17. Chapter 17
Chapter 17
My aching neck screamed a wailing sound of agony, only drowned out by something much louder in the hallway. Men. Loud, with tools that rivaled them. I’d fallen asleep in my chair, gravity pulling my head to an uncomfortable angle. My fingers tried and failed to rub away the ache terrorizing the muscles in my neck.
I blinked the tiredness from my gaze, having no idea what was going on beyond my bedroom door, and I wasn’t brave enough to venture out and ask questions.
The pink sky matched my room, looking prettier for only being outside. I didn’t turn to see it, catching minimal reflections only from the view of a mirror.
My body craved the feel of grass again. It had been so long. So long since I did anything I liked. I forced myself to turn, my arms working slowly to spin my chair and not put any more pressure on my stiff neck.
My tray was gone from the dresser. I careened back to the door, shocked I hadn’t heard anyone come in and take it...that hurt my neck, and I yelped. My door flew open, and Mercer filled the open space. A second later, he was between my legs. Close. Too close. Close enough for me to see lines of concern etched on his forehead.
“What hurt you?” he mouthed, not waiting to pull out a Post-it or that annoying little keyboard that triggered the voice I loathed.
“Nothing,” I stuttered, shocked by his concern. His eyes dwelled on my lips, fascinated by the stammer. His finger followed, gently tracing the fullness of my lower lip before I said, “I have a stiff neck.”
His features hardened, turning back to stone and pelting me with it. Eager legs removed him from me, taking him from the room.
He didn’t close the door, and I followed him without even thinking about it. Confusion led the way, the wheels beneath me giving me the power to wander. The brief appearance of anxiety on his face gave me the courage to finally venture from this room.
I wheeled out into the hallway. A grand wooden staircase stood between Mercer and me. I followed the sound of his feet moving over wooden slats. His shadow disappeared from the bottom step as he rounded the corner. Two other men invaded my view, toolbelts hanging around the waistbands of their denim pants.
“Hey!” the younger of the two—a man around thirty—said, looking my way.
My stiff neck prevented me from looking over my shoulder to see who else he might be talking to.
“I take it this is for you?” He smiled, and I realized he was definitely talking to me as I looked over what appeared to be a stairlift. “We’re almost done. We just have to tighten one last thing...” He pointed to his companion, a man who was probably double his age and had a familial resemblance. “And then you can test it out.”
Sure, I’ll give your masterpiece a test run. I wanted to roll my eyes but remained respectful, eyeing up their hard work.
The older man did as he said, tightening the last of many concealed bolts with a hand-held power tool.
A button was pressed, a motor kicked in, and a comfortable-looking pink satin seat traveled the tracks to greet me.
These guys must have been working for hours, and I hadn’t even heard them until dreams of a sweet fox licking my toes and the man who called him away had ended. Mercer haunted me, invading every sense, lingering in my mind when I thought I zoned out. Nope. He was still there. Still with me as I slept, replacing the nightmares that terrified me.
I blinked away thoughts of him. The two men appeared before me again. The young blond stepped forward; his graying father stood behind him.
“Happy?” the older guy asked.
I nodded, unsure what to say. Unsure why this contraption had been installed.
The stairlift crept around the handrail, twisting to a position that made it easy for me to slink onto. I dragged myself from one chair to another, declining with thanks when both men offered me help.
I sat comfortably on the chair’s plump cushion and fastened the seat belt.
I glanced back to my wheelchair, wondering what I would do when I got to the bottom.
“Your other chair is at the bottom, waiting for you.” Lines deepened near the older man’s eyes as he smiled at me.
My other chair? I didn’t verbally question, choosing to play whatever role Mercer had written for me.
I pressed a button on a golden keypad and descended, seeing rooms I’d never seen before as I lowered slowly into an open-plan space. The chair rounded the corner, another chair waiting, with giant wheels on the tiled floor, a cushioned seat, and a battery-operated toggle that would allow me to change direction.
I shuffled into its comfort, confused by how to drive the damn thing. It took me only a second to have it moving, and it moved much faster than I was used to. I whizzed past the workmen, thanking them for their hard work, then past the grand double doors, mahogany, like the banister and all the other expensive woodwork.
