by Abbie Roads
The way he stared at her was almost a physical thing. She could feel his eyes roaming over her, searching for the truth, desperate to believe her, but her words were battling decades of self-loathing. She could practically see him sorting through what she’d said, trying to shift around the furniture in his mind to see if this new way of thinking might fit.
“Can you tell me about the case with the symbol? The one that brought you to me.” It felt so normal, so right to be lying here totally naked, sharing a pillow, and listening as he talked about the Dawson case and the similarities to what he’d found at Liz’s. “Pictures of you in blood at both scenes? The symbol at both places? My assumption was Dr. Payne killed Liz, but since the cases are related… I don’t know.”
“Doesn’t seem to fit. Especially with what Dolan told me they found at Payne’s place.”
“What did they find?” She clung on Cain’s every word, hoping to solve the mystery of it all.
“You.”
“Me? What’s that mean?”
“You were everywhere. Dolan said Payne’s walls were papered in pictures of you. That it seemed he’d been wearing a camera every time he interacted with you. And he had nude photos of you, probably from a hidden camera in your bathroom.”
Mercy closed her eyes, waiting for some feeling of shock or indignation to hit her, but it never came. All she felt was a deep sense of resignation. She’d known. Known the first time and every time after when he wore that camera. Her early warning system had shown her exactly what he intended to do with those pictures.
She’d always felt uncomfortable at the Center. Always felt under the microscope even when she was alone. And now that microscope was going to turn into a magnifying lens when the world saw the pictures. She wasn’t lucky enough to have none of them end up on the Internet. “I knew what he was doing. He targeted me from the moment we met. Enjoyed forcing me to talk about Killion. Looked for excuses to have to meet with me more often than our daily one-on-one.”
“Dolan’s trying to contain the images, but with digital…it’s more than a photo and negatives. Digital can be stored on multiple devices in multiple locations and in multiple online storage places.”
It was sweet of Dolan to try, but his resources would be better spent elsewhere than trying to save her pride and dignity.
“Before Payne worked at the Center, he was the head psychiatrist at Petesville Super Max where he had twice weekly session with guess who?”
“Oh my God.” Undiluted shock raised her volume. “Your father?” The layers of irony were not coincidental. That she’d been under the care of the same psychiatrist Killion had seen. That she’d been locked down in the Center, the same place Killion had worked before he’d been captured. It had been intentional. All of it. She’d been targeted by Dr. Payne for his own personal amusement.
“Yep. You said you didn’t know why you’d ended up at the Center. I’m pretty certain Payne arranged it.”
“Yeah. Me too.” Had talking with Killion been what sparked Dr. Payne’s interest in her?
“This whole case is a mind twist. It’s like there are all these dangling threads, and no matter how I try to braid them together, there’s always a thread or two that doesn’t fit. So there’s a blood painting of me with wings at the Dawsons’. Another blood painting of me with wings and a knife at Liz’s. Both paintings have the same symbol that was on the wall at your family’s murder twenty years ago. You didn’t know the Dawsons, and I didn’t know the Dawsons. But we both knew Liz. Until I saw the blood painting, I thought for sure Payne had been the one to kill Liz. It doesn’t feel like something he’d do, but the timing is so coincidental. And the paintings were of me. If Payne did them, wouldn’t he paint you? He’s obsessed with you, not me.”
“It feels like we’re missing the one thing that ties it all together.”
“Exactly.”
She rolled onto her back and stared up. Exposed beams crisscrossed at least another story over them. “This is such a unique place.”
He grabbed her topic change. “It didn’t always look this way. It used to be just a ramshackle old barn out back of Mac’s place.”
“Mac lives in the house we passed?”
“Yeah. I know it’s a little weird living this close, but it makes sense for me. I don’t own the property, so no one can find where I live. I just pay the utilities and taxes to Mac.”
“I can see why you’d live here. It’s spectacular.”
“Mac and I worked on it for years.” His voice held pride and satisfaction.
Mercy turned her head to look him directly in the eye. “This is the best place. Ever.”
Pink spread across the bridge of his nose and tinted his cheeks, somehow making him look even more masculine to her. “We started fixing it up almost as soon as he got custody of me. Originally we were just cleaning it up. He thought working together to build something was therapeutic. I suppose he was right. He’s usually always right. Then as I got older, I don’t know, I just loved this place and wanted to turn it into something special.”
“It is definitely special.” Maybe she shouldn’t say what she was about to say, but surely he wouldn’t judge her when he had his own ability. “Mac seems like a good guy. I didn’t get any bad-guy vibes from him.”
The corners of Cain’s lips tilted upward. “You’ve got your own version of psychic, don’t you?”
He tossed those words back to her so easily, yet she didn’t know how to catch them. Just as he never put that name on himself, she had never placed it on herself either.
“Does it hurt? Do you get headaches from sensing the bad vibes and seeing the bad intentions?”
Well, he’d definitely been listening when she’d explained her ability. “No. Doesn’t hurt. Not physically anyway. It makes it really clear who I can trust and who I can’t. Most people land in the not-ever-gonna-trust-you category. It would be nice if I could see good intentions, you know. See the positive instead the negative all the time.” She still hadn’t let go of his hand. “Your father changed us both.” The words came out soft and airy, just a wisp of air, not even a sound.
