Chapter 153. A Very Steamy Bath I
Chapter 153: 153. A Very Steamy Bath I
Maisie
The tub was large, but Mercer’s presence made it feel smaller, as he turned his back to me. The steam curled thick around his broad shoulders and I knelt behind him in the water, heart hammering so loudly I was sure he could hear it.
The bathroom was quiet. Only the soft drip of water from the faucet and the gentle lap against his skin broke the silence.
I dipped a clean cloth into the warm water like he told me to and gently wiped away the blood around the wound.
My fingers brushed his skin and his entire back tensed instantly, muscles rippling under my touch like a live wire.
I swallowed hard, throat dry. My gaze traced the map of faint scars covering his back and shoulders. They were so faint, you wouldn’t even notice them upon close glance. Not unless you knew where to look. Old knife wounds. Jagged bite marks. Several small, silvery circles that resembled old bullet entries.
Mercer got shot... a lot.
The realization settled heavy in my chest.
I pressed one hand to his shoulder to brace myself, leaning over him until my chest nearly brushed his back. The position was impossibly intimate. I could smell him. Clean sweat, faint blood, and that deep, masculine scent that was purely Mercer. My breath ghosted across the nape of his neck. I felt him shiver once.
He handed me the tweezers without a word. I took them with trembling, clumsy fingers.
"Breathe, Adams," he told me.
I wondered how he could be so calm, when he knew how swiftly this could go wrong.
"Ready?" I whispered.
A small nod.
I pressed the metal to his skin as he began to talk me through it.
"Keep the pressure." "A little to the left." "You’ll feel the metal." "Very good, wildcat." "Twist." "You’re doing just fine, May." "Harder." "A little deeper." "Yes. Right there." "You’re a natural."
My breaths became labored for a completely different reason.
"Keep going." "Yes." "Breathe, May." "Deeper." "Perfect."
They were just words. And he spoke them without heat.
But my entire body had turned red. And my insides were warming. I was slowly discovering that I had a praise kink at the worst possible time.
"Twist the forceps clockwise." "No. The other way." "Good girl." "Now pull."
My hands were shaking so hard, I missed the first pull.
I bit my lip and pulled again. The bullet shifted. Another tug, and it came free with a tiny metallic clink as it dropped into the water. I took it out and threw it into the tin beside the tub.
I exhaled sharply. "Please tell me you can still move your legs."
Mercer let out a sound that might have been laughter, if he wasn’t tensed up like a coiled spring. "My legs are fine, May."
"Oh, thank goodness," I doubled over in relief, and without thinking, my fingers began rubbing slow, soothing circles around the wound as I watched it begin to stitch together. It was incredibly slow, and more blood leaked out, like his body was trying to purge out the ash.
I remembered the Exiled girl. I wondered if she survived. I hoped she did.
"About the attack... did you know?"
Mercer’s eyes were closed, his brows furrowing lightly as he leaned into my touch, lashes dark against his cheeks. His side profile was beautiful. I wanted to run my tongue along his sharp jawline.
He frowned again, like he needed to concentrate deeply before he could respond. "No." His voice was deep and husky, and it went right between my legs. "We suspected..." he trailed off and grunted a deep sound of masculine pleasure when I began kneading the muscles around the healing wound, easing the tension from his muscles.
"There had been getting reports, but we didn’t expect anything this bold and reckless..." the more I kneaded, the easier the words came out of him.
I thought if I kept touching Mercer like this, he would tell me all of his secrets.
Maybe even all of his passwords.
Okay. Well. Maybe that was a stretch.
"It was almost as though they were here for a completely different reason... fuck, that feels so good."
He groaned again, arching his neck for me as my fingers ran up his shoulder. "Margaret Hunt is a lethal strategist. Uncoordinated, aimless attacks are not her forte. When Margaret Hunt wishes to strike, there is always a clear aim. Territory expansion. Complete annihilation. Making a statement. This was... very clearly unplanned. I suppose it would make sense if the girl was her daughter."
"And how many attacks have there been? When did they begin?"
"Too many to count. It began shortly after her banishment. I hear she never quite took it lying down and has been finding ways to overthrow my mother."
I thought of the woman who nearly ate me alive because she thought I had harmed her child. There was a sting of bitterness in my chest at her comment, but again, I found myself wondering what kind of person she was. I’d never heard a single good thing about her. She had Dad killed for saving Lana and I from her.
And yet, she was fiercely protective. Enough to stage an attack to rescue her daughter.
Was this one of those moments where two truths could coexist?
One where she was a horrible person but a good mother?
Even the latter was contradictory, considering the brilliant plans she had in store for me.
You are a disappointment.
My nostrils flared and I shoved down the anger waking inside me.
"Did you know who the prey would be?" I asked Mercer.
The answer scared me. I didn’t know what I would do if he said yes. Exiled or not, that was a child. Some things were too barbaric and disgusting to overlook.
"No. The Queen isn’t exactly the forthcoming type with her plans."
Relief relaxed my muscles.
Mercer caught my wrist as my fingers threaded over his shoulder again. "You’re annoyingly good at that. Makes it difficult to think."
He turned in the tub, somehow managing to make the restricted movement seem graceful, and then, he was staring into my eyes. "What do you think of her? If things were different... would you want... to meet her?"
I knew who he was speaking about.
You are a disappointment.
My throat closed. "No."