Beg for Mercy

by Lucian Bane

  He squinted his gaze at her. “Help what, doc? What are you helping? You want me to love my dad? You think me loving my dad is going to help me? Or me pretending he loved me?”

  She shook her head, “Not that, no.”

  “Then what, why would you bring that filthy fucker into this room, into my head space?”

  Mercy took a deep breath, hating the disgusted look he aimed at her, the accusing look. “Not for the reasons you seem to think,” she said.

  “Then enlighten me,” he said. “You’re just playing therapist? Digging around in the holes to see what bloody pieces you can get at and examine? Just tell me what you want doc, and I’ll hand it to you on a silver platter, no need to trick it out of me, or fish it out. I’m open,” he said spreading his arms. “No dissecting needed.”

  Her heart raced. “Okay,” she said softly. “If you’re open, then tell me about last night.”

  He stared at her, slowly sitting back. “A lot happened last night, doc. Care to be a little more specific?”

  “What were you feeling while you were doing it?”

  He squinted his eyes at her again, like she baffled him. “A lot of bad things, doc. Mostly that I wanted it and nobody, not even you, would stop me.”

  Her stomach quivered at his words and she focused on where she was headed with her questions. “How did you feel after?”

  “Right after?”

  “Yes.”

  He shrugged. “Furious.”

  “Why?”

  “Furious that I did it. You having fun yet, doc?”

  The insult hit home and she moved on. “Okay, fine,” she conceded, “you were furious. What else did you feel after?”

  “That’s it.”

  “No guilt?”

  He glared at her. “What the fuck do you think?”

  “I want to hear you say it, I don’t want to guess or assume.”

  “You want to hear it,” he mused, like she were an idiot playing a little game. But as hard as it was, they needed to get accustomed to talking about the hard stuff. It was key with dealing, her father would be the first one to tell him that. And would, too. “Yes, doc. I felt guilty. Just like I always feel after giving in to the urge to rape any woman in the ass.”

  She ignored the any woman part. “So you’ve done this before?”

  He stared at her, his jaw sliding barely right. “Maybe. But it was consensual.”

  “How do you consensually rape a woman in the ass?” she asked, her stomach churning.

  He shrugged. “She asks for it.”

  “She asks to be raped in the ass,” she repeated, hoping he heard how that sounded.

  “Raped in the ass, the mouth, the pussy,” he said, seeming to enjoy telling her. He was just pissed. Hurting over the Johnathon and father probing.

  “I get it now,” she said lightly.

  “So thrilled to hear that.”

  “So, did you feel joy or any other similar feelings during?”

  “Of fucking course,” he said lightly. “Fucking you when you didn’t want it gave me great pleasure if you want to call that, joy.”

  “I wouldn’t say I didn’t want it,” she admitted, hoping to steer him back to the nice side of his honesty.

  He gave another stupid shrug. “I was only going by your word, doc. Not going by if you lied about it.”

  She held his gaze for several seconds, holding tight to her control. “Fair enough.”

  “If you say so.”

  Wow. This was so not going any kind of good. “So what about after?”

  “After what, doc?” His tone was soft and patient now, condescending.

  “How did you feel about what you did after therapy?” She was ready to hurry and finish with him so she could turn the tables and go through the same questions about herself in regards to the abuse she’d inflicted on him.

  He held both hands up. “Guilty. Which is why I slept with you. You didn’t deserve any of that and you wanted comfort. I gave that. I agreed to try and help you. That doesn’t mean I believe you can, that just means I won’t fight you,” he finished calmly.

  Okay, that was a lie, or some serious denial. “Do you often tell women you love them when you feel guilty?”

  Again he shrugged. “I did what I felt you needed.”

  “So that was all for me, not you.” Pain crowded her throat even though she was ready to wager he was lying his ass off. But why? All over the Johnathon bit?

  “Why would it be for me?” Disgust crimped his face as he eyed her. “Do I look like the type to want love and affection after I rape a woman in the ass?”

  The generic woman term stung, and Mercy forced it aside, determined not to let him win this. “Even sadomasochists want love and affection,” she said softly.

