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And it caused me tremendous pain to think about it.
But at least it wasn’t Mercer.
At least I would never have to hate the man I fell in love with so quickly, so undeniably, despite all of his flaws.
The robotic voice spoke again, interrupting all my thoughts and tarnishing them. “Tell me about your uncle.”
My shoulders slumped, and Mercer’s gaze turned sinister, promising he would kill another member of my family instead.
It would have broken me to pieces if he had hurt my father.
But, my uncle? I would thank him for it.
Mercer
Feebee had fallen asleep in my lap around an hour ago. Tears had dried her eyes closed after she told me of how her uncle—Samuel—would touch her, of how she had cried over the blood in her underwear, having no way to assess her injuries.
My blood was still boiling, only chilled slightly by the woman on top of me, still shivering despite my efforts to keep her warm. He had hurt her like that while she was recovering from major surgery. I fucking hated him for it.
The cunt overpowered every thought. He made it onto my kill list and said, step aside, motherfuckers, as he pushed his way to the top. Thoughts of how I could murder the asshole swirled with the liquor in my system. Burning anger flowed from my veins, dissipated by his perfect niece resting on my chest.
She woke to a quiet room where the fire still crackled a sweet lullaby, trying to croon her back to sleep. She fought it, rubbing tiredness from those pretty blue eyes.
I hadn’t slept, my bloodshot eyes were proof. However, the empty bottle at my side could also be blamed for those.
The scotch tainted every exhale. I felt drunk from it, or from my feelings for her. Lust. Need. Want. And yet, drained by all my other feelings. Disgust. Hatred. Rage.
Her soft hands roamed my chest, and my beating heart assaulted her palm.
“You’re still awake.”
I didn’t answer. Didn’t move.
“I think it’s time for bed.”
I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t rest until her uncle would never wake again. If she had fallen asleep at my side, not draped over me, I would have already been back at his door.
She twitched, her body fighting for the impossibility of getting closer to me.
“My stomach still hurts,” she told me, not waiting for my gaze to question her.
I swallowed down my anger for her. The alcohol in my system would soon push it back to the surface.
I couldn’t sleep, and I didn’t want to stay with my ass glued to this sofa all night, our bodies on display for when Ethan yanked the blankets off of us in the morning. So, with heavy feet, I stumbled, taking my first steps from the sofa.
The stairs were hard work. The wooden slats almost had me face-planting more than once. The thought of pinning Feebee to the steps, with me hovering over her stripped body, made my cock grow hard.
Dirty thoughts gave me another reason to feel guilty, and they stayed with me as we made our way across the hallway.
She clutched me tightly as we neared her room and the broken banister. Her face burrowed into my neck, her warm breath on my skin, making me hot. Her nails created another scratch on my skin beneath the shadow of tattoos, making my skin tingle and my cock ache harder than ever.
My bed welcomed her, the soft mattress molding to her delicate shape.
She didn’t stay still for long, searching through the dark before a modern lamp gifted a romantic glow to the room. The search for whatever it was she was looking for came to an end. Wrapped snuggly in the blanket from downstairs, she looked up at me with wide eyes.
“Where’s my...” she trailed off, changing what she was about to say. “Where’s the beanie?”
I moved to the bedside table to collect a pad of Post-it notes, not damaged by tonight’s weather.
