Chapter 27
Twenty-Seven
Cisco
While Mercy is changing, I take the chance to go and hydrate, then go to the toilet. When I return to the pool hall, the spectators have grown. The Sinners are on the right, sitting on benches with the orphans.
I count six nuns, including Sister Edith.
Three more are standing with their backs against the wall, whispering amongst themselves.
Sister Martha is perhaps in her forties, but the other two are of retirement age.
Knots of tension form in my stomach when I think about what Mercy said about proper attire.
My brash decision to remain in these clothes had more to do with me thinking that I would lose my nerve than anything else.
It might also have had something to do with the fact that if I were to wear swimming trunks right now, which I don’t even own, then everyone would see just exactly how my body feels around Mercy.
Returning to the pool hall, I head straight to the pool, bare feet slapping across the wet deck. I give the circular, floating board a dubious look. It’s still waiting to be tethered.
I can swim. That’s not the problem.
The problem is that I have not swum since Maria slipped through my fingers.
I stop at the edge of the pool. My toes curl over the lip. Humid, chlorinated air whispers by my face, and then I feel it—a skitter of icy ants up my spine. Heart pounding, I force myself not to appear alarmed and slowly scan the room for signs of evil.
Floor-to-ceiling windows reveal the estate’s backyard, where the dense forest provides a natural privacy screen from the wilderness. It might be after midday, but it’s still overcast. The feeling dissipates. Gone.
I can’t shake the feeling of being watched—and it’s more than the spectators. It’s like I’m being studied. Assessed. Maybe it’s just the fact that Jasmine still glowers at me.
Raven is clever to think of this match as a political maneuver. Mercy is also smart to recognize the suggestion as a solution to her problem. At least part of it, anyway.
I’m not fool enough to believe a fight will win Mercy’s complete trust, but I think I know another way that will help.
I will give her my cell phone permanently, and she will screen any incoming communications from the Vatican before coming to me.
I will provide her counsel on how to respond, but ultimately, the safety of this Sisterhood will be in her hands.
I will give her the phone, no matter who wins.
That prickle up my spine again.
I glance over to where the Sinners are, quietly talking to the orphans.
On the surface, it is a comforting sight to see the girls less fearful.
But on a deeper level, it is unnerving to know that they are about to witness a lesson in brutality.
This is the kind of life I was all too happy to leave behind in Italy.
Maybe there is no black-and-white solution. I have avoided the grey for decades, but that is only because when it’s murky and hard to see, and you fall, there is no one there to pull you out. Mercy will be here soon. I stare at the water. She will pull me out.
“Pssst. Father. Over here.” Ezekiel stands with Dominic and Wesley. “We need a game plan.”
I stroll over. “There is no plan.”
He scoffs and shares a look with Wesley. “If you hope to win, then you need a plan.”
Wesley looks over the rim of his glasses at me. “Otherwise, you plan to lose … do you?”
I shoot him an expression that can be interpreted any way he likes.
“Seriously,” Zeke groans. “I love Leila. Love her. But you need to win.”
“We’ll never get another chance.” Wesley nods. “They know this is all fun.”
I turn to Dominic. “What are they worried about?”
“The Sinner’s interrogations were child’s play.” His shoulders lift in a shrug. “Perhaps if they knew what we’re capable of, they would see us as peers, not toys.”
“They were having a laugh.” Wesley gapes. “During their interrogations. We all know that, right? They didn’t really think we had something to do with the massacre in Spain.”
“Wes is right.” Zeke folds his arms, serious. “That was them playing.”
“Are you sure this need for me to win isn’t because they rejected your T-shirts?” I raise my brows at him.
“No.” He scoffs. Snorts. Rolls his eyes. “That’s ridiculous. Besides, you guys won’t wear them either, so whatever. Forgive a bro for trying to help with morale.”
“They are deadly!” Wesley flattens his gaze at me, serious. “If they genuinely wanted to torture us for information, they would have. My girlfriend tried to kill me.” He pokes his stomach. “She stabbed me here and left me for dead.”
“And then she healed you instead of Prue,” I point out. “With a divine relic that you both thought was only going to work for one person.”
“Yeah, but…” He scowls. “Maybe we want to win for once, okay?”
I chuckle and clap him and Zeke on the shoulder. “You both have already won, my friends.”
