Chapter 10 Mercy
Mercy
Dinner is tense. The scrape of silverware on our plates might as well be gunfire for how often Zane tenses, making me jumpy.
I’m not thrilled about being in the same room as him, but I was serious when I invited Sam to this little retreat.
I need to look Zane in the eye and see how much he hates me. At least, that’s what I told Sam.
In truth, I need to understand how he feels about me and if there’s anything beyond the hatred, because we can’t continue like this.
We’re hurting each other. All four of us.
I don’t think it’s intentional, but sometimes our best intentions get muddied up in our feelings.
With four people involved, it’s no wonder that things are getting messy.
Part of me feels like I need to apologize, but I’m not sure where to start. Sam is the easiest to verbally apologize to, but it’s the hardest confession to admit out loud. I know I haven’t been kind to him, but it’s not like he’s been upset about it.
That still doesn’t make it right.
I swallow another sip of water while the ice in my cocktail melts, diluting the flavor and hopefully, my desire to drink it.
I had enough wine last night. I shouldn’t overdo it just because I’m nervous.
The men, however, don’t seem to have a problem drinking to drown their feelings.
All three of them have new glasses of amber liquid in front of them, the bottle left uncapped on the table within arm’s reach.
In an attempt to cut the tension, I ask Zane about the pasta he prepared. “How did you make the sauce? Is it alfredo?”
He stabs a bowtie noodle with his fork. “I didn’t.” Glaring at his bite before putting it into his mouth, he chews slowly. “It was frozen.”
“One of those one pot things,” Kane clarifies as the only unbothered person in the room. “We didn’t have time to go shopping on the way here.”
“We normally order takeout.”
Sam stares at his untouched plate before checking mine.
“Trade with me,” he murmurs, not waiting for my response before switching our plates and stealing my fork.
Poking at his pasta, he nibbles on a bowtie before relaxing enough to hand me my fork back and let me eat.
I eagerly down two forkfuls, my stomach growling loudly.
I don’t care if it’s frozen pasta. I’m starving.
“It’s not like I’m going to poison her, Sam,” Zane grumbles from across the table, pulling a face as I inhale my food. “Or you.”
“Forgive me if I have my doubts.” Sam eats much more slowly than me, going so far as to give me his plate once I finish mine in record time. “I half expected to find a razor blade embedded in the chicken.”
Zane’s smile is cold. “There’s still time.”
Kane rolls his eyes and throws a bite-size dinner roll at Zane’s head.
“Will you stop being such a dick?” The roll bounces off of Zane’s skull and hits the table.
“All of you suck right now. Except you, Siren; you’re perfect.
” It’s my turn to roll my eyes, but that does nothing to dampen the sparkle in Kane’s eyes.
“In fact—” He holds his drink in the air like he’s about to make a toast. “I have an announcement.” Silence fills the room as he takes his time making eye contact with each of us. Then he grins. “We need to get laid.”
Sam chokes on his drink.
“I’m serious. There’s so much goddamn tension in here—”
“Because we hate each other!”
“All the more reason to fuck. Everything feels better after sex.” Kane winks at me. “Trust me.”
My face flames while Sam ramps up his argument.
“We didn’t come here to have an orgy.”
“You might not have, but I’ve been looking forward to it for weeks. Even Zane’s on board.” Kane nudges his best friend. “Isn’t that right, Zane?”
The sour look on Zane’s face tells a different story. “I said that I’d think about it, not that I’d discuss it over dinner.”
I stare at the way Kane’s hand rests intimately on the back of Zane’s neck.
Something’s different between them. Opening my mouth, I almost ask about it but stop myself as a more pressing question shoves its way to the forefront of my mind.
Isn’t an orgy… group sex? Biting my lip, I try to imagine what that would be like and inevitably picture myself lying on my back as three men hover over me.
But the fantasy ends before it can begin; I don’t know what comes next.
My brain short-circuits as it overheats.
Grabbing my glass, I chug the rest of my water. “Um. But I haven’t—” I start to sweat as three pairs of eyes lock onto me. “You know. Had sex.” Cringing at my fabulous delivery of that line, I continue, “I don’t know how to have sex with one person. How could I have sex with multiple people?”
“We could take turns—” Kane holds up his fingers as he rattles off a list of options. “One of us could watch. We could mutually masturbate. One person could kiss you while the other eats you out, like last time only better. Or if we get really freaky, we could DP you—”
Sam squeezes my knee under the table.
