Chapter 25
Twenty-Five
Mercy
Tawny walks out, slamming the door behind her so hard that the walls shudder. Tears sting my eyes. All I can do is stare at the door. Try to breathe. Try not to feel like a total fucking failure.
My legs buckle, and I drop to my knees, hard. The spike of pain is a welcome distraction from the mess inside my body, but it’s gone in a few seconds. It’s different from the cilices, and I left them in the damn bathroom.
Do something.
Move.
My hands fly, collecting broken pieces of porcelain. In my haste, I knock over a mug that miraculously landed upright. More milk and cake crumbs go everywhere.
Fuck!
My throat clogs, but I force my emotions down until my muscles slacken. If Cisco sees me losing it, I’ll look weak. Like I’m not fit to lead. Like, I should be old enough not to do this shit.
In my blurred periphery, a black-clad figure crouches to collect broken shards of ceramic.
“I’ve got this,” I mumble.
“I don’t mind.”
“Really, it’s fine.”
“I will help.”
I gesture at his pristinely pressed trousers. “You don’t need to get dirty.”
My fingers fumble on a cracked mug. It slips from my grasp, breaking.
One broken mug, that’s all it takes, and my despair flips to anger.
All my life, I’ve refused to show weakness, to blow away the storm clouds and sadness because I don’t want to end up like my Dad.
The problem is that emotion must go somewhere.
It simply can’t vanish. Even water turns into steam.
If it’s not sex that I turn to, nor pain, then it must be rage.
But once that door is open, it’s exceedingly difficult to close.
Trembling, I stare at the shards and want to scream. Rage. Inside me, the pressure builds and builds, and I don’t even know what I’m angry at anymore because I’ve reached that white noise side where nothing makes sense.
“A little bit of mess—”
“I said I’ve got this!” I roar in Cisco’s face. A wave of prickling nausea hits me. The walls spin. Shit. I know better than to lose my temper. Shit.
He is as still as a statue.
All I want to do is scratch his pretty eyes out for seeing me. For daring to fucking look at me while I’m in this state. I fucking warned him this would happen.
“Mercy.”
No, no, no. Leaders don’t do this. Sinners don’t do this. I don’t do this.
“Look at me.”
I don’t speak. Can’t move. If I do, I’ll explode.
“Okay.” He straightens and looms over me, a black tower of judgment. “Then it is time for a walk.”
My head snaps up. “What?”
He’s already shifting the mess out of the way with his foot, wiping his hands on a cloth.
“You do not come to confession—”
“Confession?” A hysterical laugh bursts out of me.
“That’s your answer?” I’m so disgusted and shocked that I stand up so I can look into his eyes.
“You think saying a few Hail Marys is going to fix this?” I advance on him.
“You think whispering my dirty little secrets in a dark box is going to stop me from exploding?”
He holds his ground. Not an ounce of fear in him, which makes him foolish or a really good liar.
He says, “One of the first things they teach an exorcist is that evil cannot survive a name. If you keep it inside, locked in the dark, it is a monster without form.” He leans into my space, all calm heat.
“It grows. It whispers. And it becomes a god. But the moment you speak it aloud … it shrinks. Only words.” He pauses.
“This is why you go to confession, no? To let it out.”
I flick his Roman collar. “And how’s that technique working out for you?”
Cisco grins, and it’s both devastatingly handsome and terrifyingly unnerving. It’s not the look of the shepherd. It’s the wolf who ate him.
“We will find out.” Eyes on me, he walks backward to the door. “You refuse my counsel. You run from confession.” His spine hits the wood, and he stills. “I can’t give you my body, Mercy, not in the way you deserve. But I can give you my violence.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“You need to fight or fuck, sì?”
My pulse quickens at the word ‘fuck’ on his lips. He says it like a criminal. A deviant. Like someone who knows exactly how to do it dirty, hard, and well. That impossible task from earlier? The one where it’s too difficult to turn back from rage? I lied.
I’m not thinking about anger now. I’m thinking about—
“Answer me,” Cisco says.
I nod. “I mean, yes.”
What was the question?
“Bene. Then you know you will hurt someone you love, or yourself, if you don’t do something about this feeling.”
“Sure.”
“Then we fight.” He throws open the unlocked door and strides out.
No.
No, that’s not what I want.
But it’s either stare after him with my metaphorical dick in my hand or follow. I catch up as he arrives at the staircase.
“You’re not seriously suggesting we do this now.” I follow him down.
“Yes.”
“Cisco,” I grind out.
