Mercy (Salacious Players Club, #4)(89)

“They just put him in a triage room.”

I force in a breath. “What does that mean?”

“It means they’ve finished with him, and they’re monitoring him.”

“That’s a good sign,” I say excitedly as my spine straightens, and I look to her for confirmation.

She shrugs. “He is alive.”

My breath shudders out of me. “When can I see him?”

“Not for a while. Not until he gets into a room, but I’ll send the doctor out to check in with you, okay?”

I grab her hand, clutching to it as I force a sad smile on my face. “Thank you.”

She doesn’t respond. Only nods before pulling away from my grip and heading back inside. As I sit alone on the cement bench outside, my mind is mostly blank. Makeup is smeared across my face, and I realize it will be morning soon. My bones ache with exhaustion, but I can’t sleep. Not anytime soon.

When I see a familiar man crossing the parking lot toward me, his walk rushed and enraged, I sit up and brace myself.

As he charges up to meet me, I stand, squaring my shoulders and preparing myself for what’s about to happen.

“How is he?”

“They put him in a triage room. I think that’s a good sign, but I’m still waiting for an update.”

“Tell me exactly what happened.”

“We were coming out through the back and the guy just ambushed us. He had…a crowbar.”

Emerson winces, clearly mustering his courage to hear this.

“I want to kill that motherfucker,” he grits through his clenched teeth.

“We have security footage. We can give it to the police and get an ID on this guy. He’s one of the protestors—"

“I know it’s one of the protestors,” he snaps, cutting me off. He’s so tense and unhinged, nothing like the calm and collected man I’ve known for over a decade.

He stares at me with wild, tired-looking eyes, before running his hands through his hair and pacing in a circle before coming back toward me.

I ready myself for what I know is coming next.

“So let me get this straight. You and Beau were at the club together?”

Solemnly, I nod.

“What the fuck, Maggie?” he barks. I flinch from the anger in his voice. “My son?”

“It just happened, Emerson—"

He holds up a hand to stop me. “No. You crossed a line and you know it. You don’t fuck your friend’s kid.”

“He’s not a kid,” I reply calmly, feeling my blood starting to boil. I can respect that Emerson is going through a lot as a father, fearing for his child’s life, but he’s wrong. And I’m itching to tell him.

“You fucking knew him as a kid,” he growls, and my brow furrows.

“It’s not like that and you know it.”

“No, I don’t know it,” he says, his voice an octave lower than normal from his fierce temper. “Turns out I don’t know you at all.”

“That was meant to hurt me, and that’s unfair,” I reply, standing tall.

“Unfair? You think that was unfair? You brought my son to our club. You’ve been…” He lets out a frustrated sound. “Behind my back?”

All of the will and discipline to bite my tongue is gone now as the need to fight back builds inside me. “You’re being such a hypocrite!”

He looks up stunned before I continue.

“You fucked his ex-girlfriend. You just married her! You pretend like Beau is so delicate and breakable, but you didn’t hesitate to stomp all over his heart a year ago.”

“Maggie,” he says in a warning. But I’m too riled up now. Maybe it’s exhaustion and adrenaline, but I can’t stop. He started it.

“I don’t blame you for what happened with Charlie, but don’t stand there and act like you have his best interests at heart and I don’t.”

“I would do anything for my son, and you know it.”

“Everyone knows it!” I shout. “But what are you trying to protect him from, Emerson? Me? The club? Do you really think your son would be hurt by kink? Are you really that much of a fraud?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” he growls as he turns away.

“Why? Because I’m not a parent? Well, I love him. I would do anything for him too. And I’m sorry if that’s hard for you to understand.”

He’s fuming silently as he stares out at the dark parking lot.

“If you’re not ashamed of it, then why did you keep it a secret?” he mutters quietly.

“I’m not ashamed of anything,” I reply with my fists clenched.

“Then why lie to me?” he bellows.

“Because you’re Emerson fucking Grant and what you say goes. You want to control everything and I knew that you’d try to control us. Well, you might be Charlotte’s Dom, but you’re not mine.”

My teeth are clenched as I glare at him, heat and anger mixed with adrenaline, creating a lethal combination of no fucks given. I’m tired of tiptoeing. I’m tired of asking for permission or forgiveness. The days of making myself as small and as quiet as possible are over.

When he doesn’t respond to my outrage, I take it as a good sign.