The kitchen came into view, a prodigality of huge navy units. The room, glittered by pink accessories, all currently in use as Trix prepared the biggest breakfast in the world. My wheels moved over the prettiest floor as tiles gave way to cherry blossom petals encapsulated in resin. Wonderment put a smile on my face as I admired the beautiful details. The room was art.
Condensation coated the shiny backsplash and tiles, the open window not filtering out much steam, given how much food was being cooked. Trix looked up from the center island as I slammed to a halt before crashing into it. The rolling pin in her hand, covered in flour and beaten eggs, waved at me.
“Good morning, Feebee. I’m glad to have you down here. I’ll need some help once these scoundrels get to work.”
That wooden roller moved between two men, Mercer and the loser, also known as Chocolate Eyes. Damn, I’d already forgotten his real name, but as he sat there, innocently eating his breakfast cereal, I felt guilty for thinking of him as a loser.
“You’ve met Ethan.” She smiled, pride brightly showing as she reminded me what to call him.
Ethan’s strong throat worked, swallowing down the last of his cereal. He patted his mouth dry with a nearby dishtowel.
“I’m the least favorite grandchild.” He smiled.
“Oh, shush, you stupid man. I love you both the same. Now, one of you lift Feebee up to help me.”
Mercer stopped dead, a sip of hot tea still in his cup when he pivoted to me. Ethan got to me first, and with a smirk on his face and his eyes flicking between me and the man he looked so similar to, he asked, “May I?”
I nodded, appreciative that he at least asked before touching me. Maybe he was my favorite of her grandchildren because he didn’t touch me without asking or coerce me into sex under false pretenses. But he wasn’t...because I was fucking broken and liked the fucked-up one.
I let him lift me, our bodies close until he positioned me on a barstool. I removed my tight grip from his shoulders when I felt safe enough to do so, brushing the creases from his designer jacket.
Mercer’s stare burned into me. The teacup in his vicious grip did the same to his hand. He tossed the cup into the sink, and it cracked against the matching teapot.
“Damn you, boy. That one was my favorite.”
Mercer glared across the table at Ethan, now back in his seat, before he ducked out of the way of a rolling pin attack. It narrowly missed, unlike his Nonna’s agitation. “One of these days, Mercer! One of these days! It’ll be your head and not my fine china!”
“Just think, if you weren’t the favorite, she’d have caught you by now.” Ethan laughed, not caring all that much that he was second in line for her love.
A robotic voice came from a nearby speaker. “It’s not her lack of love. It’s your inability to do anything in appropriate time.” Mercer had stolen Ethan’s smirk and a cannoli, from which he took a single large bite before placing it back on the table. Remembering how delicious they were, I craved one and had to wipe the drool from my mouth with the back of my hand.
“Have one,” Trix encouraged, “Who knows when you ate a full meal last.”
“Last night...thank you. Dinner was delicious.”
Trix straightened, old bones clicking. “I didn’t get in until after twelve, dear, but I’m glad they fed you. They’re decent cooks when they make the effort.”
My eyes moved to Mercer, and he stepped out of my view, knowing my stiff neck wouldn’t allow me to follow him and see the truth.
He had fed me.
Like he did the little fox.
And it brought a smile to my face that I couldn’t hide.
Trix started kneading dough by hand, her fingers flattening out the thickness.
My eyes wandered again, seeing the gleeful expression on Ethan’s face as he mouthed the words, “I knew you’d cave,” to Mercer, who stood as far away as possible, with his body stiffer than mine.
The workmen popped their heads around the corner, already paid and ready to leave, and shouted their goodbyes.
Trix and Ethan replied with the same generic words of parting.
I said another thank you.
And Mercer bowed his head, his tense smile barely visible to them as they slipped out.
“Anyway, finish that cannoli,” Nonna insisted, and her favorite grandchild refused, moving back into my view and shaking his head, his hand on his stomach like he was already full. I’d eaten one when she offered, but the half he left called to me, and I found myself reaching for it while more silent messages were exchanged between the men on each side of me.
