Chapter 224. The Ride Back Home
Maisie
I had forgotten how much of an asshole Mercer Black could be when he decided he didn’t fuck with you.
The plane was freezing. I lay on my side in the cargo hold, hog-tied so tightly my fingers had gone numb hours ago. Mercer had tied the knots himself, and it was in such a manner that they only tightened the more I struggled. Every time I tried to shift, the bindings bit deeper into my already raw skin. A thick gag filled my mouth, muffling my angry shrieks.
He had left me here like discarded garbage.
Surrounded by crates of ammunition and weapons, I had no idea how long we’d been in the air. Long enough that my bladder was demanding for release. Long enough that hunger had become a dull, constant ache in my stomach. Long enough that the humiliation of it all made me think of committing a different kind of murder.
I slammed my body sideways into the nearest stack of crates.
Once. Twice. Harder.
Metal screeched. Something heavy toppled and crashed beside me. I kept going until the noise was impossible to ignore.
Five minutes later, the door finally opened.
Mercer stood there, framed by the dim light of the cabin beyond. He peered down at me like I was shit he wanted to scrape off his boots. He was dressed head to toe in black, a t-shirt stretched tightly across his muscled chest, the most casual pair of jeans I’d ever seen on him tucked neatly into boots. And his hair was pulled back into a man bun.
My Lycan decided she liked this look a whole lot and began purring like an overfed cat, completely oblivious to the stormy cloud around Mercer as he stepped inside and shut the door behind him.
The click of the lock sounded final and my breath hitched.
I went still as he crossed the small space and crouched in front of me. Close enough that I could smell him, his hot skin, his cologne. He hadn’t changed it. I suddenly felt more home sick than I had in the nine months I was gone.
His fingers caught the edge of the gag and dragged it out roughly.
"You’ve made a mess," he murmured, his thumb skimming over the blood I could taste on my lip. He wiped it off and smeared it between his fingers.
My voice came out hoarse. "I need to use the bathroom."
He studied me for a long moment. "You never did learn how to plead for things properly."
"If I piss myself in here, it will stink and get all over your precious shipment."
Mercer’s gaze drifted over the ropes cutting into my wrists, the dirt on my clothes, the cut on my neck that had long since stopped bleeding. When his eyes returned to mine, something ugly flickered in them.
"Then piss yourself."
The words landed flat.
I stared at him, thinking for sure that he had to be joking. But he stared at me like he was waiting for me to soil my pants. "What the hell is wrong with you? First you try to kill me. Now you want me to die from a ruptured bladder."
He leaned in. Not enough to touch me, but close enough that our breaths mingled. "You. You are everything wrong."
My fingers curled hard into fists. "You are not even going to ask me why?"
He cocked his head. "You had every chance to explain yourself. And you tucked tail and ran like a fucking coward. You left us. Don’t act the victim here. It won’t buy my affection."
"And what did Tessa do to buy it in the nine months I was gone?"
I hated how resentful I sounded. But it was all over the news. Everyone’s pastime in Ashbourne lately was playing the guessing game on if Mercer Koen was in a relationship with Tessa Graham. They kept appearing at public events every time with the Queen. And if they were indeed in a relationship, would it mean Mercer was involved in a retaliatory affair against his missing wife?
Mercer’s lips parted and I thought I caught a flash of rage, but it was gone in the next second.
"My personal life is none of your business."
I hid the sting behind a wall of nonchalance, but Mercer wasn’t done.
"But I am curious about one thing. Tell me, Adams." He tilted his head. "How did you manage to escape Ashbourne that night after murdering your half-breed lover? Or did you find some other rich man to fuck against a bathroom stall in exchange for a ride?"
If I hadn’t been tied up, I would’ve slapped him. But I was, and slapping him would mean I had something to defend and that he had insulted me. He had, but I had nothing to prove to anyone.
It was in their best interests they thought I was a horrible bitch. Because I had become what they made me into.
Plus, Mercer had clearly picked a side. And it wasn’t mine.
"I would give you the steamy details, but I’m not sure you would enjoy it as much as I did. But I guess it wouldn’t hurt to tell you. A hand job and a deep-throat–"
The thing with Mercer? He couldn’t take what he dished out. That hadn’t changed about him, at least.
His nostrils flared and he shoved the gag back into my mouth. "Shut your damned mouth."
And then he stormed out, slamming the cabin’s door so hard, I was sure the entire plane shuddered.
Oh well. I guessed I was going to have to piss on myself, after all.
***
The interrogation chamber was freezing cold.
I was still in my clothes from yesterday and someone had been kind enough to lead me to the women’s bathroom, though I was flanked by four guards, I was so pressed, I didn’t feel even an ounce of shame shoving down my pants in front of them.
Many months ago, I would have cared about how dehumanizing it felt. But I had been through enough to care about who saw my ass and who didn’t.
I sat waiting in the chair, staring at the plain white walls. Pangs of hunger tightened my stomach, but I remained seated, knowing I was being watched through the partitioned glass like a specimen.
If they thought this would make me uncomfortable, they clearly had no idea what it was like being unable to sleep because you knew the moment you closed your eyes, you would get jumped.
There were about a hundred guards in this building. Those I had counted at least. I was perfectly safe in here, which meant I could sleep peacefully for the first time in months.
I stretched, yawning, then I turned to the CCTV in the corner and winked at it.
My hearing picked up on a soft curse from the other side of the glass just as I laid my head against the table and dozed off.
I woke up to the feeling of being watched--no. Glared at. I rose my head and found three pair of gazes searing into me from across the table.