  “Not this one, not last night.”

  “Do you ever remember a time when you wanted affection and love?”

  “Sure. With my mother. And when I thought she died, that need died with her.”

  “And… now that you realize she’s alive? Has the need for love and affection returned?”

  “With her, of course. It never went away.”

  Illogical jealousy stabbed Mercy and she doodled on her tablet, not looking at him. “Of course with her,” she said lightly. “As it should be.”

  “But with women that I can fuck, the need for affection and love is never realized. I guess it’s crowded out by my need to hurt them or be hurt by them, sexually.”

  “Just hurt them sexually?”

  “So far, yes.”

  The pen drummed lightly on the desk as she contemplated how to pull the rug out from under his cocky feet. “So you’re saying there’s nobody at any point that you wanted love and affection from besides your mom?”

  “It’s all about pain and fucking for me, doc. Sorry.”

  “No need to be sorry, Johnathon.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Time slowed to a crawl as Sade stared at Mercy. Mercy and that pensive green gaze, always wanting to doctor him. Her gaze held his, testing, and his fury slowly mounted. He knew what was coming, he knew there would be no controlling it or stopping it.

  “Why can’t I use that name,” she whispered. “Your name given by your mother. You allow your mother to use it.”

  He fought to unhinge his jaw to say the words that needed saying but he couldn’t. He quickly got up and hurried to the door. She’d agreed not to use that name, she’d taken it off the contract, he’d just made it clear it was off limits and still. She did it. To satisfy herself. To get her therapeutic kink met. Just like all of them in his life. She was a user. A manipulator. A liar.

  “Sade!” she called, the sound of her steps chasing after him. She caught up to him before he could shut the door to his room. “Wait, please.”

  “You broke the contract, doc, it’s fucking over,” he grit, “it’s so, very fucking over.” And he was glad, fucking ready to tear something apart now.

  “I’m sorry, please,” she stepped in and he stepped back, repulsed by her. “I forgot.”

  His rage shot up and his fingers bit into the door with the need to rip it off the hinges. “I can’t believe you’re a fucking liar,” he gasped, dizzy with the sick realization. The kind of liar he hated, one that lied to get what they selfishly wanted.

  “No, you’re the liar,” she gasped, pointing at him.

  “You need to move away from this door, doc. I didn’t lie to anybody.”

  “That’s a goddamn lie and you know it.”

  “What the fuck did I lie about? That everything I did, I did for you and not me, doc?” he yelled, slamming his hands on his chest.

  “That! That’s the fucking lie, that was for you too, you wanted that, you! You wanted me, you needed me, Johnathon needed me and my love!”

  Sade’s fury gripped him and he yanked her in his room by the front of her jacket and slammed the door shut then pushed his forearm into her chest. “What the fuck is wrong with you!” he roared.


  She met his gaze with her wide one, panting, realizing she’d pushed him too far. “Okay, okay,” she whispered. “I won’t hurt you again, Sade. I promise. Session’s over. I was out of line. It won’t happen again, it won’t happen again. I was just trying to do therapy, trying to deal with things, I’m very sorry, you have to believe me,” she whispered, tears and all.

  A sneer slowly twisted his mouth as he stared down at her. “You fucking bitch,” he muttered, stepping back, nodding a little with his head angled at her. “You just can’t stand it, can you? You just won’t rest until you have your fucking way.” Rage had his muscles quivering now and he knew it was only a matter of time before he lost it completely. He stared at her and all he saw was just another face from the past. Another face that wanted to use him. “Does it make your pussy hot doc, to drag all my dirty secrets out?” He angled his head the other way. “Maybe you’re right, maybe you’re the real sadist here, Miss Mercy. You like to hear all the dirty details?” He gradually drew closer until he stood directly in front of her. “You win,” he said softly. “Would you like to finger your pussy while I tell you?”

  She closed her eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I… I didn’t realize. You don’t have to say it.”