Ethan’s lips moved, “Looks like your little crush is still reciprocated,” he mouthed. “She doesn’t mind sharing your tongue germs.”
I finished the cannoli, my theft uncommented on by anyone else.
A lump of dough landed before me, thrown across the tabletop by Trix. Flour dusted the long shirt, which was surely a man’s. I’d dressed myself in it yesterday and hadn’t changed.
I started to knead, but I had no idea what I was doing.
“Never cooked or baked before?” Trix asked, a gray eyebrow disappearing beneath her wispy bangs.
“Not really. Not since making cakes with my mom as a child.” I lifted the dough, the pieces I pressed still stuck to the table. “What are you making?”
“Torta Della Nonna. And you’re going to help. It’ll give you something to do today.”
“You’ll have to walk me through it.”
“I intend to. A woman your age should know how to feed herself, and no disrespect, but it looks like you could do with some fattening up.”
“Nonna!” Mercer began typing another transmission, this one coming through Ethan’s mouth.
“Her leg muscles have deteriorated because she can’t use them,” the robotic voice added.
“She can use her arms just fine, and they are skinny, too.”
Mercer’s fingers hovered on the keyboard as he contemplated his next words.
“It’s fine. I know I’m skinny. The muscles in my legs are wasting away, yes, but I don’t eat right back home, and that doesn’t help. I don’t get out of my room much to make anything.”
“Why not?” Trix questioned, her brown eyes, hiding behind thick lashes, narrowed on me.
“My home doesn’t have a stairlift.”
“How is that possible? You lived in a mansion. Your family has money,” the robotic voice spoke again, this time belittling me.
“Didn’t you notice that when you broke in and stole me?”
“No. I didn’t. I used the back entrance. The back stairs. I figured the front would have something for you.”
Trix didn’t say anything, but her eyes told me she’d already voiced her disapproval of what her grandson had done.
I shrugged off Mercer’s words. “Anyway. I didn’t have a stairlift or a wheelchair. We didn’t have much. We weren’t rich. My grandfather built our house.” I twisted my neck to see Mercer, and it clicked. I rubbed the pain away, my smile well and truly gone.
“Ah, how ironic! The boys’ grandfather built this one!” Trix quipped, still kneading the dough that was ready for her dish.
“Lies...” A transmission interrupted us, not talking to her but me. “Your father could pay for illegal organs but not a stairlift for his disabled daughter! It makes no sense.”
“Well, it hadn’t been that long since her accident. You said that was only weeks before the transplant. Maybe she was tired after all that, and her family just hadn’t gotten around to it.” Trix held up the wooden weapon in a warning. Warning him that flour would cover his slick hair and expensive black suit if he didn’t tread carefully.
She could feel his emotions rising.
So could I.
But unlike me, unlike him, she didn’t feel like I was to blame.
“We probably shouldn’t talk about the transplant, but I was tired. I ended up with two infections shortly after, and I almost died.” My head lowered, staring down at the dough and what I was doing wrong.
I knew I’d said too much. The room lingered in silence and stillness, pity from Trix and Ethan stared back at me when I looked up.
But neither of them voiced it.
“Show her how to do it.” It was a simple request for Mercer, and for whatever reason, he listened, moving behind me without a fight and rolling up his sleeves to reveal corded arms.
I tried to give him space, using my hands to push myself away while on my seat, but I almost fell off, risking the break of too many bones to count. Splayed fingers wrapped around my back, steadying me. That look of concern—the etched worry—was back on his handsome face as he pulled me near and corrected my sitting position. He sank into place behind me, intimately close.
“Can I ask you a question?” Ethan technically asked me a question, then another, “Did you know where the organ came from?”
Silence fell around us, no one daring to breathe.
“No,” I timidly said as Mercer’s tense muscles sealed me in, his hands taking mine, showing me how to knead the dough in a way his Nonna would approve.
And she definitely did, given the big smile on her face. “Then it isn’t your fault.”
“I’m not sure everyone agrees.”
Mercer’s hands dug into mine, his grip tight and unyielding. His breath on my neck was the opposite, calm and controlled, his chest tapping my spine as he breathed. It felt...sensual. His hands loosened like it suddenly dawned on him that he was hurting me and like he cared he had.
