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“Why are you here, Mercedes?”
Her expression falters momentarily but then her eyes narrow. “What? Can’t stand to see me happy?”
“Are you happy?”
She shrugs a shoulder.
“Why are you here?”
She wraps an arm around her middle and looks away. In her profile, I see the vulnerable girl she hides beneath her armor. The damaged one. The frightened one.
“Mercedes.” I touch her cheek and brush her hair away. “I’m not asking to hurt you.”
She looks down at her lap, and Pestilence jumps up onto the bed as if sensing this shift. He whines and lays his head in her hands. I wouldn’t normally allow them on the bed, but I think she needs this. She pets him, leans down to kiss the top of his head, then straightens back up.
“I’m dangerous,” she says, swiping the back of her hand across her face.
I remain silent, watching her. Waiting.
“What I did to that woman.” More tears. She still won’t look at me. “I didn’t mean to. But maybe, in a way, I did. I’m no good.”
“Silly little monster.” I tilt her face up. “You wanted to protect your family. You thought you were.”
She shakes her head. “And then there’s Ivy. I hate her. I hate her for taking Santi away from me.”
“Well, that you’re going to need to get over. She is your brother’s wife.”
The tears in her eyes freeze into ice. “Only for a limited time. Nine months. If he can stomach the idea of impregnating a Moreno. And that’s a big if.”
“Mercedes—”
“Can I get out of here now?”
“What if it happens? What if there’s a baby? Will you hate your brother’s child?”
She scrubs her face and pushes off the bed on the other side. “I need to get out of this room.” She turns to me. “Please, just for a little bit. Then you can lock me up again.”
She’s wearing yoga pants again. And another sweater. “Change into jeans and a warm, close-fitting jacket. We’re going to go for a ride.”
11
Mercedes
Judge leads two horses from the stalls and dresses them while I entertain myself by playing with the four beasts at my side. War nudges my hand with his wet nose, jealous of the attention Death has been receiving. Their names are a little dramatic, even for my tastes, but I can admit they are beautiful creatures. I always wanted a dog growing up, but my father never allowed us to have pets. I’m sure most people would assume I’d be the type to tote around a Chihuahua in a fancy bag, but I like Judge’s Dobermans. They’re relatable in a way. When people who don’t understand their temperament look at them, their instinct is to fear them. They look terrifying, and I’m quite certain they would be if the need arose for them to defend their owners. But they are so much more than loyal protectors. They are gentle-natured too. Playful. Affectionate. Loving. It’s what’s beneath the surface that counts. And I believe in some ways, they are misunderstood the way I often feel I am.
Most people don’t look past my tough exterior to get to know the other qualities I possess. Either my armor is impenetrable, or they don’t believe I’m worth the effort. What I said to Judge was true. I could get any man I want, but their affection only runs skin deep. As soon as they realize they have to actually work at getting to know me, it isn’t worth their time.
It’s a lonely existence, and until I met Solana and Georgie, I didn’t even know what it felt like to have true friends. But when I look up to find Judge watching me with the dogs, I know he’s not like anyone else I’ve ever known. He sees… too much. With every day I spend here, he’s slowly chiseling away at my armor. He wants to know my secrets. He wants to know everything. And I can’t understand why. If this is just a job to him, why does he care?
“You can take Temperance.” He leads the black mare with a glossy coat toward me. “She’s a retired racehorse, but she still has some get up and go.”
“Hello, Temperance.” I greet her softly, then move toward her in a gentle manner so I don’t spook her. “What a beauty you are.”
I let her sniff my hand, and Judge gives me a curious glance as if he’s surprised by my actions. Temperance returns the gesture with a snort and a nose boop to my palm. Once I have her approval, I stroke her face, and she closes her eyes, silently soaking it in.
“She likes you.” Judge observes as if he didn’t expect it, and I arch an eyebrow at him.
“What can I say? Not everyone has poor taste like you.”
