nineteen
The Merciful
I hurry along the path to the boys dorm.
I have to find Saint. I don’t know what happened back there, and I probably should have just taken comfort from Angel.
But I can’t stand to see my brother hurting.
When we were kids, he couldn’t stand to see me hurting, either.
The instinct to run to him when I’m hurting remains, even now, when he’s the one who hurt me.
I hear footsteps behind me, but I don’t look back.
Instead, I run the last few steps to catch the door as another guy is leaving.
I barely slip through the crack before it settles closed behind me.
Unlike the girls dorm, there’s no Sister Agatha at the desk to scold the boys for coming and going.
In fact, there’s no one at the desk at all.
I run up the stairs, ignoring the rattling door behind me.
I was taught to be nice, polite, and helpful, but they’ll just have to catch the next person leaving.
Nothing can overrule my need to find my brother, to tell him I’m not mad and that he has no reason to be, either.
I climb the stairs to the top floor, where he has the penthouse suite in the old dorm. I’ve never been in his room, but the others have mentioned it, so I know where to go.
When I walk into the room, I stop dead in my tracks.
The lights are on, and I can make out the shape of someone under the blankets.
It takes me a few seconds to realize it’s more than one someone.
The covers are moving up and down, and there’s a big lumpy shape under them, but my brother is lying on his back with his head on the pillows.
His gaze meets mine, cool and icy, and he smiles.
“Saint?” I whisper, my voice coming out choked.
My heart shatters into a million pieces as he stares back at me, making no attempt to hide the fact that he went straight from me to someone else.
“Little sister?” he asks with a smirk, tucking one arm behind his head. The other one moves under the covers, and after a second, he pulls her up. Ronique’s head emerges from under the blankets, and she flops down beside him, resting her head on his shoulder.
“Oh, hey, Mercy,” she says, giving me a smug smile and sweeping a strand of hair off her forehead.
Saint can shatter me into a million pieces with a single look.
Veronique Carter will never break me.
I stride over, lift the blanket, and slide on top of Saint.
“What are you doing?” Ronique shrieks, clutching the covers to her chest.
“Showing you how it’s done,” I say. “Saint doesn’t like to lose control, so don’t feel bad if you can’t make him finish.
” I reach between us to grab his erection.
It’s stiff and still moist, but I ignore that as I rise up onto my knees and pull my panties aside.
I position him at my entrance and bear down, sinking onto his length until he’s buried so deep inside me that I wince with pain.
Saint’s eyes fly wide, and he doesn’t react for a second.
“He doesn’t cum unless he wants to,” I say, rising up and slamming back down on him. “And if he does, it pisses him off.”
“You’re—you freak,” Ronique sputters, trying to roll away but getting caught in the blankets.
“Why did you think he was so obsessed with me?” I ask, a harsh laugh escaping me as I slide him in and out of my wet pussy. “Because I’m sweet and innocent?”
“You’re his sister,” Ronique wails.
“Only since I was three,” I say, riding my brother hard. “Not by birth.”
“Sick,” she howls. “You’re both sick!”
“Don’t worry if you can’t take him all yet,” I say. “It took me a while. I had to work up to it with his best friend. Now I can take every inch of him, and it only hurts a little. Just the right amount. But thanks for getting him started for me with your mouth.”
Finally, Saint responds.
He grabs my hips and flips me over, slamming my hands down on the mattress.
“You want to tell me who to fuck?” he growls, drawing back before driving into me, plowing me into the mattress.
“When you’re fucking both my friends? Now you know a fraction of how it feels to watch you with them. Not so much fun now, is it?”
He punctuates each sentence with a punishing thrust, each one so hard and deep it drags a whimper from my throat, even when I was trying to be brave and strong this time. But it’s his words that bring tears to my eyes.
Ronique finally frees herself and tumbles to the floor on the far side of the bed. I’m relieved she’s out of sight, so I don’t have to think about her.
“I thought you liked to share,” I say, then bite down on my trembling lip as I stare up at my brother.
“You thought I wanted to share my baby sister’s tight little pussy with all my friends?
” he asks. “You really are dumb. Look at that, my crybaby little sister is crying again. I’m surprised you have any tears left, with all the blubbering you do.
If you want to get fucked like a slut, then act like one.
