Page 33 of Mercy & Malice

All I do is pray he doesn’t pull the trigger. “Just do what he says.”

Collector pitches the reheated brand.

I quickly grab it and hold it out to him. “The faster you do it, the faster it will be over.”

“She has the right attitude,” Judge says.

“It’s okay.” I position my leg. He stares at my thigh for a few seconds before he presses it to my skin. I bite down, trying to hide the extent of the pain, but a whimper still slips past my gritted teeth.

The hot metal is pressed only a few seconds longer than the first, yet the scorching agony feels ten times more excruciating. Doing it a third time would be unbearable.

“Very well done,” Judge declares. Micah walks deliberately to the bars, the iron still in his hand. “Choose wisely. I’m running low on patience.”

Micah’s grip releases it and the metal falls to the grimy floor with a thud. “I will kill you. And it will be slow and painful.”

“We all have our fantasies.” Judge’s entire body shakes with laughter. “Let’s go.”

“Yep. That was great,” Warden cackles.

His voice isn’t disguised. It’s the guy who hit my car, claiming his kids distracted him. At least I think that was him. He barely spoke to me.

The moment they’re gone, I tell Micah, “The Warden is the guy who crashed into me. But I didn’t recognize him. Or his truck.” I start rattling off as many details as I can remember about the guy and his vehicle.

Micah ignores me, dazed and lethargic.

“Are you listening to me?” I ask, watching as he rolls some toilet paper on his hand then turns the shower on, wetting it.

He returns back to me, his tone low and rough as he states, “Lift your shirt.”

I do as he asks, watching as his jaw clenches while he carefully presses a clump of cold, wet toilet paper to my rib cage.

“I’m going to put the other on your thigh,” he explains, his voice breaks as a tear slides down his face. I’ve known Micah for years, not once have I ever seen him cry.

Placing my palm on his cheek, I reassure him, “This isn’t on you. It’s not your fault.”

His eyes snap shut. “I’m so sorry, Brooke. I’m so fucking sorry.” He wraps his arms around me, clinging to me as he repeats the string of apologies.

“I hurt you too.” I lean back, examining the welt on his rib cage. “Let me get something for you.”

I hurry over, grab a wad of toilet paper, and wet it before I return to him. Both of us drop to the floor, placing the makeshift compresses on the other.

“This really sucks.”

He stays silent.

So, I ramble, trying to make both of us feel better. “It’s not a big deal. When this is over, we’ll both have scars as a reminder of what we’ve overcome. And every time I see it, I’ll think about how I’ve only ever felt safe with you.”

He mutters, “I don’t deserve you.”

“Same.” I want to ask even if I’m still worried about the answer. “Are you still angry with me? I hate when you’re mad at me and this was the worst time ever. I missed you so much it hurts.” Still does.

“I forgive you.” His lips graze my hair. “You’ll never forgive me.”

“Already done.”

19

MICAH