A Merciful Promise

by Elliot, Kendra

  Mercy didn’t want to know what was going through his head.

  He found some books and magazines, but neither Mercy nor Eden could hold them and turn the pages with her hands secured. Mercy begged to have one hand free, although her hurting head probably wouldn’t let her focus on a page. He refused, told her to shut up again, and continued to pace.

  He was antsy.

  Their days alternated between utter boredom and cold fear.

  On the third day he split Mercy’s lip again when he slapped her for asking too many questions about his plans. He’d raged at the two of them to be silent, and Mercy had pushed, seeking to know where he’d draw the line. She found it. She and Eden stayed silent for the rest of the day.

  He was Jekyll and Hyde. One minute giving her more Advil and the next kicking her in her sore knee for requesting a trip to the outhouse.

  She missed her family. Eden did too. The teen cried often, convinced she’d never see them again, and grieved that her mother had been gone for months. At least a hundred times she’d asked Mercy if she believed they’d get away from Sean.

  Mercy always said yes.

  But inside she had her doubts.

  Sean was fraying. The calm and control that she’d witnessed at the compound was gone, and she worried for their safety. Several times she’d caught him staring at Eden with a hungry look, setting off shrill alarms in Mercy’s brain. He caught her watching him and looked away as if nothing had happened.

  The focus on Eden disturbed her. Sean was no longer policed by society. It was just the three of them, and he held all the power. He could do as he pleased. His rules. No witnesses.

  She and Eden both watched for opportunities. Mercy dreamed of grabbing his gun or a knife from the tiny kitchen area. When he boiled water, she saw her hands grab the pan and hurl the contents into his face. The crack of the ax outside made her itch to hold its handle.

  But he was too careful.

  I need him to make one mistake. That’s all.

  They recited the directions back to the compound, pounding them into their memories. Mercy hated the thought of returning, but the compound was the only place that offered shelter—that they knew of. She was surprised how much of their trek she’d forgotten. Eden remembered landmarks that Mercy couldn’t recall.

  There was no guarantee that they’d escape together.

  And they might have to physically fight for their lives. They whispered about what they could use for weapons—the knives, his guns, a piece of firewood. Mercy lectured Eden on fear and how to set it aside, on being prepared to injure and attack. To kill.

  If the opportunity arose, she feared the teenager would freeze.

  Mercy gently flexed her knee and elevated it as much as possible. It had improved even with Sean’s continued abuse, her jeans no longer straining around it. The headache had nearly subsided, and now her vision stayed true. But the scabs on her face had dried, and they itched, and according to Eden, the tissues around her eyes were colorful palettes that changed every day.

  She would kill for a shower.

  Sometimes Mercy and Eden took turns distracting each other with happy stories, keeping their voices low as they talked about their lives back home. Sean had been silent a lot, but Mercy knew he listened to their conversations. She hoped their stories humanized the two of them, making him see that they weren’t expendable. Someone who could shoot Nelson in the head could also easily choose to eliminate them.

  Eden spoke of her family, relating touching accounts of Noah and her mother. The teen now believed that Noah had survived, although she often broke into tears while speaking of him. Mercy told stories of her siblings, struggling to keep her voice from cracking as she pictured their faces. She shared stories of her job and was describing Eddie’s sense of humor when Sean finally spoke.

  “You know your wonderful bureau has a rat,” he said abruptly.

  Mercy froze, knowing he didn’t mean a rodent. “How do you know?”

  He smiled, his hands clasped as he rested his forearms on his thighs, staring at them as usual, his eyes blazing with secrets.

  Her mind raced. She had continually questioned how Pete had known her name and for whom she worked, and it suddenly made sense. Chad hadn’t known her identity, so someone else had told Pete. Someone outside.

  Who?

  “Pete planned to kill you when he found out you were FBI.” His voice was flat.

  “Who told him?” He almost did kill me.

  Sean shrugged. “Pete had sources.”

  She sucked in a breath. How?

  He tilted his head, studying Mercy. “You haven’t said a word about the federal gathering out in the sticks.”

