2
Mercy
The vague feelingof being carried in somebody’s arms crept over me. Groaning, I instinctively curled into a hard chest, seeking its warmth. The arms tightened around me as I was carried up a flight of stairs. A door banged open, and a few moments later, I was laid down on a bed while a voice barked orders to someone nearby.
I tried to open my eyes, but they felt heavy. I faded out again.
When I really came to, somebody was prodding the side of my arm. Whatever they were trying to do, it stung like holy hell. Adrenaline jolted through me, and I kicked out blindly. Someone—a man—cried out in pain.
“Holy shit.” Strong hands descended on me, pinning me down. I screamed and thrashed, my mind flashing with the images of the bloody slaughter. My father, Grandma, my entire family, sprawled and savaged on the restaurant floor.
“Stop,” a voice commanded with an unshakeable air of authority. My body stilled as if keyed to his wish. Blinking hard, I slowly brought the world around me into focus.
Bright green eyes stared down at me. A gorgeous man who was familiar in ways my hazy mind couldn’t quite identify yet was poised right over me, his knees bracketing my hips. The weight of his body pinned me to the bed.
The sense of being trapped made me squirm again. The guy’s grip on my wrists tightened, his eyes darkening. Something unfurled deep in my stomach, and all of a sudden I wasn’t completely sure I did want him off of me.
“Wylder,” a voice warned behind him, shattering the bizarre impulse.
Right. Wylder Noble. My would-be savior—at least, I’d thought he could be. So far he was mostly being a criminally handsome menace.
I heaved at him as well as I could, but he didn’t budge. “Kitten’s got claws,” he said and then chuckled darkly. “The irony.”
“Get off me,” I snarled.
“Wylder,” came the voice again.
This time he listened and finally his weight lifted off me. On the other side of the bed, a man was cradling his arm, looking at me like I was a psycho. He must have been the one I’d kicked. Wylder jerked his head toward him.
The brawny guy with the dark buzzcut who’d been with Wylder at the pool table stepped into view. “Frank was just trying to stitch you up. From that gouge on your arm and the way you bled all over the living room carpet, it looks like you didn’t quite manage to dodge a bullet.”
The faint thump of dance music carried from beyond the door. Apparently I hadn’t been out too long—and it took an awful lot to shake up one of the Nobles’ parties.
“That’s one way of putting it,” I said a little faintly.
Come on, Mercy, get a grip. But my arm was throbbing again, and my thoughts kept jumbling with images of the massacre.
Wylder motioned to the man at the end of the bed. “Can you finish the job?” A few smears of blood marked his bare forearm where he must have held me. He picked up a rag someone had left on the end table and gave it a brisk wipe. I’d probably gotten some on his shirt too, although it was hard to tell against the dark fabric.
“Yes, Mr. Noble,” Frank said, still eyeing me uncertainly.
“Not even properly shot and you passed out,” the brawny guy remarked. “Not your usual scene?”
I didn’t speak. If my father hadn’t been dreaming of grandsons,hewould have put a bullet through my head years ago.
Frank eased closer. “I have to finish cleaning the wound, and then you’re going to need stitches.”
“Fine, fine,” I muttered. “Just be quick.”
The guys’ stares burned into me as their doctor—or whatever he was—dabbed more antiseptic around the raw flesh. I clenched my jaw and refused to let out a sound, no matter how it burned. They thought I was enough of a wimp already.
My lips might have twitched a few times from holding back the pain while Frank closed the wound with a needle and thread, but the antiseptic seemed to have numbed the spot a bit. When he’d taped a bandage over the injury, he offered me a bottle of blue liquid.
I eyed it suspiciously. Any woman in the Bend learns at a very young age not to accept drinks from strangers. “What is that?”
“It’s an energy drink. It’s the best option I’ve got on hand for your blood loss.”
I didn’t take it. Wylder stepped forward and swiped the bottle from Frank’s hand, twisting the lid open. “Drink up.”