Beyond Wilder
Page 31
Amber turned from her brother's dramatic exit toward Mercy’s silent stare.
“You are Mercy, aren’t you?”
Who was she? Did she even know?
Was she Mara, Mercy, or some flighty moron of a woman who always managed to screw things up?
She stared out the double doors as Alec and Trevor attempted to regain some levity with the crowd as she heard the audience chuckle and then clap.
“I warned him,” Mercy said, watching the man of her dreams pick up the oversized scissors she’d found online and cut through the ribbon and her heart. “I told him I’d eventually lose my charm. That it was only a matter of time.”
“I’m not sure what’s going on, but my brother is crazy about you. I’m sure whatever happened can be fixed.”
She thought of her sister. Her fixer. Who was thirty minutes away and refusing her calls.
“Not this time.”
Becky Waterman caught Mercy’s attention just as she was leaving the ceremony with Madame and slapped a piece of paper in her hand.
“What’s this?” Mercy asked with a blank expression.
“Loren’s address,” she offered. “Go to her. You two need one another right now.”
Mercy’s eyes narrowed. “Tell her that.”
“No, Mercy. You tell her that.”
She reared back at her friend’s unexpected temper. Becky stalked away with her arms crossed and unwilling to socialize, let alone converse.
Mercy stared at the address and wondered what to do. How to move forward.
Madame helped her with that. “Drop me off at the house and go to Newberry.”
Mercy turned to Madame, wishing everyone would stop pushing her to seek out Loren. She didn’t want to be the bigger person. Heck, she tracked her down to the Center, and what did she get for it?
Loren told her to leave.
And then left her to face a life-threatening illness alone.
Mercy swallowed hard, fully aware she wasn’t altogether accurate in her one-sided assessment. Nevertheless, she was sick and tired of being the one who needed her sister to fix her problems.
And sick and tired of making monumental mistakes.
“Maybe I don’t need Loren to help me fix my problems.”
Madame chuckled with zero humor. “Young lady. I’m not telling you to go to Newberry so your sister can fix your problems. I’m telling you to go to Newberry so you can help Loren fix hers.”
Madame stared her down until Mercy finally looked away. “Did the kids go home with Trevor?”
“Yes,” she replied. “They were all surprised to learn that Trevor had a sister who had flown all the way from London to meet them.”
Mercy picked up on what the fuming woman didn’t say. That Amber had traveled across an ocean to meet his girlfriend as well.
Who broke up with him.
In front of the entire town.
Mercy drove back in silence with a stoic Madame and a sullen Cara sharing the back seat. Once they arrived home, Madame and Cara entered the house while Mercy sat in the car, wondering what to do.
After a couple of minutes, she bolted out of the car and ran inside to change into clothing that was more Mercy and less Trevor Forrest’s girlfriend pro-temp.
Forty minutes later, Mercy sat midway into Loren’s driveway wearing leggings, combat boots, and a cropped leather jacket.
The sun had set, and the lights were on inside the cute little house. She thought she saw Loren moving through the frame of the front window.
She blew out a breath and pulled up farther into the driveway.
Muttering words of self-encouragement, she walked up the steps, rang the bell, and pounded on the front door.
“Ava Loren Halstead Ingalls, open this door right now.”
She could almost feel her sister on the other side of the door hesitate and then swing the door open to face her fate. Loren remained rooted inside the entryway, a look of reticence on her face.
Mercy wasn’t sure who she was angrier with, Loren for ghosting her or herself for making yet another epic mistake. She stared at her gaunt and lifeless sister, but she just couldn’t get past herself. Not yet anyway.
“I’m so angry with you right now.”
Loren nodded.
But Mercy wasn’t ready to admit to her earlier misjudgment of her fake fiancé. Wasn’t ready to share her heartbreak that was, as expected, all her fault.
“It’s tax season,” Mercy hissed instead, crossing her arms in front of her.
Loren looked confused. “Tax season?”
“Yes, tax season. And you know how bad I am at math, and you just left me. Left me and Cara to figure it all out ourselves.”
“Taxes can be . . . tricky,” Loren admitted, her own hands running up and down her chilled arms.
Mercy wondered if her sister had yet to realize they weren’t talking about tax filings.
“You were wrong to just up and move behind our backs.”
Loren nodded, tearing up.
“Don’t you dare cry,” Mercy warned, her sister's tears causing her to soften. “You have no right to cry.”
Loren swiftly wiped at each eye. “Okay.”
“And you don’t get to be the victim.”
“I’m not. I mean, I know I’m not the victim.”