Spread your legs and arch your back and moan and beg for it like you do for Heath.
I’ve heard you do it, little sister. Beg for your brother’s cock, stupid girl. ”
“Please,” I whisper, the tears spilling down my cheeks as he continues to degrade me as he rams into me with powerful, painful strokes, each one meant for his pleasure alone.
“You want me to stop?” he taunts. “Then make me. I know you can. I’ve seen you fight. So fight me, Mercy. Make me stop.”
I shake my head, silent tears dripping down my cheeks. I don’t want him to stop, because she will be here to comfort him, to finish him off. I have to take it, to prove I’m the one he really wants. To prove I can.
“I’m out of here,” Ronique huffs, dragging on a stretchy little dress that hugs her curves.
Ignoring her, Saint slams into me, brutal and relentless, his fingers clenched around my wrists like shackles.
They are shackles. He’s bound me to him, claimed me as his own, since the day his parents brought me home to him.
His little sister, his little toy. I was always his.
I always belonged to him. Now my body does too, fully and without question.
Now we’ve crossed the final line, erased all the boundaries between us.
As he powers through me like a tsunami, erasing everything I am except his, I can’t resist. I don’t want to.
I want every part of him—the kindness and cruelty, the rage and savagery.
I wrap my legs around him and lift my hips to meet his.
“Tell me to stop if you’re too weak-kneed to fight me off,” he says, his lips curling in disgust even now, as he wrecks my core with each ruthless blow.
“If I make your legs so weak you can’t walk, you can still talk.
So tell me you don’t want your brother’s cock buried so deep inside you that you can’t breathe.
Tell me you don’t want him to cum balls deep in your pretty little kitty. ”
But I can’t tell him to stop, either. There’s no fight in me, only surrender. I am his to do with as he will. Anything he wants, I will give it to him, because he wants me . He thinks I’m pretty. Maybe, someday, he could even love me.
I shake my head, and Saint leans down, flattening his tongue against my jawline.
He rakes it up my face, over my temple, my eye.
I gasp out, trying to blink as he sucks at my eye, gathering my tears.
Then he draws back, grips my jaw, and forces my mouth open.
Leaning down, he lets my tears dribble into my mouth with his spit.
I gag, and he draws his hips back and slams into me so hard the sheet pops off the corner of the mattress and the bed slams against the wall.
I let out a choked sob of pain, and he throws his head back and releases a tortured groan as his hips grind into mine, his length expanding inside me until I cry out, my voice garbled by the tight grip of his fingers on my jaw, hard enough I know I’ll have bruises to match the ones he left of my body.
His fingers move to my throat, and he grinds and grinds, and I feel him spilling into me, spurting, throbbing.
Blackness dots my vision as his fingers clench, his cock jerking inside me.
My insides tighten with pain, and then flutters race along his length as my walls spasm, milking the cream from his tip, thirstily drinking it into my core.
Triumph swells inside me.
I did it. I made him lose control. I made him show me how much he wants me.
He rolls sideways, turning me onto my side and slapping my ass. “Not bad, sis,” he says. “Ronique’s tighter, but then, she’s not getting railed by three different guys every day.”
Despite her proclamation, Ronique is still here, and hearing Saint compare us when she’s in the room makes me want to kill them both. Him for torturing me, and her for staying, for craving the torture like I do, and for letting him use her to hurt me.
Rage billows through me, the uncontrollable kind, the one that scares me. The one that made me learn to fight, and sign up for the Slaughterpen, to get it all out because otherwise I wasn’t sure who it would destroy, but I had a suspicion it was me.
My legs tremble as I sit up and roll off the bed, onto my feet. A hot gush of Saint’s seed floods out of me, wetting the heavy gusset of my panties, already filled with the seed of my three boys.
The fact that he taunts me about that, that he acts like it’s disgusting when he’s one of them, makes me see red.
I love them. There is nothing shameful about that.
But the way Saint talks to me makes the shame I feared all my life bloom again each time I think I’ve overcome it, so I can never truly be rid of it.
I can hardly speak I’m so furious at him and his hypocrisy and his smug smile and his face that is so gorgeous it conquers me every time, without him having to lift a finger.
“I hate you,” I manage, shoving my feet into my shoes.