The darkness in his eyes, the dangerous smell of alcohol in his breath, and his deathly grip keeping me bound to him made my heart pound in my chest and my body quiver beneath him. Shamefully, it wasn't anything that I wasn't used to, because…the things I let him do to me? When he was frustrated, annoyed, and angry at the world, I was here to be his pound of flesh. In return, he masked the void of my loneliness because for months, that was the transaction of our relationship. He'd pin me to the wall, bend me over the counter, pull my hair, slap me, choke me, and I enjoyed every second of it because in that moment, it finally felt good to be powerless. Irony is a funny thing. I enjoyed being in pain because it made me forget how much I was hurting. *** "I warned you, doll." His voice strikes a string of chills down the base of my spine, a reminder that all of the time in the world could pass, and he's still not letting go. This is where the good girl in me dies. "You're mine now," he whispers. *** My name is Mercy—Mercy Carter. I went to college. Got myself a useless Bachelor of Science in Mathematics degree. His name is Marcel—Marcello Saldívar. However, at the time, I didn't know that he, the heir to the Saldívar Mafia empire, was the man that I had blindly offered myself to. As smart as I am, I was stupid all the times when it actually mattered. After all, he did warn me he was dangerous. I just didn't think he could be much worse than my thug brother. I was vulnerable—naive. I belong to him. My name is Mercy, and I am the Mafia's Mercy.
View MoreI stare at Marcel, my heart pounding in my chest as I fight the overwhelming urge to give in, to go back to him and lose myself in his touch, in his kisses. The desire to be with him, to feel his skin against mine, is almost too much to bear. But I stand my ground, knowing we can’t keep avoiding the issues that keep pushing me away from him. After a long moment, he senses my resolve, his features hardening to a stern look as he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his gaze intent on me. “Alright, doll,” he says softly, his voice low and earnest. “Let’s talk.” I eye him for a moment, steeling myself before I finally begin. “Yesterday, with the ATF… I wasn’t trying to be brave or noble just for the sake of it. I was just… I was terrified, and so I figured if I didn’t completely fold within the first five seconds I wouldn’t seem so…weak.” His gaze sharpens, his brow furrowing with concern. “You’re not weak, Mercy. You were scared, rightfully. But terr
As I step out of the bathroom, the warm bath having soothed my tired muscles, I pause, adjusting the towel wrapped snugly around my body. My hair is piled atop in a messy bun, a few stray strands kissing my neck. The sound of incessant buzzing draws my attention, and I turn to see Marcel’s phone vibrating against the coffee table. He’s back? My gaze flickers to the sofa across from it, seeing Marcel sitting there, a glass of scotch in hand and brows furrowed in evident frustration. With an irritated sigh, he snatches up the phone, silences it, and tosses it back onto the table, the device skittering across the polished wood. And in a bad mood. Great. I watch him for a moment, taking in the tension that seems to radiate off him in waves. Alessandra’s earlier words echo in my mind, her insistence that what Marcel and I need is to reconnect. To reconnect his penis with my vagina. I blink at the memory,
The warm glow of the twinkle lights casts a soft ambiance over my study—the room Marcel had set up just for me 8 months ago. It’s a cozy haven where I can lose myself in my studies and find a moment’s peace. The beige couch and chaise are welcoming, the pastel yellow rug at the center of the room adding a touch of warmth beneath the wooden coffee table. My favorite books line the shelves on the wall, tying the room together perfectly. I’ve been here for hours, pouring over textbooks and assignments, trying to distract myself from the lingering tension of yesterday’s confrontation with Marcel. But even as I sit at the small desk, the warm light of the study lamp illuminating the keyboard of my laptop, I can’t seem to focus. Maybe I should just call it a day. With a sigh, I close my laptop, the weight of mental exhaustion settling over me. I push back from the desk, my swivel chair squeaking softly as I stand and stretch my tired muscles. The gentle mu
The leather seat squeaks as I shift, the only sound breaking the heavy silence through the suffocating tension in the air as we speed down the highway. I sit in the back seat, my hands clasped tightly in my lap as I watch Marcel out of the corner of my eye. He sits beside me, exuding an air of restraint, his features tight and his gaze intense. In the front seats, Rick and Frank sit rigidly, their eyes fixed straight ahead. They had been waiting for me outside the detention center, ushering me into the car as Marcel spoke with Sam before he walked back into the building, likely to tend to Levi’s situation. Marcel hasn’t said anything. Not about what happened with me and not about Levi, and frankly, I can’t take the silence anymore. “What’s going to happen to Levi?” I ask, my voice small. Marcel doesn’t look at me, his gaze fixed on his phone as he texts God knows who. “I’m taking care of it,” he says, his tone clipped. Why does he seem so
