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“Who are you?” My uncle edged back some more, the blade dripping blood on the sheets, joining the previous similar stains as he continued to inch back. “What’s with the voice?”
“None of your fucking business,” the voice declared.
I admired that Mercer didn’t need both hands or even his eyes to type his messages. His icy blues stayed on my pitiful uncle, freezing him in place and causing him to shiver.
“It’s good to have you home, Feebee. Now, call off your dog, huh?” My uncle laughed, years of smoking making it wheezy and causing him to choke on his false bravado.
Mercer’s robotic voice laughed, too. The menacing echo stole all the sound from my uncle’s mouth.
“Apologize to her.”
“Excuse me?” Uncle Sam sat straighter. The grip on his knife tightened and set my hackles on edge. Mercer didn’t fail to notice, his bloody hand wrapping around the small of my waist.
“One chance. Do the right thing by your fucking niece, and I’ll let you live. Apologize. To. Her.”
Uncle Sam’s bloodshot eyes landed on me, raking over every hidden curve of the body he had seen far too much of.
“I’m sorry, Feebee, that you feel I did the wrong thing.”
God...talk about a narcissist’s attempt at apologizing. He shouldn’t have bothered. Focusing on something better, Mercer’s strong jaw, now ticking with exasperation, I looked away from the heartless liar. A tear rolled from my eye, wiped away by the softest touch.
Mercer’s lips pressed a kiss to my forehead, staying on my frown as he typed another message, his eyes not leaving the man in the room with us.
I could feel all the rage vibrate through him as I clutched his jacket, and the leather-looking fabric crinkled beneath my touch.
“If anyone else comes here looking to abuse her, please tell them she’s changed address. Spare me the hassle of hunting them down to murder them for even thinking they could touch her.”
My uncle’s whole body twitched, a tsunami of fear building inside him, anxiety riding the wave.
He was fine hurting me, someone who couldn’t fight back. But he was nothing more than a weak little man when it came to someone like Mercer. Someone who was a foot taller than him. His body and the anger filling it, so much fucking stronger than anything my uncle possessed.
Mercer’s lips left me, and I instantly felt the loss. But that loss evaporated when his arms scooped me up into a princess hold.
“I didn’t like your apology.” I typed the words, and they sounded through Mercer’s speaker. His eyes fell on me, the darker, sharper flecks telling me he didn’t, either. It was nowhere near good enough.
He took the keyboard from me as a teal wingback, which stood out in the room, accepted my weight.
He pivoted to my uncle, who stared down at his blade. A million thoughts ran across his face as he wondered who to stab…himself, or should he try his luck with Mercer.
But before he could make that decision, Mercer pulled him from the bed by his scruff and pajama bottoms, causing a wedgie that left little to the imagination. I gagged. The sight of him, the smell of his fear as it leaked from his cock and put another stain in this room. It all made me sick.
A kick to his ass as he picked at his wedgie broke at least two knuckles—given the scream that shook the room—and landed him at my pink-painted toes.
“Apologize in a non-narcissistic manner this time.” Mercer stood behind him, ensuring he couldn’t retreat and grab the knife he'd dropped on his fall.
His hand, despite the agony in his fingers, rubbed at his ass, the pain there giving him only a hint of understanding of what I’d felt. His face was a blubbering mess as he looked up at me. But there wasn’t a tear in sight. It was an act, a good one, that I would have believed if he wasn’t sitting close enough to see the lie holding onto each of his aging features.
“I’m sorry. Your father brought this on us.”
He still couldn’t take responsibility for his actions. My eyes rolled, seeing all the happy memories of my dad, seeing the good in him, like when he let this homeless creep into our lives and home because he couldn’t travel elsewhere with so many burned bridges.
I returned my gaze to him. I no longer saw him through the eyes of a trusting child. I saw the here and now. I saw Mercer’s fingers pressing into Sam’s oily face. And I heard his words rumble through the speaker, the tone somehow conveying hate.
“I’m sure he’d love to know that his brother started raping his baby girl only days after he fucking died!”
Mercer’s nails punctured Sam’s skin, digging much deeper than Damiano had in mine. Garnet droplets ran down Sam’s cheeks like tears. Mercer only pushed harder, his fingers causing bruises and pain and his nails causing cuts and inevitable scars.
I didn’t care.
