by K. L. Savage
“We aren’t leaving. This is our family. Families fight sometimes, things get messy and out of control, but family always finds a way back. Plus, this is our home. The one you’re building. Do you have any idea how beautiful this room is? We are staying.”
He doesn’t say anything. If anything, a cloud of disappointment hangs over his head, but he will thank me for it later. He scoops me up in his arms and takes me back into the bathroom where the bathtub is so I can look out the window. The faucet is gold and the handles glimmer in what’s left of the sun dropping behind the mountains. The cactuses are a black outline in the distance, and the stars are poking through the last muted orange in the sky as nightfall takes over.
“We can’t get your bandage wet, so no washing your hair yet,” he informs me.
“I like it when you play doctor.” I step into the tub, and the hot water has me sighing as the heat tingles the bottoms of my feet.
“I’m not good at it. I’m trying to listen to Doc,” he says, grabbing a rag from the oak shelf he made himself. He dips the sage colored rag into the water, then squirts honey scented body wash on it and rubs the material together to create suds.
I don’t want to let on how much pain I’m in. The burn on my chest is doing exactly that—burning. I want to be hooked up to that IV sooner rather than later to get the pain medicine. He drifts the rag down my leg, the white foam of the soap bubbling along my shin. He takes his time like he always does with me. He never hurries when my body is literally in his hands.
His callouses scratch the back of my knee as the rag drifts up to my inner thigh, then back down. Sex is intimate of course, but have you ever had someone choose to bathe you? To care for you? I never knew how connected it would make me feel. Having hands that have known no mercy on me, treating me like spun strands of gold, is like experiencing a miracle.
Naturally, my body responds to him. The space between my legs grows hot and my nipples tighten, but I don’t have the energy to do anything about it. I want to enjoy his hands on me. I moan when he dips his hand between my legs and washes my most vulnerable place. He doesn’t hover or linger like a part of me wants him to.
The warm water cascading down my right breast, careful to avoid the bandage, has my eyes hooding with lust and relaxation. Who needs R&R when I have L&R? Lust and relaxation.
Holy moly, his hands feel good.
“I can’t get over the fact that I get to be the man that touches your body.”
“I can’t get over the fact that I’m the woman on the receiving end of your touch,” I return his compliment and watch as he looks away from me.
So shy when it comes to compliments because he doesn’t think he is worthy.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
“For what?” I close my eyes when he starts to massage my calves. He digs into the muscle with his thumbs and I tilt my head back, resting it against the small pillow attached to the tub.
“For saving me.”
I open my eyes and get a view of the high cathedral ceiling before tilting my chin to look at him. His beard has grown out a bit, and his hair is a bit shaggy and dark, matching the color of his eyes. The sage green of the bathroom wall brings out the golden hues in his eyes, but I can see a hint of garnet. The color really shines when he sees blood.
“I’ll always save you, Comet. You never have to ask. It will always be something I do, like you do for me,” I state the truest fact I know deep in my soul.
He washes me off and grabs a soft, green towel that matches the rag he used. Tongue helps me stand by wrapping an arm around my waist, so he doesn’t have to tug on my arms. He pats me dry and his fingers brush down the side of my neck. I’m blushing fiercely.
“I like this,” he says, talking about the pink tint spreading down to my chest. “I like that I get a reaction like this out of you.” He places a soft kiss against the feverish skin, then wraps me in the towel. “Let me get you some fresh clothes and then we will settle you in bed again.”
Even though he just bathed me, every time he picks me up, I can smell the sweat and wood all over his skin, getting me dirty all over again. He sets me on the bed and walks to the closest, grabs another button-up shirt so it’s easy to remove for my bandage, and then a pair of panties.
In his large hand they look like pieces of scrap material.
I’m in the same spot he left me in. When he is in front of me, I lift my chin so I can see his handsome face. I have the luxury of seeing his body at this angle. It’s sculpted out of the hardest rock known to man. It has to be. The swell of his pecs show the strength in his chest, and his abs are hard ridges and valleys.