A tender quiet spread between them for a few moments.
“Would you come with me to visit Mac in the hospital?” Cain’s tone carried sincerity and little-boy longing for her to say yes.
She couldn’t deny him when he looked at her that way. “Of course.”
A smile broke out on his face, transforming him into a younger man.
“But first…” He leaned over her and captured her mouth with his. His tongue stroked hers in slow sensual movements that made her warm and melty on the inside. He lifted his head and stared at her long and hard. “You are the best thing ever to happen to me.”
He spoke with such seriousness, such naked truth, that her heart cracked right down the middle. How much more of his sweetness could she endure before he left her in pieces? Didn’t matter. She wouldn’t need her heart or her soul when she left. He could keep them.
The tears threatened again, but she wouldn’t let him see her cry. Not about this. She reached up with both hands, settled them on his cheeks. “And you, Cain, are the best thing to happen to me.” She packed her gaze with truth. Wanted to sear this moment into his brain and hope later, when she left, he’d understand that it wasn’t because of him.
He bent his head to her neck, kissing and nuzzling down to her collarbone. His touch was light and tender and reverent. He worshiped her skin, moving lower until he got to the scar over her heart—the one she had seared into her own flesh to protect herself from evil. His tongue was warm and wet and soft against her.
He reached up and wrapped his hand around her throat, covering the scar his father had inflicted upon her. Erotic energy throbbed through her at the feeling of his mouth over her heart while his hand covered her tenderest skin. She shivered, but it wasn’t quite a shi
ver, more like a jolt from raw nerves being sensually stroked. Holy wow.
Desire flared into an inferno. Who would’ve thought her erogenous zones were her neck and heart? Guess he knew that about her.
She caressed his shoulders—careful of the wound that looked so raw and painful, yet didn’t seem to faze him.
He shifted from her heart to her nipple, swirling his tongue around the bud in intoxicating circles that made her dizzy. He took her fully into his mouth and suckled her. His deep pulls shot hot waves of yearning down into her belly. “Cain, I want you. Now. Right now.”
“I’ll give you everything you want. And more.” His hands moved to her breasts, cupping them from underneath as if treasuring the weight of them against his palms, and then his mouth moved lower to her stomach, then her belly button. She lost track of his hands and tongue, the sensations of his touch overwhelming her mind and leaving her a raw mass of writhing sensation.
He buried his nose in the mass of strawberry-blond curls at the juncture of her thighs and inhaled deeply.
“You smell primal. Like sex and cum.” His words were hot and dirty and had the same effect as the most sensual of touches. They made her want him even more.
“Open your legs for me,” he whispered.
It took a moment for his words to sink in. No, he didn’t intend to… Not after… Her head shot up off the pillow to look at him.
His expression was intense. Eyes full of animalistic promise. “I want to taste us.”
A wave of pure carnal lust hit her so hard her body rocked from the power of it.
Of their own volition, her legs fell open, an invitation to continue if she’d ever seen one.
She watched as he lowered his mouth—her body aching, aching, aching for that first touch. And when it came, his tongue against her tender flesh was a nirvana of sensation. Wet and hot and full of wonder. He licked her opening in one long, luscious stroke that set her right on the precipice of orgasm.
His fingers found her opening, sliding into her as her hips rose to meet them, begging for more. Because she needed more. She needed all of it. All of him. As if sensing her need, he rose over her, staring down at her.
He bent to kiss her at the same time he withdrew his fingers. She groaned at the loss, but then moaned a sound of ecstasy as he filled her with himself. His mouth landed on hers, the taste an aphrodisiac. Sensation overwhelmed her. Her body rejoiced.
And yet deep inside, her soul wept, for it knew this was the last time they’d be together.
Chapter 14
Murderabilia is estimated to be a $150 million industry. But this figure is likely low since most murderabilia sales are conducted through black-market sites.
—Kay Vassar, Black Market Economics
The hospital elevator dinged an oddly ominous sound. Or maybe Cain just thought it sounded ominous because he hated hospitals, hated being in public, hated waiting. The longer they stood here, the greater the chances someone would recognize him and Mercy.
His arm was wrapped around her, her head leaning on his shoulder, one hand on his chest, the other around his back—no mistaking their intimacy level. Not that he was ashamed of the relationship. Not at all. He just wanted everyone on the planet to mind their own damned business.
After an eternity and two forevers passed, the elevator doors slid open.
A man in a suit with slicked-back salesman hair stepped off the elevator, glanced at them, then froze midstride, blocking the entrance. His attention bounced back and forth between the two of them. “You’re Killion. And you’re Mercy Ledger.” The awe in his tone was unmistakable.
Cain fucking hated assholes like this. “I’m. Not. Killion.” The words came out sounding like a threat. God, he loathed the name Killion and its attachment to him.
