The Devil's Mercy

Chapter 9

The words echoed through her brain. His protection. Trial. Two months. She was supposed to choose her classes in July for her upcoming semester. How was she supposed to do that if she was still in Chicago?

Her head had dropped again after his announcement. Protection. Prisoner. It was all the same thing. Just a different kind of prison. Luxurious and clean. Not squalor and decay.

Oskar watched her for nearly a full minute he timed on his watch. Her silence at his declaration was making him nervous. Had he pushed too far? He was being honest. Hope said that Mercia would respond better to him if he was completely honest.

The only thing he couldn't tell her was his name. He had been honest in it being for both their sakes. He didn't want there to be any trail leading back to him from her. Because he knew he was on borrowed time when he returned to New York. The entire syndicate that he had been born into would be out for his head. Especially after he dismantled his father's empire. Tearing apart a multi-trillion dollar enterprise that had been in existence since the turn of the twentieth century.

The full minute was up. The silence was pressing on him. "I would appreciate if I knew what you were thinking, Mercia." His voice adopting that soothing tone he took with Hope. If it worked with one sister, it had to work with the other.

She shook her head slowly. Suppressed a shiver of fear that rolled down her spine. She wouldn't put Hope in danger with her observations. An angry man always went for the weaker prey. Hope was vulnerable. Believing that the man who saved them wouldn't hurt them.

Mercy knew better. Her body was a testament to that knowledge. "I would like to be alone please." She whispered softly. "There is a lot to process."

It was a dignified plea. If he ignored it, she would retreat further. She hadn't shown any fear downstairs. Up here, now, she was terrified. "Right." He stood slowly. Trying to seem unintimidating. He didn't know if he succeeded.

"Rest today, Mercia, please. Push too hard and you will injure yourself further." He advised at the door. He stepped out and closed it softly behind him. Alice was waiting by the door.

"How did she take it?" The nurse asked so she knew what to expect when she walked into the room.

"She's scared. Rightfully so." He took a deep breath to steady the swirl of emotion in his chest. His voice was a near whisper when he answered, "She's going to fight my order for her to take it easy today. Let her do little things. If she starts to overexert herself, text me."

A knowing smile tugged at the corner of the old nurses lips. "Know her so well already, sir?"

"Better than she thinks." He murmured. "I'll be down in my office."

The landline was ringing by the time he entered it. Pushing aside the softness that Mercia inspired in him, he yanked the receiver up and growled. "I told you I would call when she was ready. Breathing down my neck isn't going to get her on her feet any faster."

The silence on the other end should've told him that he wasn't speaking to the DA. When the caller finally spoke, his blood turned to ice.

"Hello, my son. How is Chicago?"

Oh f**k. She wasn't supposed to know he was here. His secretary was supposed to tell his mother that he was in Washington. He cleared his throat as he lowered his ass into his chair behind the desk. "Mother, how did you know I am in Chicago?"

"I watch television, my son." She answered tightly. "The burning of a prominent man's home is national news."

His breath caught in his chest. He thought he was being discreet. He thought she didn't know anything about what he had been doing the last seven years. "Mom-"

The clipped tone of her Bronx upbringing cut through his explanation, "Save it! I just want to know if I should be planning funerals."

He let out his breath, of course she would know. "Yes. I'm sorry, Mom. I didn't have a choice." His voice was little more than a prayer. He had promised his mother that he wouldn't seek revenge against his own blood.

"Explain, Oskar." Gina hissed. The sound made his teeth clench. The sound was strange from her.

He broke the events down as best he could. Leaving out the more gory details, while still giving his mother the idea of what had happened.

Once finished he leaned back in his chair, "The girl is alive, Mom. She has a baby sister. The ingenuity of this young woman is amazing." Allowing his admiration to seep into his voice. A sign that he couldn't just walk away from this one as he had done in the past.

The sound of porcelain hitting porcelain told him that his mother understood what he wasn't saying. "How long?"

"Two months. At least according to Robert. He is the DA now. She had evidence to bring the whole syndicate down here." He answered on a sigh. The tension in his chest dissolved with the release of the air.

