Mercy (Sin City Outlaws #2)(26)

I grab on to one of the shelves above her head, the impact of my hips against hers causing books to fall, on our heads and shoulders. I don’t stop, I continue to screw her like my life depends on it.

“Oh mah gawd!” she moans, her mouth hanging open. A thick book falls on my shoulder, one on her arm, but we don’t slow down. We’ve reached the point where pleasure outweighs any sense of pain.

My nuts squeeze tightly, and warmth swims up my shaft until I’m seeing double.

“Goddamn, baby,” I growl into her neck, teeth clenched, neck strained as I cum inside of her.

Slowly I pump once, twice more, not wanting it to end.

One of her hands run through my hair, her eyes hooded, hair everywhere.

“That was wild,” Jillian speaks softly, a wicked smile on her face. She looks devious, like a sex vixen. My job here is done.

I smile, helping her to her feet.

“I got a few days I gotta make up for.”

***

“SO IT WAS YOURS, did you ever pray with it or whatever they call it?” I slurp a noodle in my mouth. “Who gave it to you?” Zeek and I are sitting in a pile of books in front of the bookcase, the sheet tangled around us while we eat Chinese from the box. The radio playing “Let It Go” by James Bay.

“Damn, you ask a ton of f*cking questions.”

I shrug, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. I feel like a stray cat getting scraps of food thrown at her. If Zeek put his hand near my food right now, I might claw his face off.

“I forget how you don’t like opening up about personal things.”

“Right, it leads to fights. So, you get one question.”

Chewing on my noodles I ponder the question I want to ask.

“Do you pray? Who gave you the beads, or did you buy them?”

Shaking his head, his tongue trails along his bottom lip, before tucking between his teeth. “That’s three questions, babe.”

Stopping, I replay my questions in my head.

“Yeah, but they go together, they’re all about the same thing.” I defend.

“My mom gave them to me, basically told me to pray because I was a piece of shit and hopefully the Lord could bring some good out of me. I pray when I feel like I have nowhere else to go, but other than that it makes me feel...shitty, like I’m not good enough.”

My chest aches for him, hearing how his mother tried to cure him with religion, keeping him from seeing what religion really is.

“Your mom sounds like a—”

“Bitch?” Zeek finishes.

“I was going to say irrational.” I blink.

“I think it’s safe to say you and I see things differently, babe,” Zeek states, then pauses.

“I got mommy problems, and you got daddy issues. No wonder the sex is off the charts,” he continues, and I chuckle.

He shoves a forkful of food into his mouth, his leg stretching out and kicking a Geometry book. It’s thick, and I’m sure bruises will pop up all over mine and Zeek’s body within the next twenty-four hours.

“How’s your arm?” I point at his arm that was shot.

“It hurts. A lot.”

“Think the Devil’s Dust will have a doctor to look at it?”

He plays with his food, deep in thought, but he doesn’t respond.

“You nervous about seeing your brother?”

He shrugs.

“I wouldn’t blame him if he turned us away, I definitely deserve it.” He looks up at me, and tucks a hair behind my ear. “I just hope he doesn’t turn you away.”

I grab onto his wrist. “I’m not going anywhere without you, Zeek, you can’t leave me.” My heart beats off rhythm, scared he’s going to leave me at the Devil’s Dust so he can go take care of business.

His face tightens, his jaw ticking as his eyes look into mine. “I’m not going anywhere without you, Jillian. I’d never leave you behind.” He pulls me into the crook of his body, and kisses my head.

He leans across the carpet, and grabs his jeans. He fishes out the cross, and places it in the palm of my hand.

“Take this—”

“Zeek, no, this is yours.”

“Take it, I want you to have it.” Sliding my fingers over the shiny cross I peer up at him under my lashes.

“You sure?”

He nods. “Yeah, think of me or some shit.” His mouth lifts in the corner.

“I will.”

“It’s an antique one, it’s real silver. My mother told me an Italian man made it for his daughter who was set to marry some rich guy. On her wedding day a man dressed in rags plowed through the church doors declaring his love for the daughter. He was poor, and could offer nothing but his love. He was the town’s scoundrel. He stole, and caused chaos around the small town. The daughter stepped away from the altar, handed the rosary beads back to her father and ran off with the diamond in the rough.”

My thumb presses along the sharp edges of it, the bite of its point piercing the pad of my finger.

“Careful, it can cause some damage if someone really wanted to.”

“That’s a beautiful story. Is it true?”

“I’m not sure. I do know nowadays the only pendants you get with rosary beads are plastic, that this one is old and handmade. So it makes me think the story is true.”