“They will. They won’t go against me, dear. No way.”
A shadow came over me, Mercer’s head—heavy with the weight of so many uncomfortable thoughts—dipping.
“Damiano is running late. He should be here by now.” Ethan’s comment turned my stomach. There was something about him I accepted. My soul recognized his as light and trustworthy, despite my circumstances. I didn’t get that vibe from the other one. Cold Stare.
“I don’t trust that man. Not at all. He’s bad news. I can smell it!” Trix leaned across the surface, slapped away mine and Mercer’s entwined hands, and peeled the dough from the table. Not a tear in sight. “That’s perfect.”
She turned her back on us, taking her dough and ours, placing them out of our way and returned with a mixing bowl loaded with eggs and sugar. The bowl pirouetted to me, and a whisk followed.
“Mix.” She waved her arm, sure that I could do this without further instructions. Mercer felt the same, his heat leaving me as my arm moved to mix.
“I don’t think you should bring him here anymore. Not with a young lady in the house. He’s got an aura I don’t like.” Her warning was for Mercer, but her attention quickly moved to Ethan, a smile on her face as she said, “I much preferred your step-brother helping out. How is Gio doing?”
Mercer’s glare was like a bullet, shooting at his grandmother from the other side of the room.
“Do not ask of him while I’m in this house,” he warned with the keyboard back in hand.
“Mercer, hush. At one point, he was your best friend. He was here every day. I’m allowed to miss him.”
Fast fingers stabbed the touchscreen letters. “Not even his name is welcome here.”
“And yet you forgave Chandelle, welcomed her back into your bed after jumping into his.”
Another word. A final word. “Enough.”
The front door opened, revealing a heavy fall of rain. Goosebumps lined my body, creating a prickly exterior that wouldn’t protect me. It wasn’t the sudden turn of weather bringing them forth but the person who let the cold in. Cold Stare, or Damiano, as everyone else knew him.
Boots padded across the floor, and loud squelching sounds followed. Trix rolled her eyes, knowing she’d likely have to mop it.
“Hey, hey, look who’s out of the cell.” Damiano’s giant hand landed on my shoulder, stealing my balance. “And at the breakfast table.”
I clutched the table edge, desperate not to fall. Mercer and Ethan both moved in on me, but neither man put their hands on me. I shrugged off Damiano, hating the feel of his calluses snagging on my shirt and the sight of his dirty nails close to my face.
“Hey,” his heavy tone, loaded like a rifle, banged into my ear.
Stuttering breaths skated off my tongue. His hand pressed me down again, determined to have control over whatever happened between us. Mercer stepped in, acting like my hero. He clutched Damiano’s wrist, his short nails jabbing into a vein and causing pain. He used no words, but his stare was enough, and I turned just in time to witness the warning.
“Okay. Okay, man. Chill!” He pulled back, rubbing out the injury. “Fuck, talk about marking your territory. You’re one step away from pissing all over her.”
Damiano didn’t care about his choice of language, feeling no guilt for cursing in front of an old lady who was more than likely religious, judging by her clothes, jewelry, and love-all-life attitude.
“Anyway, I thought the reason she was here was to be terrorized? Was the pussy that good?”
No one answered, but I turned pink with shame, and Trix looked ready to kill.
And I wanted her to kill him. To beat this creep with her rolling pin until he couldn’t say any more vile things.
“Let’s get going, huh?” Ethan suggested, leading Damiano back out the door. “Bye, Nonna…Feebee.”
Neither of us said goodbye, too lost in our mutual hatred for Damiano.
Mercer took one look at me, a million things to say, the letters beneath his pulsing fingers ready for pushing, but all he gave me was a deep exhale and another layer of confusion before he followed Damiano’s dirty prints and slipped out the door.
Trix had left me to my own devices shortly after the boys left, and the dinner dishes were loaded into the oven. And it took me almost the entire time—twenty long minutes—to get from that barstool to my new chair. I didn’t ask for help, knowing her frail bones struggled to hold her weight, never mind mine.
