Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 127712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 639(@200wpm)___ 511(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 639(@200wpm)___ 511(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
He breaks away, then pushes my hand off him. “We have to talk.”
“For sure,” I say, rubbing his thigh. “This prisoner, Mercer. He’s fucking perfect. And you know what else?”
Mercer looks at me. I know he’s got something on his mind. I even know what it is. I already know what he wants to say. Leave me. Get out. Go away.
But he’s not going to say it yet. He wants to hear about this prisoner.
“What?” Mercer asks, answering my question.
“He asked me to have someone killed as payment.”
Mercer smiles. Then grins. Then chuckles.
“Right?”
“What did you say?”
“I told him… ‘You know, whatever. Give me a name.’”
Mercer’s eyes sparkle a little. “Did he give you the name?”
“He did.”
Mercer sucks in a deep breath, then lets it out slowly. “So this might be the one.”
“This is the one, Mercer. This is the one.”
He’s silent for a moment, his eyes kind of wandering around the room with no particular direction. He hasn’t forgotten what he wanted to say to me, but he’s not going to say it now.
It’s kind of a relief. I mean, I wouldn’t leave, anyway. So the whole conversation is pointless. But I’m glad that this good news will prevent us from going through the motions.
He takes my hand again, places it back on his still-hard cock. And then he uses it to squeeze himself.
I fist him under his pants as he pops the button of his slacks and pulls the zipper down. Then he takes my hand, pushes it inside his pants, waits for me to grip his dick, and I pull him out.
The next thirty minutes are nothing but kissing and a handjob.
He comes in my palm, and on his pants, and gets some on his shirt. And when he’s done, he turns his body, angles it against the arm of the couch, and says, “Go ahead. I’ll watch.”
I angle myself as well, undo my pants, stick my hand inside—still wet with his come—and then pull my dick out and jerk off as he watches. His own hand on his dick. His eyes half-closed.
He comes first. I always wait for it. Then I explode. And while my eyes are closed, and the come is still pulsing out, he crawls over to me, presses his chest on top of mine, and we kiss again.
This time he talks as we kiss. He whispers things. Promises, mostly.
“We’re going to make history,” he says. “We’re going to change the fucking world.”
And he’s right.
We are.
“Mother wants you gone.” And this whisper is almost a moan. A regret. This is what he wanted to tell me.
It’s not the first time that Patricia Mercer has tried to break us up, so my answer is practiced and confident. “Fuck Mother.”
And that’s just what he needed to hear.
That she doesn’t matter.
Not in this moment, anyway.
Of course, there will be other moments.
But that bitch took everything from me.
There is no way I will let her take Mercer.
I will fight for him.
And he knows this.
Back in the here and now at the beach house on the island, Mercer breaks out of our kiss first and I have a little trouble letting that memory fade.
Finding Olsen in that West Virginia prison changed everything.
Patricia Mercer lost a lot of power over her son that day. And for the first time in my life, I gained some.
Mercer turns, flips on the lights, and walks across the room, threading his fingers through his thick, dark hair. Then he reaches for a bottle of bourbon. “You want one?”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “Uh. Sure.”
Mercer nods, then turns again, busying himself with the glasses and ice on the bar cart. The next time he turns, he’s holding two glasses. He crosses the room, hands me one, then holds his glass up. “To fresh starts and new beginnings.”
I don’t say it back. I put the drink down. “Yeah. No. That doesn’t work with me, Mercer. And you know it.”
He doesn’t say anything. Just gulps his drink down.
It’s amazing how much he changed since that night in the clubhouse. Back then, he almost never drank. Now, he’s got a bar cart in every room of this house. Including mine.
But that’s not the only thing that’s changed. He’s much less of a loner now. Nova changed him. Why her, though? I mean, she wasn’t the first. Like with Olsen, I’ve had dozens of women with Mercer before Nova.
But Nova is the only one who got under his skin like this.
It’s all very personal.
That’s the biggest change in Mercer over the years. Everything is now so personal.
“Why don’t you just tell me what you want, Locke?”
“What makes you think I want something?”
He shoots me a look. “Come on. You’re always going on and on about how well you know me, but it goes both ways. I know you better than everyone. You went to see her. You were only gone a few days. Normally, you hang out for weeks. I never know what the fuck is going on and every time you come back, you’re a goddamned mess. But tonight”—he pauses, kinda looks me over, lowers his voice—“tonight, you’re something else. What’s happening?”