  Distracted, Mercy glanced at Eden. “What gathering?”

  He examined her face thoroughly. “You don’t know,” he finally said with wonder. “How could you not know? Pete found out they were coming the day before they arrived.”

  Mercy stiffened. Who? “I’ve had no contact with the outside.”

  A single brow shot up. “Seriously?”

  “When Chad left, I was incommunicado.”

  “Sounds like the feds didn’t give a crap about your safety. The feds set up camp within a couple miles of the compound, and you had no idea?”

  Mercy blinked, hope blooming in her heart. “Who? When?” They came to get me out?

  Annoyance flashed. “You’re a really shitty agent. How in fuck’s sake did you get a job with the FBI?”

  “How did you get a job?” she snapped back. “Or were you fired from the police department when your boss realized you’re a loose cannon? Maybe a little too heavy with the sexual harassment?”

  “Got me figured out, do you?” Fury gleamed in his eyes.

  “You tell me.”

  He leaned closer, his gaze sparking with rage. “Once upon a time I was with the Henderson Police Department, but I left on my own two years ago.”

  “Where’s Henderson?” asked Eden, who had been listening with wide eyes.

  “Outside of Las Vegas,” Mercy answered. She caught her breath. The ATF weapons heist had been in Nevada.

  Was Sean one of the thieves?

  Fast moving, prepared, and precise was how the survivor had described the attackers at the ATF robbery. That portrayal fit Sean.

  The ATF hadn’t figured out how the attackers had known where to ambush the vehicles.

  But a former Nevada police officer might still have a friend on the local force who knew that the transportation of the weapons stockpile was about to go down.

  Pieces fell into place, creating audible clicks inside her head.

  He held her gaze for a long second before he strode out the door again.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  On the seventh day since they had escaped, Sean’s temper was running hot. Mercy and Eden stayed quiet, impossibly attempting to blend into the floor and bed frame.

  “This is how life should be,” Sean muttered as he paced. “No TV, no cell phones, no computers. Completely self-reliant.”

  Is he trying to convince himself?

  To Mercy, Sean didn’t seem comfortable at all with the isolation. In the past she’d spent two weeks alone at her cabin. It had taken a day or two, but she’d learned to embrace the silence. Sean didn’t seem capable of it.

  “Bathroom break?” Eden quietly asked. He’d taken them out that morning, but that was several hours ago. They’d eaten a second meal, and Mercy was feeling the pressure too.

  “Time to take the dogs out?” he joked.

  It was a joke they’d heard too many times.

  Days ago they had formed a routine for going outdoors. He would untie Eden and order her to stay seated as he unlocked Mercy’s handcuffs from the bed and then fastened the cuffs behind her back. When it was her turn in the outhouse, he’d uncuff her while making Eden sit in the snow. The second Mercy’s cuffs were off, he pointed his gun at Eden’s head until Mercy emerged and put her hands behind her back to be locked up again.


  Eden and Mercy had picked the routine apart over and over, searching for a weakness. Every scenario ended with one of them shot. Mercy refused to risk it.

  This time he ran a finger across Eden’s cheek after he untied her, making Mercy’s stomach burn, the hungry look in his eyes nauseating her. Eden’s face was full of fear. Still grinning, he unlocked Mercy’s cuffs, and the key slipped from his fingers, bouncing behind one of his boots.

  Now.

  Mercy lunged at his legs, wrapping her arms around his knees, throwing her body weight into his lower half, and knocking him off balance to the floor. The gun he’d tucked into his waistband fell free and slid away a few feet.

  “Eden! Go!” Mercy ordered.

  The teen leaped to her feet and charged out the door, leaving it open as she vanished.

  Sean’s cursing didn’t penetrate Mercy’s focus. He was on his back, beating at her head and shoulders to free his legs from her locked arms.

  With all her energy, she slammed an elbow into his groin, and his entire body contracted, his legs and chest coming toward each other to protect himself as she rolled away. For the briefest split second, indecision warred in Mercy’s brain as the gun on the floor grabbed her attention.

