by JB Salsbury
My pulse races and I tell myself to chill; she has to be on property somewhere.
I search the second floor, peeking into spare bedrooms, spare bathrooms, even hall closets. I jog down the steps to search the lower level and still nothing. I race outside, past a couple of dogs lounging on the grass.
“Mercy!”
But there’s no sign of her.
“Hey,” I call to the guards at the gate. “Have you seen Mercy?”
They shake their heads. I run out to the citrus trees, but why would she be out here after dark? Circling the mansion to the back where the servants’ quarters are located, I call for her again.
“I’m looking for Mercy, have you seen her?”
The gardener shakes his head and ducks back into his place.
“Shit.” I peek in windows and race around the small cabin-like buildings but don’t see her anywhere.
Don’t freak out. She’s around here somewhere. She has to be.
I head toward the end of a row of bungalows. Away from the lights of the main house, the dark makes it difficult to see. My stomach pinches when I think that Mercy might be out here and lost with her poor vision. Maybe she’s in the garage? It’s the only other place I haven’t checked outside of Esteban’s private quarters.
I turn toward the entrance to the underground parking when a flash of pale hair catches my eye. There, tucked into a large overhang of bougainvillea, is Mercy.
She’s kneeling, her long hair loose and falling down her back, head bowed. My instinct is to call out to her, but something about how still she is has me moving slowly to keep from disturbing her. As I get closer, I hear the whisper of her voice floating on a steady, almost musical rhythm. A flicker of light illuminates the scene before her.
A three-foot tall statue of the Virgin Mary is surrounded by a half dozen patron saint prayer candles lit and flickering in the dark. Mercy’s hands are knotted in her lap as panels of her hair veil her face from my view.
I lose my breath as I stare at her. Selling Mercy as an angel would’ve been easy for her captors. Even now I feel as though I’m standing on sacred ground.
“Mercy?”
She doesn’t startle, but her lips stop their frantic chant and she lifts her head to look at me. The candlelight against her face makes her equal parts beautiful and terrifying as she blinks out of whatever prayerful meditation she was in.
I step closer. “What are you doing out here?”
She focuses back on the statue. “How did you find me?”
I kneel to sit close to her, so close that our thighs touch. “I’ll always find you, mi alma. Did you not want to be found?”
“I found this shrine a while ago.” Her non-answer makes me think she’s disappointed I’m here. “I don’t know how long it’s been since it was used. It was covered in overgrown vines, but I cleared it out.”
“You come here every night?”
“No, only when I have something to pray about.”
I risk a touch and untangle her hands, pulling one of hers between mine at my lap. “What were you praying about?”
“I was praying for answers.” She turns toward me then, her eyes glistening, but I can’t tell if she’s fighting tears or if it’s an optical illusion from the candles.
“Did you get any?”
She goes back to staring straight ahead.
“I’m sorry I stood you up for dinner.” I clear my throat. “I’m—”
She blows out each candle with a quick puff of air and rises in one fluid motion, the only sound the crunching leaves beneath her feet. I follow her, the need to have her in my arms undeniable. I can’t explain it, only that I feel her slipping away and I don’t know how to fix it other than to hold on tighter.
Her arms wrap around my middle, and her cheek pressed against my chest reassures me.
“Hungry?”
She nods and squeezes. “I’m sorry.”
“Hey.” I lean back to catch her gaze. “You have nothing to be sorry about. These last few weeks have been hard on you. I know you worry about the things I can’t tell you, but please”—I kiss her forehead and speak against her skin—“please know that everything I do is for us.”
“Okay.”
Surprised by her easy agreement, I peer down only to find her smiling at me.
She grabs my hand and tugs me back toward the main house. “I’m starving.”
“Hey.” I dig my heels in, and she’s forced to turn around. I study the softness of her eyes, the tiny upturn of her lips. She seems . . . okay. “Are you sure? I mean, are you really good now?”