All eight of them.
I outline the ‘Unscarred’ tattoo again, loving how his stomach trembles from my touch. “Comet,” the name is shaking on a staggering breath. That beastly rumble in his chest has me looking down to see his cock hard beneath the prison of his jeans.
How does it fit inside me?
His hand tugs the towel free, his fingers teasing the curve of my breast. I gasp as the towel falls onto the bed and the air wraps around my nipples.
Instead of laying me down, he slides one arm through one sleeve and does the same with the other. “Tongue—”
“I won’t fuck you when you’re clearly in pain. I see it written all over your face.” He begins to button the shirt from the bottom to the top. He leaves two unbuttoned at the top, so the shirt doesn’t rub against my wound. He kneels, coasting his palms up the sides of my leg. Goosebumps arise all over my body, and my nipples tighten even further, something I didn’t know was possible.
When he gets to my thighs, his fingers dig into my skin and yanks them open. He lifts one leg, loops the panties around my ankle, and proceeds to repeat the motion for the other. He tugs them up and I lift myself off the bed so he can pull them up my butt.
Puffs of hot air coast over my pussy with how close his lips are to me. “I can smell how sweet you are for me,” he moans, burying his face between my legs and inhaling the scent he loves. The blunt edges of his nails pierce my skin and a sharp breath chokes me.
Holy Moly.
I want him.
“You test me, and in these moments, I do not want to be a good man.” He lays his head on my thighs and my hands drift over his inky strands, then down his back. He is warm and tense, hanging on by a thread, and I want to cut that thread in half.
It’s so tempting.
He stands slowly, dragging his nose up my body until he kisses the middle of my chest, works his way to my neck, and then his wide palm cups my cheek. I’m dizzy again, but not from pain, from him taking over my senses.
His lips slant over mine, and a slow dance of a kiss serenades my heat. I love his hand against my jaw, a gesture of how strong he is, how big his palm is compared to me, and how he controls the way our heads move for the kiss.
Control is Tongue’s anchor. If he doesn’t have that, he feels like he doesn’t have anything to bind him to the world without him becoming a bloodthirsty killer.
“Come on, let’s get you back to bed.” Tongue pulls away, the magnetism between us pulling tight as he breaks our kiss.
I’m high on our kiss, dazed, and I can hardly feel the pain in my chest. It’s a low throb compared the aching between my legs.
He tugs me around the bed, and I follow like a helpless puppy. I lay down and he hooks my IV up again.
“Doc filled these for me, so all I had to do was insert it.”
It isn’t long before my body feels numb. I hadn’t realized how much pain I was in until now. I can’t imagine how people with burns all over their body feel. It makes my heart go out to Moretti, even if he did turn his back on us and kidnap his brother.
“Can you hold me?” I ask him, not wanting him to go too far. I know I sound needy, but I just need to feel him surround me right now.
He strokes my cheek with his knuckles. “Like I could ever say no. I’m going to shower. I’ll be right back.”
“Ok
ay,” I slur a bit from the pain meds kicking in.
The mattress dips from the loss of his weight. He takes off his pants on his way to the bathroom and saliva pools in my mouth with I see that bubbled butt.
I want to bite it.
Grrr.
I giggle to myself.
“What’s so funny?” he asks.
“Thinking ‘bout that booty.” I hold out my hands and pretend to grab.
He chuckles, but somehow doesn’t manage to smile. “You’re cute when you’re high.”
“You’re cute,” I retort. “Take that.” I lift my nose in the air, proud of my witty comeback.
There it is.
That once-in-a-lifetime smile.
I could die happily right now knowing it’s the last thing I ever see.
The hiss of the shower lulls me into a light sleep. I’m in the veil between awake and asleep, and it is the kind of fog that’s wildly addicting. There are no thoughts, no fears, no panic, there’s nothing because the only thing that matters is sleep. Nothing. Else.
