“Yes,” she whispers, her voice trembling, her eyes falling closed.
“I knew it,” I say. “You loved it when I fucked you with my knife, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“So don’t pretend you’re fucking innocent,” I say harshly, gripping her hair in one hand and the knife with the other, holding the blade to her artery. “Tell me what you fucking found.”
“They matched the DNA to Angel,” she says. “And one more, they said would have been a cousin or—or half uncle. And they found the body, and I don’t think it was hers, but they said it was and closed the case. It was sloppy and wrong and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Heath. I didn’t mean for you to get in trouble. I never meant for you to get sent away.”
As if she doesn’t know the knife could end her life in an instant, she drags herself away from the wall and throws her arms around my neck, sobs wracking her body. I stand there for a second not moving. I never expected an apology from her. She’s my enemy. She’s supposed to fight me, not… This.
“It’s okay,” I hear my voice say, and then my arms lift and wrap around her. I fold my knife and slip it back into my pocket before sinking back with her in my arms. She curls into my lap, clinging to my neck like she can’t bear to let go. Her head rests on my chest, and I feel her hot tears soaking my shirt, plastering the fabric to my skin. I feel my heart pounding against her cheek, and she must feel it too, but she doesn’t move. Not for a long time.
At last, I kick off my shoes and lay her down, toss aside my jacket and pull her blanket nest on top of us in a big, messy pile. Even though she’s usually fussy, she doesn’t protest. She lets me tuck her head under my chin, cradle her against me. After a long time, she relaxes, her breath deepening as she falls asleep still nestled in my arms.
I lay awake, thinking about how long it’s been since I held a girl. Maybe not since we were kids, and then it was her or my sister, nothing like this. Or maybe it was just like this—simple, uncomplicated. This isn’t romantic. It’s comforting, affectionate.It’s something you do with a girl you love, and it’s been a long time since I loved a girl.
I’ve never loved a girl like this. I’ve only ever loved Eternity, and that was in a different way. And I loved Mercy—I always loved her. After what she did, I decided I was never loving another girl in that way, the way that makes a guy dumb. Sometimes I can’t tell if I still love her and I’m pissed about it, or if I hate her.
I thought we were even after Christmas, but it hasn’t changed everything. I think I’ve forgiven her, especially after her apology today, but it still doesn’t bring the relief I wanted. Eternity is still gone. The Quint is still fucked up. And I still don’t know if I can trust myself to let her in, much less Mercy herself.
It pisses me off that she was going to look for my sister and not even fucking tell me, and it pisses me off even more that she roped my friend into keeping that a secret from me. Saint may be her brother, but she gave him up when she turned on us. He’s mine now. She has no right to come in here and try to get between us.
Or maybe that’s not what she wanted. Maybe she wants the same thing I’ve always wanted—answers. And maybe, finally, we can get them.
five
The Merciful
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” I begin, running my palms down my thighs. “It’s been almost a month since my last confession.”
I’ve been avoiding this, but I wanted to come and get everything out in the open before classes resumed, so I could start the semester with a clean slate.
“What’s weighing on you today, lamb?”
“I’m not an innocent anymore,” I say, balling my fists in the stretchy fabric of my simple grey, knit skirt.
“What makes you say that?” Father Salvatore asks in that voice like sin and velvet, the one that makes my toes curl inside my clogs.
“I did it,” I say, my voice catching. “I did it all.”
I take a breath and spill the whole story, what happened at the kneeler where others take communion, and how someone took their communion early, in me. How I felt, and then how Angel took me to his room, and how it happened again, though I didn’t mean for it to. And what Saint said to me when he walked in. When I finish, I wipe the tears from my cheeks.
“I’m not sorry, either,” I say. “I know it sounds bad, but it felt good.” My cheeks warm, and I sniff up my tears and try again. “Not just physically. Mostly mentally. I’ve never felt that way, so powerful. I—I liked it, Father. And maybe that’s the bigger sin.”
“It is not a sin to enjoy the body God gave you,” he says, the low rumble of his voice so sexy it has my breath quickening.
I wonder if he enjoys the body God gave him, when it’s not hidden under those robes or the suit he wears to class. I wonder if he pleasures himself the way he wanted me to. Priests don’t have to be celibate anymore. Does he indulge in the pleasures of the flesh too?
Heat creeps up my neck at the thought, spreading over my chest. My nipples pebble, and I squeeze my knees together and squirm on the hard bench.
“Do you?” I whisper.
“I am not for you, lamb,” he says gently, and it takes a moment for me to realize he misunderstood me. That he thinks I was asking if he enjoyed my body, not his own.
“That’s not—” I break off, biting my lip. I can’t pretend it doesn’t excite me to think about it. I’ve fantasized about it, about bringing this remote, stoic yet gentle man to his knees, hearing him beg the way Angel did on his mattress that day. But he must know already. I’ve let him know before.
“Tell me more about your emotional state,” he says before I can embarrass myself further. “How are feeling? Have you been maintaining your relationship with Him?”
