Chapter 9 Sam
Sam
Ice cubes crack in my glass as Kane pours me a drink at the bar overlooking the lake.
The room, which I assume used to be an office or library on account of the built-in shelves, has been transformed into a full-service drinking den, equipped with enough liquor and seats to support a family of alcoholics.
My stomach growls, but I clink my glass against Kane’s and drown my hunger in booze.
Today’s been fucking weird.
I glance at the lump of fabric nestled into a window nook.
Wisps of Mercy’s dark hair peek out the top of the blanket, and she’s kicked her boots off and left them on the floor behind her.
She hasn’t said a word since we stepped outside her front door.
I was hoping that a change in scenery would help.
“This was a bad idea,” I mutter, unstopping the bottle and pouring myself two fingers as soon as I down the first. I’d known about the cabin vacation since I’d read Mercy’s text messages, but I hadn’t expected her to want to go after everything she’s been through. Everything we’ve been through.
I’m ready to strangle Zane every time I see him.
Kane groans. “Don’t start that shit. You and Zane are killing the vibe.”
“He didn’t want to come either?” I scoff.
Yeah, of course he didn’t, the fucking coward.
“What exactly did you say to him when you left last night?” All I’ve gotten from Kane today is a quick text saying pack a bag and no phones.
Mercy didn’t have a phone to relinquish since hers disappeared at the party, but I’ve left mine in my glovebox.
There’s no way in hell I’m traveling anywhere with these men without a fucking cell phone or a gun, but Kane didn’t mention anything about firearms. I’ve got one stashed in the middle console of my truck and another in my bag.
I convinced Mercy to carry a switchblade in her boot.
Not that it does her any good when it’s out of reach on the floor.
A glimmer appears in Kane’s icy blue eyes. “That’s confidential.”
Leaning in, I glance at the doorway to make sure Zane isn’t eavesdropping.
Even if I can’t see him, the clang of pots and pans in the kitchen assures me that he’s still cooking dinner.
I meet Kane’s eyes. “Nothing is confidential when it comes to Mercy’s safety.
What did you tell him? What did he say?” There’s no excuse for what he tried to do to Mercy, but I still want to hear what reasons he came up with, no matter how pathetic.
I’ll ask the psycho himself if I have to.
Get him alone. Fuck him up a little. Make him talk.
I clench my fist as frustration hits me in waves.
It’s one thing to attack Zane when his back is turned, but if Kane is here, I doubt he’ll let me wander off with his brother.
Hell, Zane wouldn’t go anywhere with me voluntarily.
Getting a punch in—much less answers—will be impossible unless Kane cooperates.
“I said enough.” Kane claps a hand on my shoulder.
“Relax, Wright. Have another drink. No one’s holding a gun to your head.
” He busies himself with making a cocktail, something fruity red on ice, and brings it to Mercy.
He leans over her and whispers something to get her to take it, smiling as she plants the bendy straw between her lips.
Her meds don’t mix well with alcohol. She knows this.
I know this. Kane, however, might not. I spin the bottles on the bar around and read the labels for what he put in her drink.
The most damning ingredient is sparkling wine.
I’m checking the alcohol content when Kane returns, a smirk playing on his face.
“Spying on me now?” He tuts. “I thought we were almost friends.”
I say the most obvious truth that comes to mind. “You want to kill me.”
Kane hums. “Don’t hold it against me, Sam. There are only a few people I wouldn’t kill.” His gaze wanders back to Mercy as she puffs on the window and draws a spider in the condensation with her fingertip.
“What would it take?” I stare at the amber liquid in my glass so that I don’t have to watch Kane go soft.
It’s subtle, the way his posture shifts.
He does the same thing when he’s near Zane, relaxing his shoulders, turning his torso in the other’s direction, stealing glances whenever he isn’t looking.
Kane gets this goofy little smile on his face, and his eyes turn into liquid silver.
I caught him looking at Zane that way in the Morningstar’s driveway before Mercy and I walked over.
I had to do a double-take because I’d never seen him like that before.
Soft. But here he is again, staring at Mercy like she’s already his to admire.
I swallow the lump in my throat and ask again.
“What would it take, Kane? For you not to kill someone.” Bargaining with a murderer feels stupid, but even if it doesn’t work, at least I can say that I tried.
I tried not to kill him, I’ll tell Mercy, begging, pleading, praying that she’ll forgive me.
I couldn’t keep my promise to let him touch her.
I couldn’t stomach the thought of him pinning her to the mattress and burrowing inside her body.
I couldn’t watch him defile her, no matter how much she claims that she wants it.
Kane doesn’t look at me, but he also doesn’t answer.
Lifting his drink, he downs the rest and slams the glass upside down on the bar.
“Let’s eat.” He slips out from behind the counter and scoops Mercy into his arms, earning a giggle that claws inside my chest. I watch them leave the room before grabbing the knife from Mercy’s forgotten boot and tucking it into my pocket.
This might be a cutesy vacation for the two of them, but for me, it’s a battleground. Zane already made the first move when he set up that bullshit at the party. Kane, for whatever good it didn’t do, allegedly made his when he talked to Zane. Now it’s my turn.
I need some fucking answers.