“Father.” He gestures at his collar. “When it’s on, I am the priest.”
Well then, taking it off just made the top of my To-do list.
Shit, I’m horny. I know I shouldn’t be. I know this is the danger zone, and if we cross that line, there’s no going back, but a part of me is already rationalizing it.
This is just me enjoying the ride to Hell.
This is just finding a friend to tag along.
A friend with a very nice butt … who just strolled out of lockdown, who I’m supposed to be grilling, who could still be the enemy.
“I’m not … I’m not done interrogating you.” Lame attempt, Mercy.
“Agreed. I am not done telling you secrets.”
“This undermines my authority.”
“What will happen when you explode in their face?”
Now, wait just a minute. Anger flares again.
“It was a lapse,” I growl. “I’m not wearing the—”
He stops mid-flight and rounds on me, brown eyes blazing as they search mine. “You will throw them in the trash.”
I pause. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
His gaze flicks down to my thighs. “You do.”
Oh, fuck no. I try to push past, but he blocks me.
“It’s none of your business,” I hiss.
“I promised I would help you manage, and I have not.” He thumps his chest. “Mea culpa, Mercy. If something were to happen, it would be my fault.”
“That’s egotistical and ridiculous.”
“No, it is a broken promise.” An intense, quiet darkness settles over him.
From the taut line of his shoulders to the curl of his white-knuckled fists.
“I am a priest now, but before I was a man in a dangerous world where broken promises meant death.” His voice becomes gravelly.
His words, deliberate. “I never break a promise.”
This man’s charisma and aura are all-encompassing. When he uses that commanding voice, I feel small and frozen, pinned yet contained. I am like one of the butterflies pinned in glass cabinets behind him on the wall.
“So?” he asks. “You allow me to keep my promise?”
“By fighting you?”
“Yes.”
Without waiting for my answer, he continues the last few steps down to the ground level and pauses by the double door entrance. He swipes his hands through his hair as he waits for me and looks out the window.
I descend slowly, studying the behavior.
Jaw tight. Tendon feathering in his temple.
Nostrils flared, and muscles tensed. The swipe of his hair isn’t a quick grooming fix, despite how it looks.
He’s checking his reflection in the door’s window pane, and now running a trembling finger inside his collar, tugging it for air.
The priest is shaken.
Because I refused his help?
“Honestly, I’m fine.” I smile flatly. “And we really don’t have time for this.”
He glances at me as I join him. A flicker of shock, or something similar, slackens his expression.
It’s gone as quickly as it appeared. I don’t get the chance to puzzle it out because he averts his gaze and sighs and says, “I know. You cannot fit everything into one day. But some things you should try.”
“You’d be surprised at what I can fit in.”
Why did I say it like that, all sultry and saucy? Doesn’t that go against what I’m trying to do? Or is it exactly what I want to do?
Fuck me, I’m horny again.
My facial expression makes him laugh, small and deep and beneath his breath.
“Only you can get away with saying such words,” he murmurs.
We’re so close.
Movement outside draws our attention. A nun tries to push inside but struggles with two baskets of herbs and vegetables in her hands.
Cisco rushes to open the door for her. Wind blasts in, hitting our cheeks.
“Ciao, Sorella Edith,” he says. “Do you need help?”
She startles and pauses at the threshold, black robes snapping inside before her body. Her wind-burnt cheeks grow brighter.
“Hello, Sister Edith.” I smile to hide the alarm prickling my skin. “Everything okay?”
I look through the glass panes, searching for danger outside. With everything going on, I haven’t checked that our security checks continue at the estate.
She throws a ginger glance my way as Cisco detangles her robe from the door and then closes it. He uses the action to murmur something to her privately. Her shoulders visibly drop, and she smiles at him.
“Ti do la mia benedizione.” He nods, then translates. “I give you my blessing.”
She turns her smile briefly on me and then heads toward the kitchen.
“What did you say to her?” I ask the moment she’s out of earshot.
“I give you—”
“No, before. In her ear. It made her smile.”
“That is between a priest and his penitent.”
“Cut the shit.”
“It’s no shit.”
“You know what I mean.”
His amusement dies. “I do not share a penitent’s private words. But I can tell you that I promised her I would be taking the sacrament of reconciliation this evening, same time as usual in the church.”
“Presumptuous of you.”
“Presumptuous?” He seems to think about it. “No. I am not the one who will be injured in this fight—you are too soft.”
My jaw clicks shut. That’s not what I meant, and he knows it.
Smirking, he walks in the direction of the gymnasium.