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Mercer
They were late. Of course, they were. In my experience, the best artists rarely showed up on time. It was like they knew you would cancel your plans because they had what you wanted. The medical field wouldn’t have this issue, my internal thoughts reminded me.
I wandered back to the house from the custom outdoor office at the far side of the lake. A pretty wooden building that, in reality, was no more than a glorified shed that had been decorated nicely.
Curiosity over what Feebee was painting today pulled me in...but I also wanted to avoid Nonna, who had made her way into the office and was interrupting Ethan, who paced back and forth, flustered with the constant voicemail he got during every attempt at getting ahold of Damiano. The guy was fucking late today, and unlike the artist, I had no desire to offer him leniency.
I lingered by a set of shelves behind my sofa, growing irritated by the sound of the food mixer—that Nonna had left running—making its way in from the kitchen. A photo sat atop the shelf. Chandelle, watching my every move. A necklace she loved hung over the silver frame...a blue heart. Some would say it looked like one from a very famous movie. I would say it resembled my own. Blue and cold, often in need of thawing. I examined the silver chain between my fingers, wondering why it had been left here to collect dust.
A noise from upstairs grabbed my attention. My eyes moved, acting as if they had the power to see through thick ceilings.
Paranoia...a dangerous fucking thing.
I could run up there now, and Feebee would look at me stupidly again, wondering why I was so panicked over her squealing over a stiff neck...like yesterday. The truth was, I always thought the worst these days...thought she could have had a serious fall...an injury.
I tried to ignore the niggling in my brain that told me something was up. And I managed to do that for about six seconds. I tapped some buttons on my smartwatch, the device already connected to the cameras in the house, and I saw life through the camera in the eyes of a stuffed toy—a little brown bear in red overalls. I saw Feebee’s room, but I couldn’t see her from this angle.
My stomach dropped, seeing her pink wheelchair sidewards on the floor. Another sound echoed. My feet moved before my brain caught up, and then another noise—a soul-crushing scream of a woman in absolute terror.
“Mercer!”
I bolted up the stairs, long legs rushing up three at a time, and I rounded the corner, falling through her door because my feet moved too fucking quickly.
I froze for a second, and my brain finally caught up, registering that Damiano was in the house, that Feebee was on the floor, and he was stabbing into her with his ugly fucking dick.
A giant piece of glass was pressed to her throat, making her eyes roll back, hiding the terror in them. They finally found mine. I hadn’t heard her fearful screams over the fucking mixer—which had conveniently stopped—and Ethan and Nonna squabbling about pointless shit.
“Please...stop him.”
I didn’t even fucking hear her. I didn’t hear the laugh that Damiano had the nerve to release when my eyes landed on him.
All I heard was white noise.
My limbs moved through the motions, my foot kicking at the shard in Damiano’s hand before my hands dragged Feebee out from under him, freeing her of his invading cock.
I spun around with her in my arms, delivering a kick to the side of his head. Dropping her on the bed, she huddled beneath the sheets, hiding her nudity. Her gold nightdress in tatters, still hanging off her shoulders, made her look small and vulnerable. And so did her fucking tears. I brushed a soft thumbpad over a bruise on her cheek, smearing tears into her skin.
She clutched my wrist with both hands, her touch fearful and frail, as I leaned down on the bed. My nostrils flared, the heat from my anger giving her cold body a little warmth. My jaw ticked, infuriated as I heard him stir. I hated that I hated to do it, especially with the “please don’t” falling from her trembling lips repeatedly, but I gently peeled her touch from me.
“I need you,” she begged.
My shoulders rose and fell as I fumed in silence. I picked up the shard of glass that had been held to her throat, and I placed it in her hand for protection before I careened to Damiano, who was stumbling to his feet, those ugly fucking boots covering them, as always.
He pushed his bloody cock into his pants and zipped them up. “I thought I’d test her out, that’s all. Don’t worry, I’m clean.”
My eyebrows lifted. My eyes widened, furious by the words I fucking heard. Those were it for him. His final fucking words. Not giving him time to say more, I launched myself at him, and my fist drove into his ugly fucking face. His head bounced off the window, causing a slight crack in the glass.
But he was stronger than me, with twice as much muscle, and his body spun us around. He slammed an elbow into my ribs, and I hit the window, too, shattering the fucking thing and almost falling out of it.
“Mercer!” Feebee screamed, with panic and concern.
A single look her way, witnessing firsthand how frightened she was, changed everything. I hated that she was so frightened. Hated that Damiano was the fucking reason. I saw her sitting there through a vision of red, and because of it, I threw my whole weight at Damiano, and he hit one of the four posts of her bed, toppling onto it and landing on her legs.
She screamed, desperate to get away, but he was too heavy. Her eyes flew to me, watching as I picked up her broken paintbrush and stabbed it into the cock that had violated her.
He screamed so fucking loudly, and then he writhed toward the edge of the bed, allowing Feebee the freedom to drag herself away.
Her spine pressed against the wooden headboard, and her arms dragged her knees to her chest. No part of her wanted to be near him.
