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“Don’t you fucking dare touch me! Get the hell away from me!”
There’s a brief struggle. Mercedes shoves Miriam and runs, but Miriam is quick to steady herself and move toward her target.
Mercedes glances frantically around, her hand closing over the base of a heavy lamp. She falters then. I wonder if she’s remembering the event that led her here, that has her in this predicament. The murder of the courtesan. The very violent scene she left behind.
She squeezes her eyes shut, and I put a hand up to halt Miriam as I watch her, the already puffy skin around her eyes growing wet. She’s been crying. Hell. She looks like she’s been crying forever.
With a violent shake of her head, she opens her eyes, glaring at me. “Call her off!”
“Continue, and I will,” I tell her calmly, hardening myself against the wounded creature that calls to the protector inside me.
“I hate you,” she says, a shudder to her voice as she releases the lamp and reaches behind her to unhook her bra and strips it off. She drops it to the floor, then pushes her panties down, kicking both away. “I fucking hate you.”
She bares pretty, full breasts, nipples tight and her sex shaved to reveal the pretty slit. The latter makes me stop. Has any other man seen her like this? There was Jackson Van der Smit. Did he—?
I shake my head to stop myself. I don’t know why I’m going down that road. She would have followed the rules. Breaking them would shame her brother and incur his wrath. Besides, that’s not why she’s here. But her nakedness, it strikes me. She’s certainly not the first woman I’ve seen. Far from it. But here I am, unable to drag my gaze away.
“Sir?” Miriam interrupts.
“Get out,” I tell her.
Self-control. Discipline. Two traits I’ve worked hard to perfect in myself. I draw a deep breath in. Exhale. Getting hard at the mere sight of her is anything but controlled. She’ll be stripped bare more often than she’ll like, and I can’t get a fucking hard-on like some teenage boy every time I see her.
“Yes, sir.” Miriam leaves. I wait until I hear the door close.
I’ve taken women into my home before and disciplined them. Something I’ve done quietly for certain members of The Society. Not a single one of them has affected me like Mercedes De La Rosa. And I haven’t even started with her.
“Get into bed,” I snap, needing her to cover herself. I walk to the adjoining bathroom, taking a moment there. Gripping the edge of the counter, I push a hand through my hair. What the fuck is wrong with me?
Rummaging through the cabinet beneath the sink, I find the first-aid kit. When I return, I find her sitting in the middle of the large bed, clutching the thick duvet to herself. Again, I think about how small she looks. How different to the girl I’ve watched grow into a woman. A formidable woman at that. Now, at this moment, she is something else entirely.
And the animal inside me stirs.
I clear my throat, and she looks up, although she doesn’t quite meet my gaze. Her face is unreadable. She’s good at that. Always has been. Probably had to be. I know a little of her upbringing. Although surely, her father would not have been as physical with her as he was with his sons.
I cross the room and sit on the edge of the bed.
She tugs the blankets closer, inching farther from me.
“Look at me.”
Her jaw clenches.
I close my fingers over her chin and make her look. Her eyes are narrowed to slits when they meet mine. She won’t be easy to bend. But I don’t want her to be. I tilt her face up and brush the hair from her cheek. The gash is already closed up, the blood dried, and a bruise is taking shape. I’m surprised this is all she walked away with considering. Mercedes De La Rosa murdered a woman. She should have to stand before The Tribunal to answer for it. Any other member of The Society would. But Santiago will take care of that. And I will help him protect her.
I have a feeling, though, that her own guilt and the thought of losing her brother’s love are more punishment than anything The Tribunal could dish out.
I clean the dried blood off her cheek and smear antibiotic ointment onto the cut, careful to be gentle. I feel her eyes on my face, and I take my time doing it. Once I’m finished, I set the ointment aside and pour a glass of water out of the crystal pitcher on the nightstand. I take the pill Miriam left on the small dish and hold both out to Mercedes.
She looks at the pill.
“To help you get a good night’s rest.”
“I’m fine,” she says, turning her head away.
“It will help, Mercedes.”
She looks again at the pill in my palm. She wants it. She wants the oblivion it will bring. And this once, I’ll allow it. She reaches a tentative hand to pluck the pill from me and places it on her tongue, then takes the glass, sipping from it before handing it back.
