Page 42 of Merciless

Then she pivoted. “You haven’t been to visit your mother yet, have you?” My head bowed, not wanting to think or talk about that. Of course, Annette didn’t care, deciding to blast me with the hard questions. “Why not? What’s holding you back, Colton?”

“I-I don’t know.”

“You do. Talk to me.”

My breath caught briefly as I finally let go of that last vulnerability, the last remaining protection. “I don’t want to go to her until everything is finished.”

“Until what is finished?”

“Until all the hatred is purged out of me,” I blurted, the confession immediately releasing the heavy weight that was compressing on my chest.

“Oh, Colt—” I pulled my hand away before she could grab a hold of it.

“I don’t want to go and visit her like this.” Though I was unable to articulate what this was.

“She’s your mother, Colton. She loves you no matter who you are, or who you become.”

I perked a brow, meeting her gaze once more. “I doubt that.”

“I don’t,” she said passionately. “As a mother myself, I can attest to it. You may not be my son, Colton, but I feel as though you are. You are worth loving. You are worth being chosen first.”

Damn, how did this innocent visit turn into a therapy session? I have to go!

I shot to my feet, ready to bolt out of there. Before I could make a smooth escape, the wheelchair-bound woman grasped my forearm, moving faster than I anticipated.

“Dig deep and find the reason why, Colt. Only then can you work through it and move on.”

I lowered, gave her a tight hug, then departed, words escaping me for the first time. I knew what I had to do to finally move forward. If only I could find the courage to go through with it.

Vengeance was one thing that I was willing to sacrifice for. However, the concept of letting go was an entirely new battle—one I was unsure if I had the strength to achieve.

Chapter 26

WILLIAM

I sat upright in my hospital bed, the thick wad of papers on my bedside table staring back at me in mockery.

I’d read every single page, each condemning word, despite the debilitating chest pain that tore through me in waves.

The medical staff reassured me that all my results checked out, implying that I had suffered a panic attack rather than a cardiac event.

Unfortunately, the positive findings didn’t calm my aching heart or the extreme loss I was experiencing.

Grief was an emotion I was familiar with. But with the damning evidence laid before me, my health and well-being had stooped to an all-time low. Of which I was solely responsible.

The documents were provided by Thomas, and they travelled with me from the police station, in the ambulance, to my hospital room, where I was now the lone survivor.

What I had read and discovered shattered me to my very core.

Nikita was a con artist from the beginning, a predator who was selective of her victims. She’d prey on grieving families, ones that were preoccupied with sickly loved ones, and transform into whatever role was needed for the job.

She made herself available, became a vital support until she was ingrained so deeply that they felt as if they’d never be able to live without her.

I groaned, closing my eyes, agony igniting through my nervous system as I relayed every deliberate move Nikita had made. Her manipulation was now so glaringly clear. It made me sick.

Beth and Nikita first met at Palliative Assist, a support group for patients and families to help with the challenges of terminal illness. That’s where it all began.

Nikita was a volunteer who gave a convincing sob story and made a fake connection with my Bethy. That’s how she initially infiltrated our lives. The rest was on me. Yet I wasn’t the only one who fell for her ruse.