Men of Mercy: The Complete Story

by Cross, Lindsay

  His reflection was a mockery of what it had once been. Sliced and diced – he could write the manual. The deepest wound was on his face. The bitch had made sure he’d remember her every time he looked in a mirror.

  Now his lips pulled in a sideways smile even when he frowned.

  How could Hayden look at him, let alone want to be with him? She didn’t deserve to be tied to this. I am a weak, disfigured monster.

  Of course, monsters weren’t afraid of the dark, so he couldn’t even call himself that. Hoyt’s twisted lips pulled into a smile that didn’t reach his pale blue eyes.

  A knock sounded at the door. Hoyt ignored it. He wasn’t ready to face anyone.

  “Hoyt, it’s Hunter. I need to talk to you.”

  Christ. Hayden’s brother and his team leader wanted to talk to him in private. Hunter James wasn’t the type of man who was easily ignored. Hoyt staggered over to the rich oak dresser against the far wall. The mirror resting on it was as big as the dresser. There was no escape from his ruined reflection.

  “Open the damn door or I’ll kick it in.” Hunter’s voice rose over the pulsing music.

  Open your mouth and answer him. “Give me a minute.”

  Hoyt set the bottle down long enough to rip a shirt from the drawer and yank it over his head. He glanced down at the Grateful Dead logo on the front of the tee. At least it fit him.

  He picked up the bottle and stalked to the wood door, the rustic hardwood floor creaking beneath his bare feet, and jerked it open. “What do you want?”

  “Jesus.” Hunter towered over Hoyt by at least three inches, and his black hair was cut short, military style. “You stink of alcohol.”

  Hoyt lifted the bottle in salute and took another chug. “Maybe this is why.”

  “What are you doing? Your house is packed full of people waiting to see you.”

  “I didn’t want them to come.”

  Hunter crowded into Hoyt’s room and shut the door behind him. The dark look on his face suited his nickname—the Grim Reaper—but Hoyt wasn’t afraid of him. No, his fears were all wrapped around that cabin in Crowe Mountain.

  “Why are you here? My big brother send you to pull me out of my cave? He can’t stomach looking at me anymore.” Hoyt let his face fall into the sneer that had become his signature look, the one that always sent Jared away. It could make milk curdle.

  “Your brother would kick my ass if he knew I was back here. He’s got some misconceived notion that he has to protect you.” Hunter crossed his arms, veins popping across his massive muscles. “But I’ve got the feeling he might need protection from you, not for you.”

  Hoyt snarled and bared his teeth, feeling every inch the feral animal he’d become. “I’d never hurt my brother.”

  “Just like you’d never hurt my sister? Look at yourself.” Hunter advanced, prowling closer and closer, menace pouring off him in waves.

  “I look at myself every damn day.” Heat radiated outward from his chest, but his hands were shaking. He took another slug of the cheap rotgut, needing the numbness only oblivion could bring.

  Hayden. Hadn’t he done right by her? He’d broken it off, or had Jared to do it for him. Hoyt couldn’t lie to her face and tell her he didn’t want her any more. Not without revealing his true feelings. It’d been two months since that day he’d sat on his bed, listening to her cry from the next room while what was left of his soul bled out.

  Hunter stopped pacing, and Hoyt watched the anger slowly slide from his features until the only thing left was pity. Fucking pity.

  “Don’t look at me like that.” He wanted to shout the words, but all he could manage was a strangled whisper.

  “I’m sorry, man, I shouldn’t have gone at you like that.”

  “No. Don’t you back off now. Finish what you came here to do.” Hoyt was the one getting up in Hunter’s face this time, like mouth-to-mouth close.

  “I’m done.” Hunter didn’t move.

  “Fucking. Finish.”

  “Fine. You need help. You went through a lot. If you don’t get help on your own, I’ll take care of it for you.” Hunter hit the deadpan look he’d perfected, everything about him locking into a concrete wall.