“And stop acting like a martyr.”
“Okay,” she said with a shake of her head. “How would you like for me to act?”
“How about like a sister?”
Loren opened her arms, and Mercy stepped back. “No, don’t you dare hug me.”
Loren’s arms lowered. “What do you want from me? You don’t want me to be a victim or a martyr. You want me to be a sister, but I can’t touch you. I’m confused, so you’re going to have to spell it out.”
Mercy’s body pinged with disappointment and unreserved energy.
“We’re going to handle this the old way. You and me. We’re going to spar.”
Loren stepped back as if sparring was a contemptible activity.
“I don’t want to,” she said with a shake of her head.
“I don’t care. If you want to apologize, you’re going to have to do it the way we were taught, by two Israeli asshats with biceps and hard-ons the size of fifty-pound kettlebells.”
Loren whispered, “That’s not who we are anymore.”
Mercy stared at her, feeling at a complete loss. How does one deal with this level of stupidity entangled with heartache? Or reconcile the desperate need for a sister's love after being shunned?
“Then who are we?” Turning her back to Loren, she stared out toward the dark driveway and plopped down on the front step. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? I don’t know who I am anymore.”
Loren sat next to the side and one step behind Mercy.
“If it makes you feel any better, I’m having an identity crisis as well.”
“Why would that make me feel better?”
“I don’t know. Misery loves company?”
“I don’t want you to be miserable,” Mercy said. “I love my sister. And I need her. Not to fix my problems, but just to be there to listen to me talk about them. But you did something I never thought you’d do,” she said, incredulous. “You moved out. Behind our backs and without a word.”
They sat listening to the song of the cicada’s growing louder as their surroundings went dark, the only illumination coming from the house lights.
Mercy heard Loren clear her throat. “I thought you were all better off without me.”
“How could you even think that?”
“I had my reasons,” she said with a sigh. “Some better than others.”
Loren continued. “I was afraid of Amado’s people looking for revenge. Better to face that alone than to threaten other people’s lives. And I couldn’t face Ally and Alec knowing that I stole a piece of her innocence the day I killed Milo.”
Mercy leaned back on her elbows. “I think it’s safe to say we need a ton of ther
apy. You and your regrets for publicly killing the man who raped you and me and my tax-seasonal mental breakdown.”
Loren smirked. “What a challenge we’d be to your run-of-the-mill orthopedic-shoe-wearing shrink.”
“I don’t think there are enough head doctors in the state of Texas to fix us.”
“How about we save our money and just talk to one another?”
Mercy turned to face Loren head-on. “Why do you think I’m here?”
Loren toed a sliver of wood on the step. “You always were the brave one.”
Mercy huffed, “You mean the brash, stupid one.”
“I mean the brave one who never hesitated in doing the right thing without first having to work through a mathematical algorithm. That’s cowardice at its best.”
Loren mimicked herself. “Oh, you want to wreak havoc on this mafia hitman for killing his brother’s wife and two kids? Hold on a minute, just let me run the numbers through a spreadsheet first.”
Loren shook her head at the memory. “But you? You never hesitated. Never faltered. You ran into the warehouse locked and loaded and ready to take him out.”
Mercy countered, “Did you forget the part where you saved me by breaking into the cold locker where I hung from a meat hook, while Giovanni came at me with a scalpel to the tune on his phone playing “It’s Been a Hard Day’s Night?””
“Oh yeah,” Loren chuckled. “I remember that hazmat getup he wore to protect his three thousand-dollar Armani suit.”
Mercy smiled. “Still didn’t protect him from getting kicked in the balls. God, I had strong abs back then.”
Mercy kicked her legs in front of her and leaned back on her elbows. “You were never a coward, Loren. You were thorough. Let’s not forget how many times you saved my backside from making all those emotionally charged decisions.”
“If we came together as one person, we’d be indomitable.”
“I’d be good with coming together as a sister duo again.”
Mercy felt her sister’s arm wrap around her shoulders.
“Come on,” Mercy said, standing up and pulling on Loren’s arm. “Let’s spar, but for the fun of it, like the old days.”
“No,” Loren said, resisting.
“Not because we’re angry,” Mercy cajoled. “But like when it was just you and me and Number one and Number two were taking their afternoon nap. You know, just for fun and exercise. What’s a sister for, if not target practice?”
“No, Mercy,” she said, pulling her arm back forcefully, causing Mercy to momentarily lose her balance.
Mercy stared at Loren, unsure how to navigate this relationship with no common ground.