I don’t know how long I lie in the in-between, but the bed dips again and Tongue is there. His scent has my eyes opening, and his arm across my waist has me falling into a fog of safety instead. His skin is pink from the hot water and his wet hair tickles my shoulder as he puts his chin in the crook.
“Knock, knock.”
Tongue is up and out of bed with a knife in his hand in a matter of two seconds. The door opens and Tongue throws the blade through the air, barely missing the man’s head. It lands with a hard thump in the wall and Mercy ducks out of the way.
“Oh, it’s you.” Tongue sounds less than thrilled.
He snags the knife from the wall and when he turns around, I focus on the sweatpants he is wearing. They are gray, hanging low on his hips, and leave nothing to the imagination.
“It’s just me,” Mercy says. “I heard what happened, Daphne. Are you okay?”
“I’m great,” I say, scratching the tip of my nose. “How are you?”
“Um, well, I have a lot to tell you.”
“I want to know what you’re doing here,” Tongue interrupts him. He grabs the whetstone for his blade and wastes no time grinding the metal against stone.
“Reaper said I could find you here when I knocked on the clubhouse door. I came with those answers after doing some research. I figured you’d want to know, Daphne.” Mercy takes a step forward, then stops. His hand is bandaged from the other day, but he seems to be doing fine.
“Well, you could have knocked on our door.”
“I did, you didn’t answer, and I got worried,” Mercy says.
“Why? You don’t even know me,” I say, lifting my good arm in the air to make a point. “I just remind you of my mom. How did you know her?”
“May I?” Mercy asks Tongue as he eyes the spot at the edge of mattress to take a seat.
Tongue nods. “Any fasts movements and I’ll kill you.”
“No doubt about that,” Mercy says.
The bed dips again, but Mercy weighs less so the motion isn’t so significant. “What do you want to know first?” he asks me.
Even through my high goggles, I can tell he hasn’t slept. His beard isn’t combed, and his hair isn’t styled. His eyes are tinged red, like he has been crying. “Did you love my mom?” I ask.
He smiles as if he is remembering her fondly. “She was my first love. Look.” He digs into his back pocket, pulls out a black wallet, unfolds it, and slides out a square picture. “That’s us. She was eighteen and I was twenty. I was about to go join the Navy, an idea she loved and hated. We had been friends for years, but it was only that summer we realized our friendship was more than that. It was love.”
I’m careful with the photograph as I hold it. The edges are worn, the color is faded, but I can still recognize my mom. She has a beaming smile on her face that I had never seen before while growing up. I rub a finger over her face and inhale. She’s sitting on a motorcycle, arms wrapped around a much younger Mercy, who has dark hair in this picture. He is wearing a leather jacket, and her cheek is pressed against his back, like she’s holding onto him tight. She has on jeans and a t-shirt. Nothing fancy.
“I never saw her smile like this. I actually never saw her smile,” I say with realization. “What happened? Why weren’t you two together anymore?”
“I left for the Navy. I was in special ops, so the mission I was on was so secret she didn’t know about it. It was only supposed to be a few weeks. But I got captured. I was a Prisoner of War for a few years. I never got to send her a letter explaining it. I bet she thought I died.”
“But when you came back, why didn’t you search for her?”
“She was with another man. She had a family. I didn’t want to ruin that.”
“You should have!” I throw the picture at him. “Maybe she’d still be alive if you would have done something.”
“I didn’t know,” he chokes. His hand grips the middle of his shirt, right where his heart is. “God, I didn’t know. It’s all I have thought about. She was everything. She was… she was fucking everything, Daphne. I swear she’s the reason I lived when I was captured. I’d see her face every time they tortured me, and all I wanted to do was to get back home to her. I didn’t know…” he swallows, staring down at the black of his boots.
“You didn’t know what?” I hiss, angry at him, happy that my mom knew some form of happiness, and sad she didn’t get more of it like she deserved.
