The Devil's Mercy

Chapter 8

The nurse nor the doctor helped Mercy out of that bed. Hope had been sent outside to play for her morning exercise. Six men guarded the perimeter of the sprawling landscape while Melanie watched Hope play on a large wood and metal playset.

The doctor and nurse stood against the wall at the head of the bed while Major carefully assisted Mercy to a sitting position. No words were exchanged. Major waited with exceptional patience while Mercy slowly forced her body to move. Her legs swung to the edge of the tall bed. Even if she could stand on her own, she would've had to jump down to reach the floor.

It wasn't lost on her that the bed could be lowered. He was forcing her to rely on him. Forcing physical contact. Feigning dizziness, she closed her eyes, letting her head fall forward. Letting him know she was ready. Not really, but he didn't need to know that. Her pride wouldn't let her show weakness. Show that she was scared of where he would touch her.

The heat from his body seeped into her bones. His scent, familiar, yet not filled her lungs as he leaned forward and hooked one arm under her knees, the other cradled her head to keep from touching her back.

"Arms around my neck, princess. I won't touch your back," he whispered next to her ear. Instead of looping them around his thick neck, her hands went to his shoulders, curling for dear life in his shirt. Cradled against his heavily muscled chest, he lifted her and pivoted slowly to lower her into the chair. "Well done." He praised releasing her.

Her hands landed in her lap on the soft silk of the nightgown she still wore. Thankful that it fell to her ankles. It still clung to her skin, but it didn't leave her feeling overexposed. Her head still down in feigned exhaustion.

Oskar watched her for a second hoping she would grace him with those eerily beautiful eyes. But she refused. Okay, princess. I can be patient. We have two months. That is plenty of time. I will earn your trust.

Slowly he pushed the wheelchair away from the room and up the corridor. Giving her a tour as he went. His office across the hall, back door to the gardens that surrounded the conservatory. Kitchen, dining room, living room and salon. Then the grand staircase at the end of a huge grand entrance with a crystal chandelier hanging from the rafters of the solarium. A towering room with rounded windows.

Men greeted them respectfully as they moved through the house. At the base of the stairs he put the brakes on the chair and bent again to pick her up.

"Top of the stairs to the left. My room, your room, and Hope's room. Family suites." He told her in a flat voice. "Hope threw a bit of a fit when I wanted to put her next to Tank and Melanie."

Retorts tasted bitter on her tongue as they resumed the position from earlier. Her hands curled in his shirt at his shoulders. The strength of his arms, warmth of his chest, the familiar scent of him.

She forced separation between their bodies as he carried her up the stairs. Lips pressed together tightly. Even as his scent relaxed her body. There were too many ears. Too many witnesses. She wouldn't be seen as ungrateful or worse, insane for chewing his ass. That was a fight for behind closed doors.

She may have been born to die, but she had studied etiquette. Had gained a education that the elites of his world would be hard pressed to find fault with. She had sworn to herself long ago that if she survived. She would be a lady. Not a street urchin, not a victim.

He couldn't deny that her refusal to get close to him was hurtful. After the last three weeks of taking care of her. He had to remind himself that she had no idea. Stomping down on his temper and pride.

Patience.

His hand at her knees turned the knob to her room, his foot kicked it open gently. In that same flat tone from before he told her as he swept in the room of ocean blue and white, "Be nice. Hope chose the colors, furniture, and accessories for your room."

The room was larger than the apartment she had been raised in. A four-poster king-sized bed dominated the right side of the room. A television on the same wall of the door they had entered through with a shiny leather blue couch, matching armchairs, and a coffee table. Accent tables scatter around the chairs.

He crossed to one of the chairs and set her down carefully. "No wheelchair up here." He gestured to the back of the room where a raised walkway with bars on either side stood. Along with a treadmill and walker. "Take today to rest and get familiar with your surroundings. Tomorrow we start your rehabilitation."

She wanted to argue but he had left the door open. She eyed it disparagingly before looking back at her hands in her lap. Was that a strategy to keep her silent? How much about her did he know?

Oskar caught the look at the open door and her retreat. He let out his breath and crossed to close the door. "I didn't think you would trust me behind closed doors, Mercia."

She kept her head down because she didn't. Meeting his eyes would be a challenge. "It's beautiful." She whispered. Her fingers ran over the soft fabric of the chair. It was truly the softest thing she had ever felt. "Permission to speak freely?" She asked drawing on the little she knew of military command. Thank God for those documentaries.

Oskar couldn't stop the grin that curled his lips. She was better than he had ever thought. He encouraged her while taking the other armchair, keeping distance so she didn't feel suffocated by him.

"Why all this? I appreciate you saving us, but why are we still here?" She asked.

He leaned back in the chair spreading his thighs in a clearly dominant stance. "Several reasons. You needed to heal without being uncomfortable. Hope needs stability. And we uncovered your war chest. Impressive work. The DA and law enforcement has already taken care of everything. Trial starts next week. On Monday you are to start prepping to give your testimony."

Her head snapped up at the mention of a 'war chest' what was that? "I don't understand? What do you mean war chest. That's usually money. I had none."

He leaned forward to rest his forearms on his thighs. His large hands hanging between his legs on massive wrists. The tendons of his forearms stuck out perfectly. He was a man of action. That she could see well. "It can also be information, Mercia."

He paused to allow his words to sink in. Her eyes slowly widened as she pieced the cryptic words together. "What were you doing there?"

"Cleaning house." He answered grimly. "The original plan was to inform your parents you and Hope were okay. I don't like getting angry, and they made me really, really angry. We took care of the whole building after a little chat with your parents."

The scum she had been fed to as a child. Her introduction into the hell that she had lived for fifteen years. She fell back on the chair like he had struck her. The impact stung but it didn't register over the feeling of pure joy. "The building?" She whispered.

"Ash, Mercia. It's kind of my calling card. Kill everything and purge the sickness with fire for cleansing." He answered holding her eyes. "You are free, Mercia. No one can touch you."

"So Hope and I will go into witness protection?"

"No." He answered harshly. The offer had been made, but Oskar didn't trust the marshals to keep her and her sister safe. Too many margins for error. Too many pockets that could be bought. "You will remain here under my protection until the trial is over."