Sam’s expression doesn’t waver, his gaze steady as he leans back in his chair. “I told you, Mrs. Saldívar. Your husband sent me.” I shake my head, my heart racing. “No. No, that doesn’t make any sense. Why would you want me to tell them everything? Isn’t that theoppositeof what you’re supposed to do?” A small smirk plays at the corner of Sam’s mouth. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone. With a few taps, he slides it across the table to me. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?” I stare at the phone for a moment, hesitating. Then, with a shaky hand, I pick it up, bringing it to my ear. “H-hello?” “Mercy.” Marcel’s deep and familiar voice resonates through the small speaker, washing over me. “Are you okay?” At the sound of his voice, something inside me breaks. “No!” I cry, the tears I’ve been holding back finally spilling over. “No, I’m not okay! Marcel, they have Levi. They’re saying they’ll put him away. And they
The walls of the interrogation room seem to close in around me as I sit alone at the metal table, my hands clasped tightly in front of me. The fluorescent lights flicker overhead, casting an eerie glow on the gray walls. My heart pounds in my chest, a sickening feeling twisting in my gut. How did I get here..? My mind drifts back to just a few hours ago, walking out of class after taking my Electromagnetic Theory midterm exam. The cool autumn breeze felt refreshing on my skin after being cooped up in the stuffy classroom for hours. I had been looking forward to seeing Levi, who Marceltrustedto drive me to and from campus for the second time this semester—2 hours away from home. As I stepped out of the building, I saw Levi, sitting on a bench, waiting for me. With a small smile on his face, he stood up, asking, “So, how was it?” I couldn’t help but grin, the weight of my pre-exam anxiety quickly lifting from my sho
It’s gotten easier. Since that day on the balcony, three weeks ago, I’ve spent a lot of time doing some self-reflecting. In that time, I’ve tried to get a sense of normalcy back, despite the occasional nightmares. Even so, instead of trying to bury my trauma or numb it out in the most detrimental of ways, I took up baking, reading, working out, and occasionally slipping into the lab to work with the engineers. It’s a strange thing, to be helping others with the skills that have caused so much destruction, yet all at once, it’s fascinating. I’m now more than ever intrigued by the world of engineering, and I’m starting to think I chose the wrong field to study. This is so much cooler. “Alright,” I breathe out as I set down the tablet on the lab table, glancing up at Ben and Pablo. “I should probably get going.” Pablo nods half-heartedly, his gaze fixated on the circuit board in front of him as he carefully shifts the wires on it. “Alway
⊰ Marcel ⊱ The minutes tick by as I sit on the edge of the bed with a fresh pair of clothes for Mercy in my hand. My mind is torn between the crushing weight of my own guilt and the desperate need to be strong for her. The room feels too quiet, too still, like the calm before a storm. I find myself staring at the bathroom door, listening intently to the sound of the shower running, the only thing that seems real in this moment. It’s a reminder that Mercy is here, that she’s alive, even if the spark that once lit up her eyes has been dimmed. How can I bring her back? How do I put her back together? I hear the shower stop, and after a couple of minutes, Mercy emerges from the bathroom. She’s wrapped in a towel, her hair damp and her skin flushed from the heat of the shower. I help her dress, my hands gentle as I guide the shirt over her head. “What do you need, baby doll?” I ask softly. “Tell me what I can do.”
⊰ Marcel ⊱ Guilt gnaws at my insides, a lingering presence that never seems to leave my side anymore. It’s there when I close my eyes, haunting my dreams with visions of Mercy’s beaten body, her pain-filled cries. It’s there when I wake, a heavy weight on my chest that makes it hard to breathe. I failed her. I failed our child. The thought is a knife to the heart, twisting deeper with every passing moment. I should have protected her, should have kept her safe. But I didn’t. And now, she’s paying the price for my failure. The worst part is that they aren’t the only ones. Mercy and our unborn child weren’t the only ones I failed that day. As I sit here, on the sofa, holding a glass of scotch in my hand as I eye her small form laying on our bed sound asleep, my mind drifts back to the day before. It was just yesterday morning that Alessandra stopped by to drop off Mercy’s medication. I walked toward my b
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