The Devil's Mercy
Автор
E. J. Lace
Прочтений
2,4M
Глав
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Mercy Jones has come home. She's dreading everything about it - most of all, the questions she knows her sister and mother will ask. What she's not expecting is Eli Samson. He's tall, dark, handsome, covered in tattoos, and 100% focused on Mercy. The Devil will do anything to be with his angel.
Age Rating: 18+
I Don’t Want To
Mercy
I’m standing here, my hand on the cold steel handle, knowing what’s about to happen. I have to go in. I have to ask for help. I’m trying to muster the courage to open the door and admit I need help. I have to. So, swallowing my pride, I push open the steel door and step inside.
The moans and grunts are the first things that remind me why I despise this place.
I walk past the first three rooms, counting them off in my head.
Break room.
Makeup.
Costumes.
Just two more rooms before I reach Mom’s office. Just two more.
*Thud!*
A surprised gasp escapes my lips as I collide with what feels like a brick wall. My eyes snap open, and I manage to catch myself before I end up sprawled out on the office floor.
The man I’ve run into comes into focus as I regain my balance. He’s got dark hair and eyes to match. His expression is hard and annoyed.
He’s wearing nothing but a black cotton towel tied around his waist, and his arms and chest are covered in colorful tattoos.
His towering height casts a long shadow over me as I sit on the floor.
“Can you watch where you're going? Or at least have the decency to move out of the way?” I snap, my embarrassment fueling my anger.
My irritation grows as I wipe water droplets off my face with a dirty hand.
“And dry off better!” I add, shooting him a glare before I get back on my feet. He doesn’t respond.
He looks me up and down, as if he’s trying to decipher a secret message written on my skin. But before I can move away from this annoying man, I notice the scarecrow tattoo on the left side of his neck.
I’ve seen that before. It was different then. Smaller. No.
It was just thin black lines. Some were already blurred and faded because of how poorly it was done, like someone had used a pin on sweaty skin at the wrong angle.
The memory of the last time I saw it flashes in my mind. A much smaller boy, unconscious on gray concrete.
Blood seeping from wounds I can’t stop finding.
“Yo-” I start to say, but then I shake my head. It can’t be. It’s just another tattoo.
This one is a better version. Cleaner lines. Bigger. Bolder. This one has color. Character.
I step around him and make it to my mother's office door. I glance back, not sure why. I don’t really care.
But still, I look back.
He’s still standing there, frozen like a paused video game.
His head moves slightly from side to side, and I can see the white lines of his muscles, highlighted by the blue, black, and yellow tattoos. Different shapes, different styles, different colors. Shame such a work of art is wasted on him.
I reach for the handle of Mom’s office door, watching him walk away. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t apologize. He just leaves, each step sounding like he’s angry with the floor. His door swings shut, and I do the same. I lean against the door and take a deep breath.
Finally, some peace.
Mom’s office is soundproof and has no windows to the set. It’s the only good room in this place.
When I open my eyes, I see Mom’s sturdy wooden desk and all the pictures of us pinned around it.
“Why is my prom picture the one you framed? The band one is so much better,” I mutter to myself. I sigh when I see the pack of cigarettes on her desk. I’ve been trying to get her to quit for years.
I let my bag drop to the floor and sink into one of the oak chairs in front of the desk. The file cabinets next to me seem so much taller than they did when I was a little girl.
I pull out a chair and sit down.
“Ugh, I don’t want to be here,” I groan.
I tilt my head back and close my eyes, trying to relax. Being on set always makes me tense. My anxiety skyrockets here.
Before I can even get comfortable, the door swings open and my mom’s teased blonde hair comes barreling in. Her squeals of excitement are deafening.
“Oh my God, my baby!” she screams, enveloping me in a bone-crushing hug.
“What are you doing here?! I’m so happy to see you! Why didn’t you tell me you were in town? Oh my goodness, look at you! My sweet girl has grown up.”
