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“You’re hurting me,” Mercedes finally says, and I feel her nails digging into my arm.
I look down, loosen my hold a little. Force a deep breath in. “What the fuck were you thinking?”
“I was thinking I needed to get away from the asshole sadist who trussed me up like a horse and left me to sleep in the stable all night!”
I take it in. I’m still trying to figure out what the hell just happened. Still processing Theron’s reappearance. The sight of them together. His fucking hands on her. It’s making me crazy.
“Jesus Christ, Mercedes.”
“Jesus Christ yourself, you fucking asshole.”
“Grow your vocabulary.”
She flips me off.
We reach the house, and Miriam steps out of the kitchen door. Mercedes makes a sound of disgust as I dismount. I grab her around the waist to take her inside. Again, she protests, and the jacket slides off her, exposing her nakedness. I don’t miss Miriam’s smirk.
“Stop fighting me,” I tell Mercedes.
“I will never stop fighting you.”
“Then you will never stop losing.”
I haul her over my shoulder and tug the towel down to cover her ass as I march her through the house and up to my bedroom, which is still dark with the drawn curtains. I lock the door and toss her onto the bed.
She grips the towel, but I take one corner and tug it out from around her. I look at her, all her scratches, the red, raw skin. The bruise on her forehead, the cut on her cheekbone. I take one wrist, turn it over to see how the skin looks like she’s been dragging her arm over sandpaper. I shake my head, drop it, and notice the bruised, cut-up knees. The bottoms of her ruined feet.
I draw back, raking my hands into my hair. This woman will literally have me pulling my hair out.
“Get a good enough look at what you did?” She sits up, her body uncovered from me, soft and so fucking fragile.
“Did he touch you?”
“What?”
I lean toward her, setting my hands on either side of her. “Did my brother touch you?”
She grins. She doesn’t back away. Never does, this one. Most women would. So would most men. But not Mercedes De La Rosa.
“If by touch you mean did he resuscitate me when I almost drowned, then yes. So we’re talking mouth-to-mouth.”
She licks her lips.
I growl. My hands become fists on the bed.
Her grin widens. “And then there’s our shower. I mean, I was so weak I couldn’t even clean myself. So he, well, you remember how it was when you cleaned me, right? I mean, it’s a very intimate moment between a man and—”
My hand is around her throat just like last night. And just like then, her hands close over my forearm trying to pry me off. It’s clear that what she sees terrifies her. It’s only happened a few times before, but it has happened. And I know what she’s looking at. The beast.
I loosen my grip as much as I am able. “Did he fucking touch you?”
“I can’t breathe,” she croaks out.
I let her go and turn away, go to the window where in the far distance I can see the smoke coming out of the chimney of my mother’s cottage.
“He found me naked, bound, and facedown drowning in a fucking creek. He saved my life. You owe him a debt of gratitude because if I’d died…”
I spin on her and find her standing. “Don’t fucking say that.”