“Yeah, I know. You’re Killer Killion’s Kid. Triple K.” His voice sounded like he was reciting facts pulled directly from a spreadsheet. “Hey, I’m Ken Jackson with News 5. I’d love to interview you both. Here’s my card.” Seemingly out of thin air, he conjured up a business card. When neither of them reached for it, he said, “I can offer a paid interview. How’s three grand sound?”
“Sounds great.” Mercy’s tone oozed fake excitement. Only this dumbass was too one-track-minded to hear it. “But I have a few minor stipulations.”
“I’m sure we can work them out. What are they?” He gave his hand holding the business card a go-ahead-and-grab-it shake.
“First, I need to ask you a question.” Mercy’s words carried weight, but he suspected Ken didn’t realize she was probably going to bash him upside the head with the heft of them.
“Oh sure, anything.”
“What’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to you?” she asked with full-on serious curiosity.
Ken’s face went utterly blank, as if Mercy had spoken a language unknown to man.
The elevator doors—still blocked by Ken Jackson—began to slide shut. No way was Cain going to stand here waiting again. He reached around Mercy and stopped them. Then maneuvered Mercy and himself around Ken and into the space. Ken followed their progress, card still outstretched.
“Ken, I need to know the worst thing that’s happened to you.” Mercy’s tone was all fake concern. “Then I need to broadcast it daily, write books about it, and make movies and TV shows about your tragedy. After twenty years of grinding it in your face, I’ll happily give you your interview. Because then you’ll have a clue what it’s like.”
Ken opened his mouth to say something, but Mercy sliced her hand through the air in an unmistakable shut-up-and-listen gesture.
“I know what you want. You want to break some big news story about us being together.” Mercy raised her hands and made air quotes. “Twenty Years Later: The Unlikely Lovers.” She spoke the words in a dramatic announcer’s voice. “Come on. Can’t you come up with anything better?”
I know what you want. This was part of her. She could see bad intentions. She’d outright said it back at the cabin, hinted at it in bed, but here it was playing out in front of him.
Ken’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “How’d you know I was—”
“You’ll spin our story until there’s only a thread of truth, because truth isn’t important to you. But I get it. You’re not happy at your job. You think you deserve better.”
The elevator began to slide toward Ken’s outstretched arm. He was a persistent little fucker. At the last possible moment, he dropped the business card and withdrew his hand. The white rectangle of paper fluttered to the floor. Neither of them stooped to pick it up.
“I hate that kind of person,” Mercy said. “Always trying to get something out of us. It’s sick.”
“Yep.” Couldn’t have handled the situation any better. Hell, he wouldn’t have handled it. He would’ve headed for the nearest exit, but Mercy had handled it like a fighter. Landing some blows the guy didn’t even realize he was receiving until it was over. She was magnificent.
“You knew all about him.”
Pink tinted her cheeks.
“I didn’t doubt you or think you were lying, but wow—you really do know when people have bad intentions.”
“Ever since…you know…that day.”
The day his father killed her family and tried to kill her. It was weird how his father had created Cain’s relationship with blood and somehow through his actions had given Mercy the ability to see bad intentions. That wasn’t normal. Hell, none of this was normal. But now wasn’t the time to be deep thinking all this shit.
He turned to her, stepped into her space, and pushed her back against the wall, savoring her soft curves against his sharp angles. “Is it wrong that the way you handled that turns me the fuck on?” He took her mouth.
She opened to him, her tongue dancing with his. She slid her hand down the back of his jeans onto his bare ass and squeezed. Damn.
His dick grew hard just wishing she’d squeeze it that way.
He couldn’t get enough of her. She was his oxygen. Necessary to his survival.
The elevator dinged that terrible tone again. He forced himself to pull back from her. Her eyes remained closed. Her lips looked just kissed and so deliciously red his mind conjured up a picture of her on her knees taking him into her mouth. He wanted to make that happen. Right here. Right now. But yeah—talk about giving the reporter something juicy to write about.
Her lashes fluttered open. “You steal a piece of me every time you do that.”
“Good. Soon I’ll have all you.”
She smiled, only there was something sad in the way her lips tipped upward. Something that scared him. Something that almost brought him to his knees.
He started to ask about her sorrow, but the doors slid open to the sound of quiet crying. A young woman sat in a cluster of chairs across from the elevator, sobbing into her hands.
As if being in a hospital wasn’t hard enough, witnessing undiluted grief was a real heart ripper.
Cain followed Mercy off the elevator and into the hallway. Someone moaned and called out for Mona. A machine beeped an incessant sound. A cluster of nurses quietly gossiped, not even looking up as he and Mercy walked by.
Good. At least no one on the fifth floor recognized them yet. He wrapped his arm around Mercy’s shoulders, and she leaned into him, hugging his waist as they headed toward Mac’s room. It felt so right to be walking with her like this. As if they’d done it a million times and had the muscle memory to prove it. Relief cooled any residual worry he carried. She responded to him, so maybe that look she’d given him… Maybe he’d misinterpreted it.
Outside room 509, he rapped his knuckles on the closed door.
“Come in.” Mac’s voice sounded strong and sure.
Cain pushed open the door, conscious that he was holding his breath.