They look at their girls and smile softly. Leila notices and nudges Thea, who’s talking to Tawny. Thea glances over, sees the men staring at them, then points two fingers at her narrowed eyes and swings them toward Wesley.
“Bloody hell, she’s beautiful, right?” Wesley’s smile broadens at his girl.
“Yeah, bro. You did good.” Zeke’s eyes glaze with affection at Leila. “So did I. We did win, didn’t we?”
“Okay, fine,” Wesley admits to me. “Let your girl beat you up if that floats your boat. We’ll support you.”
“That’s not—”
Dominic grins. “You walked into that one.”
I would retaliate, but I’m secretly proud that he said that in English. He must be practicing.
The atmosphere in the room suddenly shifts. The men around me tense.
“Fuck me.” Zeke backhands my chest. His gaze focuses on something over my shoulder. Wesley does too, his eyes widening. Even Dom stares.
Mercy.
I know it without turning. No one else has this effect on a room. Someone on the other team wolf whistles. Footsteps slap across the wet deck behind me, louder each time.
Half afraid, half filled with anticipation, I slowly turn, and suddenly there is no life.
No air. No heart pumping in my chest. Nothing exists except for the woman walking toward me in a red two-piece.
It is the kind of swimwear made for sports, cut from thick Lycra.
It’s not particularly revealing, but on her …
it is merely a red flag pointing to the shapely curves it contains.
The top boosts her ample breasts, lifting them precariously close to spilling.
Okay. I was wrong. It is revealing. It just does it effortlessly.
The flat of her stomach flashes hardened muscles when she walks, hinting at the strength she’s honed from training. Her hips and thighs are too womanly for the bottom half of the swimsuit, turning what is probably modest on slimmer frames into a high-cut tease.
Still looping her long hair into a topknot, she smirks at whoever whistled from the bench.
All the while, I am rooted to the spot, staring like a teenager with no control of my hormones. The woman is every man’s wet dream come to life, and she knows it.
“You’re fucked.”
Zeke’s voice startles me.
I manage to compose my wits before Mercy arrives, but my palms are already sweaty.
My mouth is dry. How am I to grapple with her when there is only flesh to take?
A horrifying thought hits me when I see the old circle of bruises around her thighs—how am I to feel anything other than disgust at myself for adding to the marks on her skin?
This is a mistake, I try to say. But the words don’t come out because she is here.
She is here, standing before me, smelling like a floral drug and a sin rolled into one.
“I’m ready,” she purrs.
I don’t realize I’m staring until her lips move. I lift my gaze. This is when I notice the new makeup. Mascara, eyeliner, blush. It’s subtle but designed to accentuate her already beautiful features. She wore less this morning.
She wants to win, and I was always going to let her. But now I am wary of this new performance. This is the more twisted bella figura I am familiar with. The perfect mask of beauty we put on to hide the pain inside. It unsettles me. Reminds me of all the bitter memories I ran away from back home.
“Nice costume,” I manage to say.
“What, this old thing?” She smooths her hands over her hips. “It’s almost falling apart from the chlorine. I half expect it to disintegrate at the first sign of stress, but these girls need support.” She grabs her bust. Winks at me. “You know what I mean.”
This needs to happen now before I lose my nerve. Clearing my throat, I step toward the floating board. “You are ready, so let’s fight.”
“Oh, wait. Sorry.” She holds up a finger at me. “One moment, Father.”
Why does my cock twitch at that word, finally on her lips?
She spins and walks toward the bench, gesturing for Raven to join her at the section of the pool with the floating board.
That’s all I notice because now I’m staring at Mercy’s shapely ass.
The too-small bottom half of her swimsuit is even more obscene from this view.
It gathers in the crease of her buttocks, riding up to reveal tantalizing dimpled flesh.
Not the ass of a teenager, or a wafer-thin model, but all woman. Meat for my teeth.
A wave of hot, prickly arousal washes over me, and I close my eyes.
The stakes of this fight have changed.
Violence, pain, sin … these things I can swallow up like an appetizer. Sex, pleasure, lust? They are the mist over the water, hiding the dangerous deep. But is it dangerous if she is there to pull me out?
Yes, it is.
It is.
God, grant me the strength to get through this—
“All you can eat, bro.” Zeke’s voice in my ear.
Wesley claps me on the shoulder. “Don’t overthink it.”
I look helplessly at Dom, who just shrugs. “He’s right.”