I know I’m going to regret this, but… “What’s DP?”
“Double penetration. It’s when two dicks are inside you at the same time,” Kane says matter-of-factly. But the way he grins is one hundred percent devilish. “Or a toy, technically. With three men, though, we could triple penetrate if we coordinate properly. But let’s not sprint to the finish line—”
“Please,” Sam groans, “don’t make up some cheesy metaphor.”
“—when we haven’t even warmed up yet.”
Zane sighs as he pushes his full plate away. “I haven’t agreed to anything. As it stands, Mercy is still a virgin.” He purses his lips. “I don’t have sex with virgins.”
A part of me dies inside as he turns and walks away, leaving the three of us at the table in awkward silence. Deja vu hits as I recall the last time Kane said something like this at dinner—in fact, it might have been the exact same proposition. Sharing, I think he called it then.
That conversation went a lot smoother than this one.
Kane watches Zane leave, a tiny wrinkle of a frown playing on his lips. “I still think it’s a good idea.”
“That’s a terrible idea,” Sam hisses. “We still don’t have any answers about the party! And you want to fuck it out, like we’re in some romance movie!”
“That’s called porn, Sam.”
I crack a smile. “Porn can be romantic…”
Both men laser-focus on me again. “When have you watched porn?” Sam asks, his voice hushed.
I cross my arms. “I’m a virgin, Sam, not a nun.”
Chuckling, Kane smirks across the table. “If you show me what you like, we can reenact your favorites.”
“No, no, no. Not happening.” Sam sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m not here to fuck around, Kane. I’m here to keep Mercy safe from your psychopath brother.”
Kane’s smile darkens. “Careful, Sam. Call him names like that and he might gut you in your sleep.”
“That’s exactly my point.”
This might be too much for one day. Closing my eyes, I fight a brewing headache. “I think I need to lie down.” As I stand up, so does Sam. I try not to get annoyed. “I don’t need an escort.”
“It’s a big house.”
“Sam.” Frowning, I grab my dinner plate. “Put this in the fridge for me. I’ve lost my appetite.”
His frown mirrors my own as he takes my plate. “You skipped breakfast and lunch.”
“I’m fine. I’ll eat later.” Right now, I need a break from the men.
Taking a breath, I squeeze his hand for reassurance.
“I promise.” Before he can argue, I back out of the dining room.
The short walk to my bedroom—next door to Sam’s—gives me a moment to breathe.
As fun as fooling around with the guys sounds, Sam’s right.
I don’t have any concrete answers about what happened at the frat party, and until I do…
Orgies will have to wait.
Sometimes I imagine that shadows move. In the dark of my room, I see them stretching their fingers towards me, eager to touch the girl they’ve been haunting her entire life. It’s a trick of the light—or lack thereof—and it doesn’t bother me as much as it used to. I’m not scared of the dark.
It’s what lurks within that frightens me.
I jolt awake at the pinprick sensation dancing across my body. Heart pounding, I sit up and stare at the unfamiliar shapes in the room: a stained glass lamp, a wicker dresser, an armchair sitting by the window. Not shadows. Not ghosts. Furniture.
The only scary thing is how none of them have any cohesion.
Voices slip beneath the closed bedroom door as two men argue about something.
I listen close and quickly determine that Kane and Sam are disagreeing with each other—likely about what to do with me.
In truth, I think they want the same thing, but Sam either doesn’t want to admit it or Kane keeps waxing poetic about what it all means.
Sex doesn’t have to be complicated. Then again, what do I know?
It’s not like I’ve ever done it before.
A wave of embarrassment washes over me as I replay what Zane said at dinner.
I don’t have sex with virgins.
A frown tugs at my lips. It’s not like I’ve been begging him to sleep with me. It’s the opposite! I haven’t come onto him once. He’s the one with the problem, not me.
Besides, would having sex with me really be so bad?
I brush my fingertips across my lips, suddenly wondering if I really am the problem.
All of these scenarios have one thing in common, and her name is Mercy Morningstar.
Shit. What if I’m a bad kisser? What if Kane skipped home one day and told Zane how terrible I was at it, so now I’m the last person on earth he’ll ever want to kiss… or fuck.
Groaning, I grab a pillow and hug it to my chest. My eyes and limbs are heavy, and I have to fight to stay upright. It only takes a few seconds for me to slump and close my eyes.