  “Ohhhh baby,” he whispered, gripping her jaw tight. “So fucking sweet of you.” He slid his lips across hers, his tongue tasting. More hate filled him when her body responded. “Ah yes, you want that don’t you? I know you fucking do. Because everybody likes Johnathon. You want Johnathon? You want to call me Johnathon?”

  He dug his fingers harder in her jaw and gripped her pussy until she whimpered, proving him right, proving she was just about that fucking pleasure, just had to have it. He knew what that was like, and seeing it in her, overflowed him with disgust. “Look at you,” he gasped. “So ready for me. So ready.” He nibbled his way across her face, his breath shaking as the past trickled in and locked away his sanity. He slid his hand up her front, feeling her body beneath the soft fabric, pushing his leg between hers. “Johnathon is here, he’s all yours baby. Johnathon is for everybody. He’s a team player.”

  “Stop,” she gasped, sounding panicked. “Please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she barely rasped.

  “No, no, no,” he cooed, “shhhh, don’t worry about Johnathon.” He stroked her lips with his fingers, licking them. “Because he likes it, see? He likes when daddy fucks him and calls him his boy. His best Johnny boy. I was sooooo fucking good, I was his favorite little pussy fuck.”

  She tried to turn away and he pushed her mouth open, kissing her with a brutal force, growling and latching his fingers in her hair. His entire body trembled now as he pulled her head back and devoured her mouth. All he could think was she wanted Johnathon. Just like they did. “I was such a precious boy,” he rasped, still on her mouth. “His prize toy. I was famous,” he bit softly at her lip, “a real superstar.” He heard his father’s laughter in his head with those words of praise. “I remember,” he shuddered in her mouth, “How much I fucking loved it.”

  She sobbed and it was another lie. Just another fucking lie. He shoved her away then stormed back to her. “Don’t you cry for Johnathon!” he roared in her face, hate boiling in his veins. “He likes it! Don’t you fucking cry for that pussy face boy!” The need to smash was there, and he stormed around the room, looking for something to break, crush, shatter—just like him, just like his life. It wanted out, it wanted to scream, beg, be heard, be known.

  “Don’t you fucking cry for Johnny boy!” He hurled the lamp at the wall, the shatter like a drug to his ears. “He’s just a pussy-face boy! Wanting daddy’s attention!” He slammed the nightstand into the wall and Mercy ran to a corner. “Johnathon will do anything for daddy’s little wink, daddy’s pat on the head!” He grabbed blindly and smashed whatever he could. “Don’t you cryyyyy for Johnny,” he sang in a deep voice, mimicking his dad. “Johnny is a team player! He’s a mommy’s boy, Johnny is a fucking mommy’s boy!”

  Sade tore the room apart, roaring the words over and over, no longer seeing or hearing anything but those words. Those words his father always said to his mother. Don’t you cry for Johnathon. Don’t you cry for that pussy-face boy.

  The room spun and Sade was suddenly staring at the ceiling, his vision blurry as he fought to breathe. Mercy knelt next to him, screaming and crying, calling his name while his mouth still moved to voice the madness swirling in his head. “Don’t cry…” he gasped, reaching for Mercy, his hand covered in blood, “Don’t you… fucking cry…for Johnathon.”

  ****

  “Dad? Dad, come in,” Mercy sobbed.

  Liberty took the radio from her. “Let me, sweetie. He’s not dying, I told you, it’s only twenty-one stitches and it missed the main hose.”

  “It’s not that,” Mercy sobbed. “I’m so stupid, I’m trying to help him and I’m killing him!”

  “You’re not killing him,” she soothed, getting on the radio and trying other channels until she reached her dad.

  Liberty handed her the mic when she got him and Mercy took it. “Go check on him, stay with him, make sure the medicine is working, make sure the bleeding has stopped. And he’s comfortable,” she gasped, her sobs clawing to get free.

  “I got it,” she assured, heading out.

  “Mercy, talk to me,” her father said, sounding panicked.

  “Dad,” she whispered into the mic, fighting not to cry. “Are you alone?”

  “Yes, I’m alone, baby. Daddy’s here, tell me what’s wrong.”

