Page 59 of Merciless

I’ve never felt so humiliated until him.

Tears burn my eyes when I scroll through the pictures of the nights he used me for his sick and twisted pleasure. The final one is a screenshot of me saying I’m his slut.

My phone buzzes in my hand with a new message.

Think before you tell anyone about this.

No one will help you. Not even your brother.

I lean my shoulder against the wall and suck in a shuddering breath.

What the hell did I get myself into?

Gently biting my thumb, I glance at Elijah again. I lost count of how many times I’ve been stealing glances at him during class. So many times that I’ve stopped counting.

I should care. I really should, but I don’t.

I can’t stop thinking about this morning with him. Or the fact that I moaned his name while with another man. The last one was against my will, but it’s still sticking with me and won’t let up.

Elijah sits in front of his easel, paintbrush in hand. He carefully paints a portrait of a woman. There aren’t any details other than a round face and eyes that almost match mine in shape and color.

It’s wishful thinking that he’d paint me. Who am I to him other than his stepsister that he kissed and dry-humped one time? And what the hell has gotten into me? He’s a man, for crying out loud.

I turn to my blank canvas and frown.

I’ve never been artistic. My interest lies solely in animals and helping them. More specifically, birds.

Elijah and Asher are the artistic geniuses. Both of them can paint as if it’s a walk in the park. They can play the piano too.

My gaze strays to Elijah again and settles on his hand. He drags the paintbrush over the canvas, leaving behind a trail of dark hair. Each stroke of his brush is careful, as if he’s touching the woman and not a cold, lifeless painting.

I shift in my seat to stop the tingling between my legs at the memory of the time I woke up with him between my thighs.

I think it was him, anyway.

I don’t know what compelled him to do that to me. Why would he go back to ignoring me like I didn’t exist? What was the point? To punish me for existing? Because if so, he did a great job. He showed me what it was like to be desired, then snatched it away as if I didn’t deserve it.

Until this morning.

My phone buzzes.

My eyes slam shut, and I calm my racing heart.

The phone burns in my pocket, and I can’t resist taking it out and reading the message. My shoulders sag, and I let out a relieved breath.

Mom

Your father and I would like you home for the weekend. We’re celebrating Ruby’s birthday tomorrow, and we’d like you and your brothers to be a part of it. Please play nice with each other.

I raise my head and squint my eyes.

I can’t believe I forgot it was my half-sister’s birthday this weekend.

I reread Mom’s text. The second pass sours my mood even more.

The last thing I want is to spend the weekend with the people I won’t get along with. Despite the change in mood, I’m still leery about Elijah. Asher is . . .

I’m not sure.