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“She said we were end goals, and her heart belonged to me, but she had wandering eyes and was happy to give her body to anyone who commented on it.”
I breathed deeply, listening to the words he didn’t say...lots of people commented on it.
“I took her away on a make-or-break trip to Mexico. And that’s where she was taken. Me, too.” He took a moment. A breath. And then he continued typing.
“We were ambushed by five men. I wasn’t prepared. I took a bad hit to the head, and they almost left me behind. But one guy convinced the others I was worth something. I woke up in a room that I’d never seen, surrounded by other men. We were all naked. All bruised.” The heavy words felt so weird, spoken by such a monotonous voice.
“They were quiet. Well behaved. I wasn’t. I screamed, insulted, ridiculed, and as a result, one of those fuckers tried to cut out my tongue. I got a lucky punch in and killed the guy. He was my first kill.”
Mercer’s heart was racing now.
“I got out of the room, two of the other captives daring to run with me. They were the distraction I needed in order to find Chandelle. I never did find out what happened to them. But I found her in another warehouse in the area, similar to where I was kept but set-up for medical work. She was cut open, her heart already gone. Lungs and kidneys, too. It changed me. I went from medical graduate to murderer. I killed the doctor. Shot him with a gun I stole from the man who butchered me.”
“I was ready to put it to my head and pull the trigger. Then I saw an invoice with a name. Yours. And something inside told me not to do it. I waited in that room for what felt like hours…waiting for someone to come.”
“I was stitching my tongue, my shaking hands making a mess of it, when they finally did. There were too many of them for my bullets to save me. I had to run. I grabbed a few files, some that would lead me back to the monsters’ den and one that would lead me to you. I went back with help, but the whole place had been cleared.”
“I started working in art, remembering childhood stories that Nonna told me of all the dodgy people my Nonno met in that industry. It wasn’t long before one came along, and he led me to the others. I found three of the five men I was looking for quicker than I thought I would. But I didn’t find the others for months and never saw Chandelle again.”
I rubbed his chest, feeling the tension beneath my fingers caused by his pain and guilt.
“And it hurts to admit that my love was fading before her death. Deep down, I knew we wouldn’t last. But I hate that our time together was cut short by others. Our choice to fight for us was taken away.
“I hate the guilt that tells me it was my fault because I took her on that vacation. I hate the fucking world because there’s so much evil in it. And because I became part of it.”
“Because you took me.”
“With the intention to make you feel like I did when I found her, her heart missing and mine broken. I wanted you to fall for me, and I wanted to rip your heart to shreds. I wanted you to feel guilty for having it.”
“I do.”
His hands were in my hair again, finding more knots and brushing them out.
“You shouldn’t. You didn’t know. You didn’t do anything wrong. You were just a woman wanting to live. Accepting something you thought was meant for you. I just needed someone to share the guilt with. It was wrong to put that blame on you. And aside from that stupid fucking trip, you’re the only thing in my life I’m sorry for.”
“You don’t need to be sorry. People do crazy things when they're in pain.” I hid my gaze from him, knowing his reaction before I even said the next part. “My father did.”
Mercer turned to stone. His hand stopped combing my hair, the other rapidly typing another message.
“There’s no excuse for what he did...” His fingers paused on the device. “But I can understand why he wanted to save you, why he’d do anything to save you. I don’t even know what would have happened if you and I had somehow met when Chandelle was alive.”
He took a swig from the bottle before dumping it at his side. “We’d be over anyway, but at least she’d still be alive. And I would feel less guilty for how badly I fucking want you.”
My eyes found his icy blue ones, surprise wiping away new tears. “I wish she was still alive, too. I wish things—so many things—were different. I wish I never needed a transplant.”
Mercer nodded, agreeing with me.
“I wish Chandelle didn’t have her life cut short, and you didn’t have the guilt. I wish you didn’t have to hate my father because he really was a good man. Naïve but good. I don’t think he knew someone would be taken off the street for me to have their heart.”
Mercer didn’t answer.
But his gaze softened.
He still hated my father, needing to share the blame for this situation with someone, and I could live with that, as painful as it might be on birthdays and anniversaries when I would want to celebrate his life.
But, at least, Mercer didn’t kill the last man he hated. The only other man I ever cared about.
Someone else already had.
