She tugs the blankets closer, inching farther from me.
“Look at me.”
Her jaw clenches.
I close my fingers over her chin and make her look. Her eyes are narrowed to slits when they meet mine. She won’t be easy to bend. But I don’t want her to be. I tilt her face up and brush the hair from her cheek. The gash is already closed up, the blood dried, and a bruise is taking shape. I’m surprised this is all she walked away with considering. Mercedes De La Rosa murdered a woman. She should have to stand before The Tribunal to answer for it. Any other member of The Society would. But Santiago will take care of that. And I will help him protect her.
I have a feeling, though, that her own guilt and the thought of losing her brother’s love are more punishment than anything The Tribunal could dish out.
I clean the dried blood off her cheek and smear antibiotic ointment onto the cut, careful to be gentle. I feel her eyes on my face, and I take my time doing it. Once I’m finished, I set the ointment aside and pour a glass of water out of the crystal pitcher on the nightstand. I take the pill Miriam left on the small dish and hold both out to Mercedes.
She looks at the pill.
“To help you get a good night’s rest.”
“I’m fine,” she says, turning her head away.
“It will help, Mercedes.”
She looks again at the pill in my palm. She wants it. She wants the oblivion it will bring. And this once, I’ll allow it. She reaches a tentative hand to pluck the pill from me and places it on her tongue, then takes the glass, sipping from it before handing it back.
I set it on the nightstand and get to my feet.
She lies down and turns away from me. Long dark hair spills over the white pillow, the duvet she is clutching tucked up to her chin, leaving most of her back exposed. I reach for the blanket to cover her fully, but something catches my eye. A mark. Something I’ve never seen because her back has never been fully bared to me. It’s a scar. Many years old from the look of it. I glimpse the edge of another, deeper one, lower. It’s hidden by the blanket.
I know what leaves this particular mark. I’ve seen it before.
When I touch the tips of my fingers to one, the skin around it tightens, and she stiffens. I stop. Now isn’t the time. It’s enough for one night. Especially this night. So I draw the blanket up to her shoulders and watch her burrow beneath the weighted duvet, small hands like fists holding on tight. Reaching for the switch, I turn off the light beside the bed and walk toward the door. I pause there and glance back at her. But when I hear her sniffle, I walk out of the room.
4
Mercedes
I broke my cardinal rule. The one absolute law I have always abided by.
Never let anyone see my scars.
In my discomfited state of mind, I wasn’t even considering it. It’s probably the first time in my life I forgot those scars were there. Nobody was ever supposed to see them. Nobody ever has, apart from the one witness who won’t utter a word.
But now Judge has. He knows, and it seems to tip the scales of inequity even further in his favor. I hate this. I hate him. I hate everyone right now. And even though I promised myself I wasn’t going to cry anymore, that’s exactly what I do when he leaves me alone in the silent abyss of my room. I cry at the loss of the only life I’ve ever known. I grieve for the woman I thought I was. And I grieve for the woman who almost killed my brother before I killed her. I don’t know why. I didn’t know her, other than the few times we spoke to arrange the deal we made. When I found out she double-crossed me and nearly destroyed the last of my family, I wanted her dead. I swore it was the only punishment fit for her crime. But wanting it was one thing. Carrying out the act myself, so brutally and so unexpected, is another.
The weight of my guilt settles over me as the medicine soaks into my veins and makes my eyes too heavy to focus. So I close them, and inevitably, sleep drags me away for a few blissful hours when nothing else exists.
When the light of day starts to creep into my window, the reality of my situation sinks in all over again. I wake up in a bed that’s not my own, and one glance at my surroundings confirms I’m still living in a hell of my own making.
I squeeze my eyes shut and try to forget, but it’s an impossible task. One complicated by the sound of my door opening. Miriam stands with a smug expression and a tray full of breakfast in her hands when I glance up.
Something about this woman rubs me the wrong way. I had a bad feeling about her from the time I stayed here before, but after last night, I know she can’t be trusted.
“Time to get up,” she announces with gleeful mockery in her eyes. She’s enjoying this far too much.
“Just leave it.” I nod at the tray. “I’ll eat later.”
“Afraid not.” She hums as she moves to the seating area near the window and sets the tray on the table. “You’ve been ordered to get up. Take a shower, and then you can eat.”
I glance at the clock next to the bed in dismay. “It’s only six o’clock.”
“Yes, and Mr. Montgomery wants you up. I suggest you follow his directives. Or don’t. I suppose you’re the one who will face the consequences, so it makes no difference to me.”