  “It’s Sade,” she gasped. “He’s not dead but he got hurt. Twenty-one stiches,” she said, not wanting her dad to panic.

  “Ah, honey, what happened?”

  “Dad,” she barely managed, putting the heel of her hand on her forehead. “You know I’m not a quitter, dad, but…”

  “No, you’re not a quitter.”

  “I can’t do this. I can’t keep hurting him like this.”

  “Hurting him how?”

  “Everything I try, it-it backfires. I try to do the things you taught me with him but they’re not working,” she whispered.

  “I want you to do something for me right now.”

  “What? Tell me,” she cried, desperate.

  “I want you to calm yourself. Remember how to do that?”

  “Yes,” she gasped, closing her eyes and obeying his instructions.

  “Tell me when you’re calm.”

  Mercy knew the drill, he wouldn’t proceed until she was. “I’m there. I’m calm.”

  “Close enough,” he said, knowing she wasn’t entirely.

  “Some things happened Dad,” she whispered.

  “Go on,” he said.

  “Well, I’m… I’m trying to retrain him the way you helped me, only he’s a sadomasochist, right?”

  “Right. And how is that going?”

  She fought to keep her emotions in check but every word she spoke trembled. “He seems…”

  “Worse?”

  “Yes,” she gasped.

  “Not surprised.”

  “Why?”

  “His mother came back from the dead, and with that resurrection came every demon he’d buried without realizing.”

  “Like what, Dad?”

  “Like all his fears of losing the one he loves. It’s transferring, baby.”

  “He’s fighting me, Dad,” she was back to crying. “I’m sorry, breathing. You wouldn’t believe what a huge mess I am. I am such an epic failure in this, I mean you would not recognize the person that I am. All that training Dad, it’s like, poof! Gone. And he’s stuck with this driveling, cry baby bitch.”

  “Stop it,” he ordered. “There is no amount of training on earth that equips us for being in love. And you, sweetheart, are very much there.”

  She stopped in her tracks, startled with his words. “I am,” she whispered. “I very much am. So… are you saying this is normal for me to feel this way?”

  “Yes, baby, I’m sorry, yes, it’s normal. N
ot fun, but normal. And our boy Sade. He will fight you. He will do what it takes to keep from losing you. And not having you is the only sure way to do that.”

  She closed her eyes. “That’s not an option.”

  “Baby, you have to understand something. Sade perfected his game. He found ways to maintain an impressive measure of goodness while harnessing his sexual issues. But there are some demons he has not been able to manipulate. The one’s close to his heart. His mother. His father. Now you.”

  “His father? He hates him.”

  “Yes, and he loves his mother. It’s the source of his sadism and masochism, I believe.”

  “What am I?”

  “You’re the new risk, it’s a repeat of his mother’s scenario. While she may be safe from his past, you are not. And the only way he can keep you safe from it, is to keep you out of it. And since he’s trapped in it, he’s doing the only thing he knows how. He’s willing to give up the one thing he needs and wants more than life itself—just to protect it. And Mercy… that’s love. That man loves you more than you know and more than he can voice to you. But I am here to tell you, that is the truth.”

  Mercy’s heart swelled with love till she had to hold her chest from the pressure. “So, the more I try to get him out of his past, the harder he fights me. Oh my God,” she said. “I pushed the issue, dad and he had a little slip.”

  He sighed and it went quiet.

  “Don’t worry,” she wailed, remembering the horrific aftermath, “I nearly killed him for it.”

  “Fuck,” he whispered.

  She’d never heard him say that word in front of her, and it alarmed her. “Dad, you can’t tell him, please, I’m confiding in you.”

  He mumbled something again and she waited, her heart ready to beat out of her chest. “How bad did you hurt him?”

  “He says he’s had worse to make me feel better, but I know he’s walking around with fractures all over his body.”

  “Oh Jesus. I’m thinking of his mother, honey, I’m not upset with you, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Dad! You sound like him!”

  “He probably hoped you killed him.”

  “He did,” she cried, swallowing hard. “I should have not put him in that position, I should have stopped him before he went too far.”