“Yes.” She smiles and turns back around.
Huh. If I had known that spending time at this shrine would’ve settled her down, I would’ve had one put into every room in the house.
She tells me about her day, going on and on without a hint of the irritation I saw in her this morning. I try to stay rooted in the moment, but I can’t ignore the flicker of warning that tells me something doesn’t feel right about her complete change in mood.
We climb the steps to our room as Maria walks out of it, followed by the scent of fire-roasted green chilies. I thank her and lead Mercy inside before locking the door.
The table is set with woven placemats and two plates of steaming chile relleno in front of the open patio doors. I pull out Mercy’s chair for her before taking my own.
I had been so caught up in my mission at Zona Norte that I hadn’t eaten anything all day and didn’t realize how hungry I was until that first bite. Mercy is quiet while she takes small bites. I wish she’d eat more, but I say nothing in order to keep from sounding like an overpowering dickface.
“I taught Toro to speak today.” She sips from her water, her playful eyes shining just over the rim of her glass.
“Oh yeah? Spanish or English?”
She laughs, and fuck me, the sound burrows into my chest and spreads warmth throughout my entire body. Before too long, my plate is empty and she’s put down her fork.
“Are you finished?”
“Yes.” She moves to stand and clear the plates, but I beat her to it.
“I got it. I’ll take these to the kitchen and be right back.” I stack the plates and leave the water pitcher and glasses. “Can I grab you anything while I’m down there?”
“No, thank you.”
I get to the kitchen and back to Mercy as quickly as I can. I have an irrational fear that I’ll blink and her good mood will be gone.
When I get back to the room, she’s no longer at the table. A shuffling sound comes from the bathroom and the door is open, so I cross the room to check on her. I stumble in the doorway when I find her completely naked with her back toward me. Her tattooed wings are on full display. She has all her hair pulled over one shoulder and is running her fingers through it. Delicate shoulders taper to a small, soft waist and flare into womanly hips that beg for my hands. The black-and-grey wings stretch from the tips of her shoulders and end at the round globes of her backside. My blood pumps furiously and my fingers itch to run over every square inch of her beautiful form.
She turns around, and my breath catches in my throat. “Is uh . . .” I swallow through the thickness in my throat. “Are you taking a shower?”
She crosses toward me, and it’s all I can do to hold myself back from pouncing on her. “No.”
Gracias a Dios. “This is for me?”
She stops in front of me, but not close enough that I can touch. “Yes.”
I step forward and look down at her perfectly white skin. She drops her hands, offering herself to me. I push back her hair to expose her bare breasts tipped with pale pink nipples. My fingertips skate along her downy soft neck to her collarbone and lower. Her chest rises and falls faster, and goose bumps follow in the wake of my touch.
“You have no idea how much I need you.” I need her to take away the horrible things I’ve done. To purify my soul the way only she can. Only for her can I justify the levels to which I’ve sunken.
She closes the space between us, sliding her hands up my chest to my shoulders and locking them behind my neck. Just like the first time, I’m drawn into the blue pools of her eyes as electricity hums through my body, tethering itself to hers. “Then take me.”
I grasp her hips and roughly bring us together, her front fitting perfectly to mine. “You were made for me, mi alma.”
She swallows the last of my words as our mouths come together in a spine-tingling kiss. My hands sift into her hair, tilting her head as I curl over her, delving deeper and drinking from her lips like a man on the verge of death. Her legs give out, and I catch her with one arm wrapped around her back, pulling her closer and keeping her upright.
I walk clumsily backward, not wanting to give up her mouth but needing to get her to the bed. Her fingers dig into my arms as if she’s holding on for her life as the power of our passion threatens to destroy us. I stumble and reach back to feel a chair, then I fall into it and bring her with me. She straddles my lap and devours my mouth in a way she never has before. My scalp tingles as she runs her short nails through my hair, clawing to get closer as if she wants to crawl inside my body.