“I didn’t know when I left for the Navy that she was pregnant.” His eyes meet mine, then land on Tongue. “When I saw her with a little girl, my heart broke because we talked about having kids, and the man she was with didn’t love her. Not the way I did, not in the amount I did. He couldn’t.” He slaps his chest again. “I didn’t want to come between a family, but damn it, I regret it now. I regret it so fucking much.”
“Why?” I yell at him through tears, the high gone, but my heart pumping adrenaline.
“The other night, when I got home, I did some research. You looked too familiar to me. I brought up your mom’s name and your birth certificate, then checked the date you were born.” He blows out a breath and rubs his uninjured palm on his knees. “Eight months after the day I left.”
Holy Moly.
I suck in a deep breath. My mouth falls open in shock. I try to say something, anything, but the words don’t come out. Mercy continues.
“And there, on the original birth certificate, the father’s name was blank. She didn’t put down your father. She didn’t put down anyone, but you don’t know how badly I wanted to fill in that blank with Andrey Machado.” He reaches for my hand and rubs his thumb across it. “I also go by Mercy.”
My mind tunnels, racing at a thousand miles an hour. The only thing I can focus on is the lie surrounding my life. “So my dad… my dad isn’t even mine?”
“He raised you, so he is your father, but god, if I could turn back time, Daphne, I would have given anything to watch you grow up. I’m so envious.”
I pull my hand away, unable to stop the flow of tears when I think about what could have been different. “You saw us, and you turned your back.”
“Because I didn’t want to ruin whatever life your mother built for you. I didn’t know you were mine. I swear, Daphne. I had no idea or I would have.”
“Please, leave,” I point toward the door. My mind is swirling, and I hate it when it does this because usually it means I’m about to break. I don’t want to break. Not here. Not now.
“Daphne, I want to get to know you. I want to make up for lost time. I want to be the father I never got to be for you. I’ll do anything for a chance,” he begs.
“I need time to think. Please, go.” My voice hitches and I can’t stop the tears. He reaches for my hand again, and I pull it away with a small shake of my head. “Don’t.”
He picks up the photo, takes a picture of it with his phone, then hands it to me, sliding it into the palm of my hand. “This
should have always been yours.” He bends down and presses a dry kiss to my forehead. “I didn’t know I could love someone I didn’t know so quickly,” Mercy whispers. “But finding out I have a beautiful, strong daughter makes me realize the love a parent has for a child is instantaneous. I am so sorry.”
The leather of his cut rubs together as he straightens. His lashes stick together, wet with the tears he is keeping at bay. “Take care of her,” he tells Tongue, before doing what I want him to do.
He turns and leaves.
The door shuts softly and Tongue climbs onto the bed. We don’t speak, he doesn’t tell me everything is going to be okay, and he doesn’t lie to me. He holds me while I cry. He knows that’s all he can do because words cannot make me better.
I cry thinking about the life I could have had. I sob thinking about how happy my mother could have been. And I wail at the loss of it all.
I cry until I fall asleep while Tongue rubs his hands up and down my back to comfort me. I don’t know how long I sleep for, but I wake up to my cellphone vibrating on the nightstand. Tongue is sound asleep.
I answer it quickly, keeping my voice soft. “Hello?” I eye Tongue to make sure I’m not waking him.
“Daphne,” comes the voice of my father—well, the man I have always known as my father—stunning me silent. “You need to come home. Your Aunt Tina is in the hospital and it isn’t looking good.”
“Dad?” I ask, to make sure it’s who I think it is. “Why are you calling me in the middle of the night? I haven’t heard from you in months.” This can’t be him. He doesn’t call. Ever.
“Get here. Now.” Typical. He hangs up before I can ask if she is okay. He’s always hated talking on the phone. I just thought he’d want to talk for a minute if he missed me.
But regardless, I have to go.
My mind numbs and something flips in my brain.
I have to go home.
I have to go to Nola.