And luckily, she didn’t hear the challenge it was for me, thanks to her choice of music.
I found her in an eclectic regency-style living room, snuggled on a fuchsia sofa, a soft blanket over her thin legs, listening as opera played loudly. Emotional, melodic leaps caressed the house...and me. It guided me here and pulled me in.
Pulled my attention back each time my eyes shot around to admire expensive furniture. Vast paintings covered so much of the walls, the metallic colors twinkling as twin chandeliers reflected off them, brightening up the dark wood.
They were the most beautiful designs I’d ever seen.
My gaze circled back to Trix. Her nail polish—a shade of pink so bright for a woman of her years—glowed in the autumn sunlight, once again peeping from behind pink clouds. The weather was weird today, but at least the rain had stopped.
Drapes were pulled back, showcasing an open floor-to-ceiling window, which blew back and forth in the breeze.
Her fingers tapped on the blanket. Her other hand rested on the sleeping body of an orange fox, its fur bushy and wild, like he, a nocturnal animal, should be. I didn’t see him until my wheelchair took me closer, and my mouth dropped when I did. A loud gasp fell out of me, heard over the beautiful song as Trix lowered the volume.
“He’s precious, isn’t he?” Her smile spoke of unconditional love for the creature, still sleeping placidly.
“I wanted to call him that, you know. Precious. It’s more fitting than Trouble.” Her fingers weaved through his fur, scratching at his ears. “He’s no trouble at all.”
“Is that his name?”
She nodded, her eyes on her furry companion for a moment. “Mercer started calling him it when he was just a cub. He was a feisty little thing, and he liked to dig up the flower beds. It wouldn’t have been an issue if my husband hadn’t buried all sorts of things out there, including an enemy or two.”
Trix’s shoulders vibrated as a small giggle crept out. She took in my lack of reciprocation. “Did Mercer tell you about his grandfather?”
“Mercer doesn’t tell me anything.” I looked away, my body itching with irritation. I scratched at the annoyance, making my skin red.
“Is that a nervous thing?” Trix pressed gently.
I shrugged.
“Well, my husband was a mafia boss,” she said those words like murder and manipulation schemes were the norm. As normal as if he were a lawyer or a doctor. “I thought Mercer might have told you on one of those little Post-its he wrote to you while in his Nonno’s cell.”
I simply shook my head. I could not say a word, not without offending Trix, surely.
And she knew her confessions had made me uncomfortable. Almost like I was sitting on a bomb about to go off.
“Don’t worry, honey. They were all bad people. He never hurt the innocent.” Her smile was genuine, making her words believable. “Like Mercer.”
I digested the information, struggling with the weight of her truth. It was a hard lump to swallow, but it made sense. Mercer lived in his family home...a beautiful and sophisticated home atop a creepy torture chamber to gift his enemies painful deaths. The average person didn’t have one of those...but a mafia boss? Well, sure, they would.
“And you were okay with it?” I asked, eyebrows sneaking closer to my hairline as each second ticked by.
“I loved him. I still love him dearly. Was he a perfect man? No. If you wait for one of those, I doubt you’ll ever truly love someone, but...he was perfect for me. Good to me. And that’s what matters.” Her smile grew, and she laughed. “You can lower those accusing eyebrows now.”
And I did. The brows retreated to their regular position.
“Men are complex, honey, and lots of them don’t know how to love...”
“Your grandson did.” The words crept around the lump in my throat.
Trix sighed. “Mercer loved Chandelle, but they weren’t forever...despite the shit she fed him. He could have, should have, done better for himself from the start. It’s nice to see he’s noticing that now, too.” She gave an accusing look of her own, her eyebrows wiggling in my direction.
I drove my chair closer. “What do you mean?”
“You, darling.”
“He hates me. He keeps me here, but he hates me. If I didn’t have her heart—”
“Yes. If you didn’t have her heart, you wouldn’t be here. But you do, and you are. And it’s not her heart he’s looking at when he side-eyes you when he thinks no one is looking. It wasn’t her heart he was touching when he breathed in the scent of your hair this morning. I noticed, even if you didn’t. I notice everything, and I’ve noticed he’s not touching her heart, but you’re touching his.”