"Be home by the birth, Oskar. I need you here to help. I don't trust Rosalinda to be a good mother."

Underestimation of the century. Rosalinda only wants the money that goes with being an Underwood.

He bit back on those words, "Of course, Mom."

The second the man had left, she let out her breath. Listening intently to the voices outside. No audible words. He was giving orders to the nurse he had hired. Probably to keep him posted on her healing. He wanted her fresh for his bed. Fresh for his abuse. No matter who he claimed to be, no matter what words he used. He was a man. Men were all the same. Ruled by their cruelty and their lust.

Her eyes swept over the elaborate prison she had been set in. The colors were exactly what she found comforting. The ocean. Though she had never seen it, she had seen movies and television shows that depicted the waves as soothing, cleansing, renewing.

Her first act when she reached New York was to find the ocean and let the waves crash over her. Cleanse her of the old life she had endured. The filth of a thousand hands. The pain of burns, knife blades, and other various abuses.

His words and his actions didn't make any sense as her eyes landed on a floor-to-ceiling cloth that depicted a white sand beach and crystal clear water.

He thought she was stupid.

Weak.

Looking down at her feet, her hands moved to the arms of the chair. As she was about to push herself to stand, the door opened again. The silver haired nurse walked in with a smile that dissolved instantly. "No, dear, don't."

"I'm not his f*****g prisoner." Mercy gritted out as she pushed herself to her feet. Her legs felt like jelly. Her knees wobbled for a terrifying moment. By sheer stubborn will, they buckled and held her weight.

"You misunderstand, dear." Alice tried to reassure her moving fast to Mercy's side. "You've been through hell. He is protecting you. You and that precious sister of yours. He means you no harm."

"Bullshit." Mercy ground out through her teeth. Her arm moved faster than Alice anticipated when she tried to reach for the young woman. "Don't touch me. The only one who can touch me is six-years-old."

The vehemence in her voice forced Alice back a few steps. "You had no problem downstairs." She pointed out evenly. She'd dealt with difficult patients most of her career. Mostly in nursing homes. The elderly were unforgiving.

"I wanted free of the machines." Mercy snapped. It took every ounce of energy she had to force her feet forward. Using the furniture to rest between gaps. The cloth being her target. It was hiding something.

Her intuition buzzed and crackled with unease. It never lied. The man could say whatever he wanted. Could look innocent as a baby. But she knew. He had secrets. More than just his name. More than just the mystery of his very existence. Those she didn't care about.

Ignoring the warnings from Alice, Mercy moved toward the covering. Each step felt like hell. Jarring her back. The pain should've been debilitating. It was liberating. Pain was her only friend. Her constant companion for fifteen years. It fueled her steps. Straightened her spine. Squared her shoulders.

As she reached the cloth, the door burst open. A warm manacle shackled the wrist clutched around the cloth. She let him lower her hand, pulling the curtain down.

"Dammit, Mercia. Stubborn woman. It's not what you think." His harsh voice, angry from being pulled away from the call with his mother echoed in her ear. Low but no less pissed off.

"Bullshit." She hissed letting the torn rag to fall from her hand. "At least call it what it is when you speak to me." His touch was burning but she wasn't backing down. Fear wasn't an option when faced with the inevitable. Her eyes bore into his. The arm he still had a hold of between them. "What are you going to do now?" She challenged.

He released her and walked to the dresser on the other side of the door. The top drawer slid open easily. He reached inside and removed a small key on a blue ribbon. "Try the knob." He ordered.

She did, it rattled but didn't open. "You could have a spare." She accused not ready to admit that she had jumped to conclusions.

"I could." He conceded. "But that would defeat the purpose of earning your trust, wouldn't it." The words were dragged from him. He hadn't counted on her thinking anything of the scenery. This particular lioness was going to keep him on his toes.

The key made a metallic plop as he released into the drawer and closed it. His eyes on Mercia. She was weaving but not horribly so. "Since you are going to prove to be a pain in my ass, I expect you dressed and downstairs for lunch at eleven. For Hope, she wants to spend time with you. I had in mind to let you relax, but since you are insistent."