Mercy (Sin City Outlaws #2)(8)

My body slumps against the headboard, my free hand covering my mouth. They even have a reward for any information about us in black bold lettering underneath our pictures.

“That’ll be enough television.” Zeek sighs, turning it off.

Closing my eyes, I shake my head. I can’t believe this. Before I thought maybe they got some intel wrong, it’s happened before. Witnesses get confused, but this…there is no doubt that my department is f*cking filthy, and turning on me. It said I killed my father. My eyes drift to Zeek’s, expecting his face to convey an ‘I told you so’ look. It doesn’t though, his face is sincere, his brows narrowed with concern.

If he was right about my department, then he may be right about my dad. A pain slams in my chest, my head refusing to believe it, but my heart knowing it’s probably true.

“Seems you two got yourself into some kind of trouble,” Donald pipes up.

“It’s not true. I didn’t do that!” The words come out harsher than I intended, my head shaking back and forth like a mad woman as tears pour from my eyes so hard I can barely see straight. Donald doesn’t respond. Eyes that are dull with age, focus on me, his mouth pulled into a tight line. He doesn’t believe me. I wouldn’t believe me either, not after Zeek just took them at gunpoint. After we took them at gunpoint.

“I believe you.” Mildred grabs my hand, giving it a squeeze. “My Leslie says the news likes to fabricate things, that drama is their selling point.” I swallow and give a reassuring nod. Mildred’s blue eyes that look as vibrant as a child’s smiling back at me.

Zeek puts his food down and gets up from the bed. He steps behind Mildred, ushering her out of the way and sits on my side of the bed. His face is tight, and his hand rubbing the stubble on his chin. It’s grown since we’ve been on the run. It’s dark, and rough. My hands want to touch it; palm it. Pathetically, I want to curl up in his lap and cry my eyes out. There is something about having those hard tattooed arms wrapped around me that drown out the rest of the world.

“I’m going to fix this, Jillian.” He doesn’t look at me as he stares at the floor. “I know this is my fault, and I don’t blame you for hating me.” Looking up at me his eyes are laced with sadness. “I took everything away that ever mattered to you, especially when I took you.” I close my eyes, willing myself to go deaf. His words are smooth, his face holding regret. “I don’t regret taking you though.” His face softens, his eyes remaining serious. “I’d take everything you ever cared about away all over again if it meant you got to breathe another day on this f*cked up Earth next to my side.”

“You call this breathing?” I mutter, my eyes fluttering with unshed tears. “You think I’m living right now?” My hand pulls on the cuff to emphasize my point.

“Your heart is still beating, isn’t it?”

I scoff, and fall back against the headboard.

“Maybe, but it’s severely broken.”

“If I didn’t take you, Jillian, Frank would have his claws deep inside your head right now. Deciding on whether or not he can use you.”

I close my eyes, wishing he’d stop. I can’t take the truth anymore, my world is spinning and falling at my feet faster than I can pick the pieces up to salvage them.

“How about a nice shower? Hmm?” Mildred claps her hands together, cutting the tension between us. Pulling my eyes from Zeek, I glance at her, she’s smiling again. Seriously, what is wrong with this woman?

Zeek reaches over and grabs his gun, aiming it at them.

“You two get on the bed.” He gestures to the other queen size bed, his tone back to criminal mastermind.

“Excuse me?” Donald asks, looking at the bed.

“Your wife offered a shower, I’m accepting. However, I can’t just go get in the shower and expect you and Mildred here not to run off and call the cops. So, get on the bed so I can cuff you,” Zeek explains.

“That won’t be necessary. We aren’t going anywhere. You know, our Leslie got in some trouble some time back, and we had to come up with an alib—”

“Mildred, just get on the bed, dear.” Donald interrupts his wife’s rambling.

I watch as Mildred climbs on the bed, Donald right behind her. Once in place, he grabs her hand and squeezes it quickly before releasing it. They look picture perfect. Like the kind of love you’d hope for when you got older.

Zeek undoes my cuffs, and my hand falls like a dead weight. I rub at my wrist, where a little red circle is indented into my skin. It’s going to bruise.

“You know, Donald, this is like our anniversary back in nineteen seventy-three. Do you remember that?” She raises her shoulders, a shy smile blushing across her face. God, why can’t I find that kind of love?

Donald chuckles. “I do.” Zeek handcuffs them putting both of their small wrists in one cuff, and the other to the bed. They seem oblivious to what is going on, lost in their own little circle.

“You.” Zeek points at me. “Up.” He grabs me by the wrist and I wince. His eyes widen, and he eases his grip on the tender flesh.

Looking over his shoulder he looks at the couple.

“If you so much as make a peep, I’ll come out here and shoot you both.”

“Zeek!” I shout, my mouth wide open.