  Too far away.

  She stumbled to her feet and sprinted out the open door, his guttural howls ricocheting in her skull.

  She veered left, ignoring her sore knee and following the packed snow path toward the outhouse and woodpile. The land in the opposite direction was covered with pristine snow over a foot deep beyond the eaves of the cabin. If she had turned right, she would have left a crystal clear trail for him to follow, her steps too slow and her back exposed to his shot.

  Her lungs burned, her ears attuned for sounds behind her as she ran.

  Eden got away.

  That’s all that matters.

  As long as the girl headed to the compound, she might be safe. But first Mercy had to stop Sean from following the teenager.

  Her gaze locked on the ax stuck in the wide stump that Sean used as a chopping block. Slamming to a stop, she thrust the handle down and yanked the ax from its hold. She dashed around to the back of the woodpile, clutching the ax to her chest, her lungs pounding with exertion as she leaned against the wood, squatting slightly to keep her head out of sight.

  The woodpile was enormous. Mercy estimated there were four or five cords of cut wood under the numerous tarps. Sean had constantly cleared the snow all the way around the base of the pile, leaving a path where her footsteps barely showed.

  As if he will think I went somewhere else.

  The land around the cabin was bare of trees and shrubs in every direction for fifty yards. Her only options were to hide in the outhouse or behind the woodpile or to run through the undisturbed snow for the tree line. She stared longingly at the trees to her north; it wasn’t worth the risk.

  I’d get a bullet in my back.

  Where is Eden?

  The thought screamed through her mind as she realized she hadn’t seen footsteps in the snow in the direction of the compound. The teen had to be either in the outhouse or on the other side of the woodpile.

  Sweat ran down Mercy’s back as she peered around the corner to check the east side of the woodpile.

  No Eden.

  Looking west, she could see part of the outhouse. The door was closed.

  Which will Sean check first?

  “Mercy! You damned bitch!”

  A shudder racked her entire body, her hands tightening on the ax handle.

  The ax was no defense against his gun. As she held the blade to cover her heart, the extreme unlikeliness of her surviving the situation sank in.

  If he checked the woodpile first, maybe Eden could take the time to get away. She cursed the teenager for not following their plan. She’d drilled immediate escape toward the compound into Eden’s head. Eden must have panicked.

  Footsteps crunched along the west end of the woodpile. As her heart tried to pound its way out of her chest, Mercy slipped around the corner to the east, wondering how long they would play cat and mouse, circling the pile.

  At least he didn’t go to the outhouse first.

  “Stupid woman,” Sean yelled, fury in his tone. “I should have shot you with Nelson. Left your body beside his in the snow.”

  His footsteps sounded closer, and Mercy turned another corner, the cabin coming into view a good thirty yards away.

  Can I get back in time and bar the door?

  His rifle had been in the corner near the sink, waiting to be used—unless it was currently in his hands. She eyed the expanse of snow between the cabin and woodpile, the well-broken path beckoning her to run.

  “I was nice to you!” Sean shouted, disgust and disappointment filling his words.

  A corner of her mind latched on to his statement. He’d threatened her, tried to blackmail her, sexually harassed her, cuffed her to a bed, and kept her captive for days. But since he hadn’t killed her, he was nice.

  And now he expected her to be submissive because he was nice.

  Fuck him.

  The roar of his gun coincided with the tiniest brush of wind over her head.

  She dropped to her knees, her hands protecting her head, banging the ax against her skull.

  He saw me.

  “Ha!” he shouted. “Don’t move!”

  A thump and small grunt came from his direction, and she recognized the sound of someone landing from a leap. He must have climbed partway up the side of the woodpile and spotted her head. Now he was running along the east side.

  The shot still ringing in her ears, she darted around another corner, staying as low as possible, her leg muscles straining from the exertion. The outhouse was in view again, its door still closed.

  How long will we circle this damned pile?

  “You haven’t done anything wrong yet, Sean,” she called out. “You can still make the best of this by letting Eden and me go.”