“Milo,” she huffs against my lips. “Please.”
I pop the button on my jeans, but she shoves my hands out of the way and finishes the job. My stomach flip-flops at the desperate way she pulls me free. She rips at my shirt, and I sit up to help her as she pulls it off over my head.
“Mercy—”
Her mouth comes down on mine. I groan and pull her closer to feel her bare skin against mine.
My mind spins and tumbles, a million different thoughts fading away to be replaced by one dire request. “I want inside you.”
Her hips shift forward, and my head falls back as she takes me into her body.
“Oh my . . .” I breathe through the mind-numbing heat that envelops me and the tight grip that threatens to unman me. “I love you.”
She leans forward and nips at the tattoo on my throat. “I love you.”
Her lips find mine, and for a few seconds, we breathe. Our gazes lock, our bodies connected as we share every breath. She settles deeper into my lap. I shift my position, and she gasps against my mouth.
We move in unison as though we’ve done it a million times before, yet everything feels so new. Unexplored and exciting while also feeling like coming home. We comfort each other with whispered words of appreciation and encouragement. Our love-making is like nothing I’ve experienced in my life, and we climb together. I lick down her neck to her chest and suck at her breasts until she reaches the peak and throws her head back in ecstasy. I grip her throat, and her pulse roars against my palm. I feel the vibration of her moan slide down my arm and straight between my legs to toss me over the edge right behind her.
I bite my lip, my breath shuttering in and out my nose as I empty myself inside her. My vision blurs as my orgasm seems to go on forever and my fingers flex against her neck. Her hands grasp my wrist and I worry I’m holding her too tightly, but when I move to let her go, she only holds me to her. I use my hold to pull her face close and kiss her gently while using my thumb on her jaw to soothe her into releasing my arm.
Eventually she lets go, and I remove my hand from her neck only to replace it with my lips. I bathe her throat with worshipful kisses. “You’re amazing. You feel perfect wrapped around me, like we were designed to fit together.”
She winds her arms around my neck, and with her lips at my ear, I can feel her smile.
“I’m so sorry.”
When she takes in my expression, her eyebrows pinch together. “For what?”
My cheeks get hot and I wish like hell I didn’t have to say anything, but what kind of an asshole wouldn’t? “No condom.”
She looks down to where we’re still connected. I really wish she wouldn’t because it’s making me hard again and I don’t want to be selfish—any more selfish than I’ve already been with her. “Oh, that’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. I just . . .” I run a hand through my hair, still feeling a little light-headed. “I got caught up.”
From the peaceful look on her face, she doesn’t seem too bothered. “I don’t mind. I like it when you get caught up.”
I chuckle and run my hands up her bare thighs. With a little help, I lift her from my lap and take us both to the bed. After kicking off my jeans, I crawl in and tuck us both under the covers before pulling her to my chest.
This is the first time in a long time that I’ve felt completely at peace. The things I’ve been doing for Esteban, the hunt for the people who hurt Mercy—right now, none of those things exist. The only person on my mind is the woman in my arms. She nuzzles up against my neck, and I smile into the dark.
“Are you staying?” she asks.
“No place I’d rather be than here with you, Güera.”
At least for now. Until the angry stir of revenge comes back and forces me out of this bed and back to hunting down the people who wounded the purest soul on this planet.
Mercy
THE WAY MY heart is pumping and my thoughts spin, it’s no wonder I can’t fall asleep. My bare torso is pressed against Milo’s ribs, and I hope he can’t feel my hammering pulse. I close my eyes and steady my breathing.
I must eventually doze off because I’m jerked awake when he gently untangles my body from his and slips out of bed. He covers me with the bed sheets and kisses my lips before I watch him disappear into the closet. He clicks on the light just before closing the door behind him.
I roll off the side of the bed and scamper to get dressed in the clothes I hid beneath the bed earlier today. I yank on baggy jeans and a bra, setting the black hoodie sweatshirt aside before hurrying to get back under the covers to pretend I’m asleep.