My mom tends to ramble when she’s excited. She thinks out loud—it’s how she processes her thoughts.
“Mom, I can’t breathe,” I manage to gasp.
She lets go, and I take a deep breath. Ever since Mom had her boobs done—again—she can’t feel how hard she’s hugging, and they are rock solid.
“Mercy, baby, what a happy surprise!” She runs her hands down my arms and smiles.
Her long pink nails curl around my palms as she holds on to me. I can feel the weight of her jewel-encrusted nail art. It’s a wonder she can do anything with those nails.
I nod and offer a smile. "I missed you too, mom. It's good to see you."
An awkward silence settles over us before Mom starts talking again.
“So, baby, what are you doing here? You hate the set.” She doesn’t let go of me. Her nails are still digging into my palms.
“Can’t I come to see my mom when I want?”
I try to deflect the question. I don’t want to get into that yet. I barely made it in the door. I can’t just start explaining why I’ve run all the way back here.
“You can, but you don’t. It’s been years since you’ve come home. Is something wrong? Are you okay, baby?” she asks.
My mom’s doll-like blue eyes sparkle, even under the harsh office lighting.
“Holy cow, sis!” My twin, Cami, bursts into the room, echoing our mom’s excited squeal.
She’s wearing nothing but a bikini made of candy and a pair of hot-pink heels. Her platinum blonde hair is so white it’s practically glowing.
“Put some clothes on, Cami. Please.” I back away as she reaches out for another bone-crushing hug.
“Come on, Mercy. It’s not like I’m naked. And even if I was, we’re twins. We shared the same womb,” she retorts.
She gestures with her hands, like a little kid begging to be picked up, coaxing me to step closer.
“Let’s not bring that up, okay?” I tuck my hands into the back pockets of my jeans, out of her reach.
“What are you doing here anyway?” Cami asks, crossing her arms.
“I can visit whenever I want,” I retort, trying to dodge the question.
I know my sudden appearance is a surprise. I should have come up with a story or something to avoid this awkwardness. I didn’t think this through. This was a mistake.
The office phone rings, providing a much-needed distraction. “Go ahead,” I tell my mom, knowing she still has work to do, whether I’m here or not.
“Just a second, sweetheart.” She flashes a big smile, reaching for me with one hand and the phone with the other.
“Hello?” She answers. “Oh, that sounds wonderful! Yes, absolutely. Could you hold on for just a moment, dear?—” She puts the caller on hold.
“Sweetie, are you hungry? Let’s grab lunch. I have a quick thing to take care of, then we can eat and catch up. My baby girl is back.”
Her smile is radiant. It’s always been her superpower. She can light up a room and bring warmth to any situation.
“I’m not drinking any of those green shakes you guys keep posting pictures of. Or eating anything raw,” I joke.
I’ve seen their Instagram posts of the kelp shakes they drink every morning.
They once dragged me to a raw food bar where everything was either a paste or a salad.
“That’s okay. It’s our cheat day anyway.” Mom giggles, pulling me in for a hug.
“I’ll change real quick. Give me ten minutes, and I’ll be ready.” Cami grabs the door handle and swings it open, ready to dash out of the room. As my mom gets back on the phone, my attention is drawn to the brooding figure standing in the doorway.
He steps aside to let Cami pass. The click of my mom’s phone is loud, but not as loud as her voice.
“Eli, come on, let’s go.” Mom waves him over.
I glance at the dark-haired man I met in the hallway earlier, then back at Mom.
Eli? The jerk has a nice name like Eli?
“He’s coming too?” I whisper, hoping she’s mistaken.
“Sure am, beautiful.” He winks at me and flashes a smile. He leans against the door frame, stretching his arms above his head. His shirt rides up, revealing the bottom of a colorful tattoo. A cheetah peeks out from his shoulder, stretching across his chest. His smirk widens into a lopsided grin.
What on earth is going on here?
