And I don’t even feel guilty since she’s choosing to push mine by bringing my father into it. The only person I’ve ever hated as much as Dalton.
“Don’t be a brat,” I say, and her pupils dilate.Interesting.No matter how vehemently she convinces herself that we couldn’t be more, she feels something here, so I stick with my plan and go on. “I’m nothing like him. You know that. The first condition is for your own safety.”
She folds in on herself, instantly on edge. “What do you mean? You said it was over since Dalton was dead. Is there someone else?”
“Not that we know of,” I reassure her, hating that fear in her eyes. “But for your peace of mind and mine, when you return, staying with me and not leaving without me escorting you is best. Until we’re one hundred percent certain that—”
“You’re worried about Dalton’s father,” she blurts out.
I wasn’t expecting that.
“No. Should I be? Did you remember something?”
A lot of clarity was lost when Mercy woke up. She was fuzzy and confused, and her brain protected her from the trauma, making it difficult to recall all that had happened. I always felt some things were off about the way everything had gone down that night, but getting her to the hospital, taking care of Jett, and monitoring her recovery were my top priorities. And with her memory hazy, it didn’t leave us much to go on.
When we finally got Dalton prosecuted, it was because of a tip I’d gotten from Ivy—the wife of my friend Wells, who works with Ty. They’re the ones who erased Mercy. Anyway, initially, I had every intention of killing Dalton, but he disappeared. Ivy had intel that proved Dalton had killed another girl, Hailey Holden. That tip was enough to convince Dalton’s father—the beloved Governor Monroe Montgomery—to turn him in. Dalton was never charged for what he had done to Mercy. He was found guilty of killing Hailey Holden a few years prior.
Mercy bites her lip, her eyes darting around. “I just don’t want him to ask for visitation.”
“Ahh. Grandpa Montgomery won’t be an issue. I handled him too.”
“Okay.” Her chest deflates with what appears to be an exhale of relief, and that might be the largest indication that Mercy is different. Once upon a time, she would have peppered me with twenty questions about whathandlingentailed and chastised me for the answers.
“And La Lune Noire is safe?” she tacks on.
“There is no safer place for you,” I avow, and when I see she’s accepted that, I try to move us forward. “Good to go on?”
“Sure.” She bobs her head, still somewhat shaken. “Why not?”
“Condition two is that I get to be Jett’s full-time caregiver while you’re working.”
“What?” she gasps. “Why would you … you don’t have to—”
“I want to.”So much.
Her hand rises to her throat, her big brown eyes watery. “You do? Why … how will you manage that?”
“I work at night,” I explain. “You’ll be working more during the day. If there is any overlap, there are various options—Axel or any of my brothers, the staff day care, Gentry or Ber—”
“There’s a staff day care?” She cuts me off before I can even finish naming all the people who will treat them like family.
“Yes. We started it about … probably three and a half years ago.”For you. Because I hoped.
“Why wouldn’t you just have me use that?” Her face has bafflement written all over it, like maybe she’s waking up to the way things have always been with us, my willingness to do anything and everything for her.
So, I don’t hold back. “Because I’ve missed years with him. I want the time. We’ll have fun. Axel and I raised Rena from the time she was six and—”
“I wasn’t thinking that you couldn’t. I know you’d be great.” She drops her gaze to her fidgeting hands, picking at her nails in a move that isn’t Mercy at all. “I’m surprised—that’s all. I mean, we’re not even friends, so …”
“Well”—I pause because my throat feels raw—“Jett and I are separate from that.”
“His name isn’t Jett anymore,” she says, and it’s an instant reminder of how I took care of him for months while she recovered and I lost my fucking mind over whether or not she’dsurvive, only for her to rip him away from me in the dark of night.
“Jett will be his name again there. Just like yours will be Mercy.”
She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest, putting her perky tits on display for me—a sugarcoating on her snark. “You can’t change a three-year-old’s name, so that’s nonnegotiable. But go ahead. What’s next?”
The sight of her after all this time is disarming. I clench my jaw and command my eager dick to stand down because this is where things might get dicey. I’m counting on my casino expertise to guide me. It’s all in how you deal.