“Fine,” Mercy said, turning toward the car waving her arm in the air. “Nice seeing you, Ava, Loren, or whoever the hell you are. Have a great life.”
“Mercy,” Loren yelled. “Please don’t go.”
Mercy kept walking. “Why the hell not?”
“Because I need you.”
“You need me?” Mercy laughed darkly and turned back around. “What would you ever need me for?”
“I can’t do this without you. Please don’t go.”
Mercy huffed, “What exactly is it that you’re doing, Loren?” she asked with her hands raised at her sides. “Sitting around waiting for the trial to begin? I think that, given our history, you can handle that by yourself just fine.”
Loren shook her head. “Not that.”
Mercy rolled her eyes. “Alright, it’s your turn to start spelling and spilling.”
Loren wrapped her arms around her waist. “I need you because . . . I’m pregnant.”
Mercy’s eyebrows rose. “You’re pregnant?”
Loren nodded.
Before Mercy could react, both of their heads turned as a car spun into the driveway. Gravel and large chunks of rocks and sticks peppered the front lawn. Mercy grabbed Loren by the shoulder and pushed her down behind the car she parked near the house, pulling out a rather ineffectual knife from her boot.
They were both inexcusably exposed, but she would fight to the death to protect Loren. But at the same time, she prayed their assailants happened to forget their firepower as well.
The car was an old white Buick LeSabre. Mercy peered over the hood of Madame’s car. “Loren, isn’t that Becky Waterman’s car?”
Loren peered over the hood next to Mercy when the passenger door suddenly popped open. Following that, a body was shoved out the door. The door was slammed shut, and the car spun its wheels in the gravel, mindless of the still, broken body inches from the tires and creating a steady stream of dust and a shower of gravel. The old Buick finally careened out of the driveway, taking out the mailbox and coming within millimeters of hitting the ditch.
Mercy inched from behind the car, listening for a returning squeal of tires. Loren ran past her and fell to her knees.
“Oh God, no,” Mercy cried, shoving the knife in her boot. “It’s Becky.”
Acknowledgments
Without the following peeps, I wouldn’t be able to write the triumvirate of books like the Wilder Series. Yes, I used the lofty word triumvirate, because… it’s a shit ton of words to write when you’re writing three books.
Sharon Conway, you are an amazing human and I am so fortunate to have you in my life. I couldn’t have done this without you and your boundless support. Now, please get back to reading my next book…
Kelli, Janet, Angie, Crystal and Ellen, you are my tribe. And if I ever have a dead body to dispose of, you’re my people. Kelli, because she won’t fall apart. Janet, because she’ll bring the wine and knows how to keep a secret. Angie, because no matter how dastardly he or she was, she’ll make sure we treat the body with a modicum of respect. Crystal, who’ll eventually become impatient and throw the body over her shoulder and save us all precious time. And Ellen, because she makes every gathering, even one for such unsavory purposes, an absolute ball. I’d include Sharon as part of my tribe, but remember, she’s busy proofreading my next book.
Thanks to Brittny Downing who continues to read my books and gives me undiluted feedback. As my daughter, I had to give her permission to skip the sexier scenes. She finally drew the line there and I can respect that.
These people make life worth living and keep me sane when I’m over-dramatizing the next deadline. And yes, I can be a drama-queen.
Thanks to Damonza for another perfect cover!
Thanks to all the book-bloggers who took a chance reading books that include a mashup of romance/suspense/comedy (some dark). I tend to write outside genre lines, but you gave me a shot.
Kudos to Sharon Blake and my ARC team. Without your enthusiasm for my imagination I would spend my days watching Netflix and eating tacos.
And a great big I LOVE YOU to The PoolBoy because he’s super cute. (Don’t worry, I’d never murder you). But if you ever leave… I will find you (said with a creepy singsongy voice). Seriously, he knows I would never murder him, as long as my hormones are in balance.
And thanks to you dear reader… safety tip: gird your loins for Loving Wilder. She’s a wild ride!
About the Author
Lēigh lives in the suburbs of Atlanta with her husband, whom she cheekily refers to as The PoolBoy.
She recently walked away from a career in the tech industry, working a variety of positions where she sold, trained, marketed and managed… a ton of stuff. When not holed up in her office crafting stories about badass women and the men who try to tame them, she can be found walking the beach in Florida with The PoolBoy or chilling with her friends.
Lēigh’s motto is “Find your tribe and love them hard.” If this sounds like someone ya’ll want to hang out with, come join her tribe!
Email: leigh@leightudor.com
Website: www.leightudor.com
Facebook: facebook.com/Leigh.Tudor.31