  No answer.

  His steps had gone silent, and she strained to hear, wondering if he’d changed direction. Clutching the ax to her chest again, she whipped her head around, checking both corners, north and south, expecting to see him come around one with his gun aimed at her head.

  She didn’t know which way to go.

  Terror tightened her chest, and she fought to breathe.

  “You didn’t kill me and Eden because you knew it was wrong,” she yelled, wincing as her voice broke. “Right now all you’ve done is keep us in the cabin. Killing me would raise things to a whole other level.”

  His laugh echoed through the silence. “I’ve read the negotiator’s handbook too, you know. You’re trying to convince me that my current legal consequences aren’t that bad. Did you forget there’s a body out front? What’s one more death? Or two?” He laughed again, but this time it was hollow, carrying a twinge of regret.

  The voice had come from the southeast corner of the pile, so she ran north. His boots pounded on the frosted ground.

  Another shot boomed.

  Mercy froze. That wasn’t his handgun.

  “Fucking little bitch! Don’t move!”

  Eden.

  Mercy whirled around and spotted Eden near the corner of the cabin, Sean’s rifle in her hands pointed at the south end of the woodpile. Eden didn’t flinch, her legs planted, her eye lined up with her sights. She fired the rifle again. But then panic crossed her face as she lowered the rifle.

  She ran.

  Sean entered Mercy’s view, tearing toward the teenager, his weapon in hand.

  “No,” Mercy muttered. “No!” Tightening her grip on the ax, she sprinted after the man.

  Her lungs gasped for oxygen; her gaze locked on Sean’s back. Eden had run south from the cabin, out into the clearing.

  No! She’s completely exposed!

  She faltered as she understood the teen had been trying to lead him away from Mercy. Energy and fear and anger ripped through her, pumping her legs to run faster.

&n
bsp; Sean halted in the snow, planted his feet, and formed a perfect isosceles stance, his arms and weapon pushed forward, Eden’s back in his sights. His shoulders rapidly rose and sank as he panted. He fired.

  Eden continued to run without missing a stride.

  Mercy knew he wouldn’t miss the second shot.

  “No!” Mercy shrieked as she caught up and swung her ax like a bat at Sean’s right side. It was like hitting a rock. The impact flew up her arms and into her shoulders as he stumbled to his left. The ax didn’t penetrate his coat but probably cracked a rib or two. He caught his balance, clamped a hand to his injured side, and spun in her direction.

  Fury and pain raged in his eyes, his teeth clenched, as he pivoted his weapon toward her. The open end of his barrel came into focus as Mercy swung again, her gaze locked on the gun in his hand.

  Her aim was perfect, and the ax smashed into his fingers.

  His weapon flew out of his grip, and Mercy lost her grasp on the ax. It spun through the air and sank in the snow.

  Their gazes collided, and Sean dove at her, knocking her onto her back in the snow. The air exited her lungs as he landed on her chest.

  Snow fell onto her face as she sank deep into the fluff, and he latched his hands around her neck.

  Mercy fought, swinging at his face, kicking with her legs and pounding on his arms.

  He was immobile.

  She spit the snow out of her mouth, and more tumbled into its place. Her head turned from side to side as she tried to shake the snow out of her eyes. It was impossible; she was blind and choking under several inches of miniature ice crystals.

  His hands tightened, his fingers digging into her airway and the vulnerable vessels in her neck. The snow blocking her vision grew black.

  I’m going to die.

  His face was beyond her fists and nails. She flung her arms to the side, digging, grasping for anything, trying to picture where his gun had landed. Her fingers felt nothing but fine grains of snow.

  I’m sorry, Truman.

  She dug deeper and found frozen packed ground. Her fingernails scraped the dirt, shooting agony up her arms as they ripped. Her right hand found something large and rough and round. She gripped it, seeing the irregular shape of the rock in her mind. Sucking in a desperate, ragged breath, she clutched the rock and propelled her fist out of the snow, aiming for where his head should be.