As I set her down on her bed, she cracks her eyes open and peers up at me.
“Sam,” she mumbles, sighing sleepily. “What time is it?”
I don’t actually know. “Morning.” Patting my pocket, I fish out my phone and check the time.
Before I can read the numbers, however, my father’s name screams at me from my lock screen, the text message icon beside his name ominous.
Dread fills my gut like lead. What could he possibly want?
Closing my eyes, I press the pads of my thumbs to the back of my eyelids.
Stress ripples through my body. I knew he would contact me after I called in one hell of a favor last night, but I didn’t anticipate it being so soon.
Surely he can’t know what he wants from me already…
Unless he’s been waiting for the right opportunity to dig his claws into me. Shit.
Mercy’s voice is still heavy with sleep.
“What’s wrong?” Kane’s leather jacket slips from one of her shoulders as she sits up, exposing more skin and snagging my attention.
Specks of blood paint her arm, creating freckles where there are none.
I stare at the change in her appearance—mussed up hair, falling loose from her braid, wavy tendrils framing her puffy face.
No doubt from crying. Stress. A lack of sleep or water or any number of things she needs to stay healthy.
This is all my fault.
I swallow my guilt and put on a smile. “It’s nothing.
Football stuff.” I toss my phone onto her desk chair and hope that she doesn’t pry, because I won’t know what to say.
My narcissistic father contacted me for the first time in a year, all because I used his influence and connections to cover up a murder we committed—no, not we. Kane.
Clenching my fists, I try not to pin all of the blame on him, but it’s hard not to.
If he never entered our lives, Mercy and I wouldn’t be playing his stupid fucking murder game.
We’d be back to normal, dancing around each other as friends but not more than friends.
Would we be happy then? Playing pretend instead of whatever the fuck it is we’re doing now?
Thankfully, Mercy’s attention has already drifted, her gaze unfocused.
I watch her for a few seconds before stepping in front of her.
“Hey, you okay?” Frowning, I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.
I don’t like the look in her eyes. It’s like she’s…
haunted. I’ve seen it before, and it always gives me chills.
Someone as young as the two of us shouldn’t carry ghosts on our backs.
Grandma Star might claim that we all have demons—how heavy they are depends on how well equipped we are to handle them. I try not to picture a shadowy creature clinging to Mercy’s shoulders and dragging her down into misery.
Mercy rubs her eyes. “Yeah. I’m just tired.
And sticky.” Peeling off Kane’s jacket, she touches her arms and frowns.
“I smell, too. Like beer.” Her nose crinkles, and I imagine that she can smell the blood, too.
A reddish smear trails down her chest from her collarbone to her breasts, disappearing between the valley of her tits.
Another one is shaped like a handprint on her shoulder, but I don’t think she’s seen that one yet. I’d rather she didn’t.
“I’ll start the shower.” Such a small gesture isn’t nearly enough to make up for my sins, but it’s a start.
I turn on my heel to leave, but Mercy grabs my hand to stop me.
I glance at her over my shoulder. “Do you want to come with me?” She nods, taking a quick breath and standing.
We walk hand in hand to the shared bath in the hall.
While I turn on the shower and test the temp, she stares at her reflection in the mirror.
I’m sure that she thinks she looks like a fucking mess, but—
“You’re beautiful, Mercy.” Our eyes meet in the mirror’s reflection. “No matter what you think you look like—” I pull my hand from the shower stream and shake the water off. “You’re beautiful to me.”
She bites her bottom lip, the barest hint of pink dusting her cheeks.
“I don’t know…” Her gaze returns to her reflection, and she lets the leather jacket slide off her shoulders to the floor.
Wearing only a black bra and panties, she scrutinizes her appearance.
“I’m…” Taking a breath, she shakes her head. “Plain.”
What?
Coming up behind her, I wrap my arms around her waist and stare at our reflection in the mirror.
Her skin is as pale as the moon, softer than satin, and magnificent to touch.
I resist the urge to run my hands along her body and settle for holding her.
“You are anything but plain.” By contrast, I’m the plain one.
On the football field, I don’t stand out amongst the other players.
I’m not gifted athletically, and I could never make calls like a quarterback.
My only job is to act as a wall to keep the other team from scoring.
And my looks—compared to Mercy, I’m bathed in color, but that’s merely because she’s so extraordinary.
My golden skin stands out against hers, making me look like the dirty one. I shouldn’t touch her.
If anything here is ugly, it’s me—the man who refuses to leave her alone now that I’ve decided to have her. It’s not like I gave her much choice. I inserted myself into her life when we first met, and today is no different. I’m by her side because I choose to be, not because she’s asked me to stay.
I always criticize Kane for being selfish, but when we stand side-by-side, I’m no better than him.
Mercy scrunches her nose like she disagrees with me.
Rather than say anything, however, she slips away to check the shower temp.
“Will you stay with me?” Facing the shower, she reaches behind her back to undo her bra strap, easily unclasping it and letting it fall to the floor.
Her panties come next, sliding down her thighs to reveal the swell of her ass, bare and beautiful and—holy shit, she’s bending over.
My nostrils flare as I catch a glimpse of her naked pussy, rosy pink and glistening, before she kicks away her panties and steps into the shower.
The curtain closes, and I’m left to my imagination, picturing her naked body beneath the water.
“Always,” I murmur, clearing my throat when it comes out raspy.
Fuck. She doesn’t need a horn-dog right now.
She needs a man who can control himself.
I’ll be that and more.
Anything she needs.
I’m not going anywhere ever again.