“Please... he’d happily keep me in my room, out of sight. Only happy because a part of her is still here—”
“Do you think that man would put that contraption on the staircase if he wanted to keep you locked in your bedroom? Though, I’ll admit, these legs,” she tapped them, “are glad he did. Do you even think you’d have a bedroom...? Or would you still be in that cell?”
“I thought it would’ve been your idea to get me out.”
“It would have been, but he’d already beat me to it when I found out about you. He isn’t perfect. Hell, he did kidnap you, and that’s beyond crazy. Crazier than some of the other stuff this last year led him to do. But he could be good...for you.”
“He’s been pretty bad so far. He’s been awful.”
“He has, and that led you to look away from the regret in his eyes. From the pain, turmoil, and guilt. But trust me, darling, there’s more to him than that. I’ve raised this boy since he was twelve years old when his and Ethan’s parents died in a car accident.”
My heart stopped. He’d lost his mother in the same way I’d lost mine. The sympathy I saw as I told him that was real. He’d lost his father, too. He knew the pain.
“What he feels is not hate.”
Trouble moved, distracting us both. Mud-stained white paws—proof that his flower-digging habit hadn’t been laid to rest—and a very bushy tail circled on Trix’s lap.
She angled a small black remote to a corner of the room, and flashing lights of song names stared back at me as I looked over to the media station. The volume of the song increased, and she sat back, delivering affection to Trouble, who loved this song...
And so did I.
It was my favorite.
And having something in common with the animal made me want to bond with him.
I moved a little closer.
Trouble’s opera-loving ears flattened to his head as Trix smoothed over them. His little face and the beady eyes I recognized from a few nights ago smiled up at me, trusting me before knowing me.
His judgment was shit...as he trusted Mercer, too.
Though, I didn’t doubt Mercer’s devotion for Trouble…just everything else about him.
I guess Trouble’s judgment was good, after all.
And he chose to be here when freedom was his nature. Chose to live with these people over his own family.
I guess we have more things in common because, in truth, I secretly wanted to do the same.
I wanted to stay here, never to return home.
I touched him, and he got excited by me or the song playing. I couldn’t tell, but his little noises made it sound like he was trying to sing along. My hand caught my chuckle, keeping the sound low, not wanting to interrupt Trix’s enjoyment of the music.
The tenor picked up, sending shivers down my spine. The master of the song’s pitch dragged me under a spell, hypnotizing my mind and making love to my body. I grew wet, the voice strumming me in the most perfect way, and I found myself drifting from the animal.
I stared at nothing, the room around me becoming a blur. A love story played in my head. A princess was trying to warm the cold heart of a handsome prince and trying to survive the riddles surrounding him.
She would surely fail...
I interrupted my own fantasy, “I love this song. Whose rendition is it? I’ve never heard this one before.”
Trix’s eyes widened, her gaze dragging over me and yesterday’s shirt, disbelieving that I didn’t know. “It’s Mercer, dear.”
My back straightened, my eyes rushing to the music player as if he would magically appear there with a mic in hand, proving her right.
“He was a singer?”
“No. Last year, just before the trip, he finished school to become a doctor. He had so much love to give back then. He wanted to help people, and he was gifted. Born for it.”
A doctor...someone who could drug another, knowing the correct dosages without killing them. He’d done it to me, and I’d fumed over him risking my life, but he hadn’t...because he knew exactly what my body could handle.
It was never all that risky to him, too confident in his abilities.
“He sang because he enjoyed it. It broke my heart when he couldn’t anymore. And then, somehow, like his grandfather, art called to him, too.” Trix’s lips curved into a proud smile.
“He was amazing.” At so many things.
“He was...these recordings were from competitions in his teens. He came second on this one. He was robbed.”
I nodded, agreeing as the song came to an end.
Her smile was still on her face, cracking the lipstick she always wore. “When you get bored of the music, he told me to tell you there’s a gift in your drawers…it’s quite fitting with this art thing he has going right now.”
She smiled, and I smiled, too…because being an art dealer was another thing he hadn’t lied about.