Milo eventually emerges in dark clothes. He stops by the bed, and I hold my breath to keep from giving myself away. Thankfully he doesn’t stay long and turns to leave, closing me inside the room.
I move fast, kicking off the sheets and throwing on the sweatshirt. My palms sweat and my hair sticks to my fingers as I stuff the unruly locks beneath the hood.
I tiptoe to the patio doors and slip outside. My mouth is dry and my limbs shake as I climb over the railing to the iron trellises that line the house’s exterior walls.
I hadn’t noticed the ladder-like structures covered in thick flowering vines until yesterday, while I watched the groundskeeper trim the vines. Why would I have noticed them? I never needed an escape plan until now.
Thorns stab my palms, and I bite the inside of my mouth to keep from whimpering. I only have minutes to get to the garage unnoticed. My foot slips, and I’m pulled down by own weight. I struggle to regain my grip but lose and slide free. I hit the dirt and flowers below with a dull thud and cry out silently. My lungs burn, and it takes a minute to regain my breath. Without time to check for injuries, I crawl along the flowerbeds to get to the service door behind the garage and hope it’s still unlocked.
The benefit of being stuck on property for months is I’ve learned where every door and private entrance is. I’ve walked the grounds and know each employee’s routine, which makes my plan to slip away unnoticed easier than I anticipated.
Voices come from the kitchen window above my head—Milo and another man speaking in Spanish.
I crouch low and race across the lawn to the back of the underground garage. When I turn the handle, I hold my breath and say a silent prayer of thanks when it opens. I dart inside. The stairwell is dark, and I use the handrail to guide me to the lower level.
I stop mid-step at the sound of movement and voices coming from deep inside the garage. Milo couldn’t have beaten me down here. There must be other people in the garage. My back glued to the wall, I strain to listen for a familiar voice. They’re too mumbled for me to pick up on anything specific, so I take my chance and crawl through the doorway before I duck behind a large truck.
I squint in the direction of the voices and see a black van with the back
doors open. Men are loading the vehicle with crates filled with something.
Milo must be making a delivery tonight. I need to get in that van to hitch a ride out of here, but there are too many people for me to do it without being seen.
Discouragement that I came this far only to have to turn around and crawl back into bed makes me sag against the rough concrete wall.
A door slams and I startle. I duck low to see the boot-clad feet of two men. Must be Milo and Sancho. Once they pass by, I belly-crawl to the next car then the next, only stopping when Milo’s feet come to a stop at the driver’s side door of the car I’m hiding behind.
Milo barks something in Spanish and slides behind the wheel of the El Camino. He fires up the engine. If I don’t hurry, I’ll miss my chance.
I hop up and over with soft feet and hide in the bed of the El Camino. I tuck my hands into my sleeves and my chin to my chest. My hood slips from my head, but I can’t fix it or I’ll get caught, so I try to make myself as small as possible. Milo steps on the gas, and I have to wedge my body into the corner closest to his back to keep from sliding around the bed.
I mentally calculate where we are—driving out of the garage, through the estate grounds, then we stop for what I assume is the security gate. I hold my breath and pray Milo isn’t feeling chatty. That would give the guards a chance to peek into the back and find me.
I hear the creaking metal of the gate opening and press my body into the corner. The car lurches forward. My head slams against the metal, and my hair gets caught on something. I pull away with a sharp sting on my scalp and a groan rumbles in my throat, but thankfully, the sound is lost to the whipping wind.
After a few adjustments, I tuck my head deep into my hood and find a comfortable enough position by wedging myself between the wheel well and the bed panel.
Whatever secrets Milo is hiding, I’ll find out tonight.
NOT LONG AFTER we left the compound, I stretched out to relieve my aching muscles and watch the stars streak by. I’m unaware of how much time has passed as the gentle rumble of the El Camino lulls me.