  “That’s not why you’re here, is it?” Hoyt got up on the balls of his feet, bringing him to eye level with his team leader.

  Hunter growled but didn’t breach the invisible centimeter-wide wall separating them.

  “Why don’t I just say it for you? You came to tell me to stay away from your sister.” Hoyt barely held back from launching a punch into Hunter’s spleen to punctuate the words.

  But Hunter took a step back, breaking the tension, getting his shit under control, and said, “Promise me you’ll continue to leave her alone. She’s out there right now, in your living room, and she’s not ready to give up on you yet. She deserves better than you can give her right now. You know it. I know it.”

  Hoyt lowered down from the balls of his feet, needing to feel the solid floor beneath him. He knew he didn’t deserve her.

  He didn’t deserve any woman, let alone one as perfect as Hayden.

  But he wanted her like he wanted to breathe.

  Hoyt took in a deep breath, accepted his fate and got comfortable with the heavy pit of emptiness in his chest.

  He couldn’t be mad at Hunter. They all knew Hoyt’s body wasn’t the only thing that had been ruined in that cabin, but Hunter was the only one with the guts to say it. The rest of the crew had been treating him like he was a china doll with a crack in its head. Yes, he appreciated the truth, but it hurt to lose what little of his hope that remained. “I promise. I will never lay a hand on her again.”

  Hunter stood there, lips parted, studying him. For a moment, Hoyt thought he might relent, but then he stalked out of the room and shut the door behind him.

  Hoyt stood there in silence for a moment, catching his breath, and then turned back to face the monster in the mirror. He’d never been a coward before, and he wouldn’t start now.

  He couldn’t hold a sniper rifle steady. He couldn’t hold his woman. She could no longer be his woman. He couldn’t even hold his shit together without pills and alcohol.

  His friends were here to celebrate his recovery. They were in the living room eating, drinking and having fun like the old Hoyt was back. Like he was normal.

  His chest felt like a thousand-pound winch was cinched around it. And now he couldn’t breathe in his own bedroom, the large open space as tight around him as a layer of shrink wrap.

  The walls closed in, trapping him, robbing the room of oxygen. His throat closed with it. Hoyt gasped, helpless to stop the panic, just like when he’d been helpless to stop the torture. Strung up like a piece of meat in that shack in the woods.

  Can’t breathe.

  Can’t think.

  Can’t stop.

  “Fuck you!” He threw a desperate punch, and his fist shattered the mirror. Shards of glass flew everywhere like shrapnel. His shoulders pinched tight and he threw the bottle of whiskey.

  Nothing could help him. Not the pills. Not alcohol. Not Hayden.

  Hoyt sank to his knees amidst the glass.

  No amount of counseling would fix him. He was as broken as the mirror and if he didn’t do something, he’d destroy his loved ones right along with it. No matter how hard he tried to push her out of his mind, his awareness of her had only grown. She’d turned into some sort of ghost part of his heart, like a limb lost in battle, it ached and ached like she was still there.

  Hoyt picked up a shard of glass. There was only one way to escape himself.

  He was a burden…a disgrace to his team…worthless.

  He wouldn’t give them the choice to try to save him, he didn’t deserve it. Besides, he knew Hayden enough to know she might not stay away and he knew himself enough to know if she kept coming around, he wouldn’t make her. He wouldn’t let her waste her life on him.

  Hoyt stuck the tip into his skin and sliced down his arm, making sure to s
lice the right vein.

  He’d been a coward when they’d tortured him. He’d begged, he’d pleaded, he’d given up his identity.

  But not anymore…this was the way he’d reclaim himself.

  A wave of dizziness hit and he fell to his hands. Blood gushed from his arm. He dropped flat on the floor and let it all go.

  No more nightmares, no more panic attacks, no more pity…Just darkness.

  Chapter 2

  Hayden James tugged her pink skirt down her thighs and shifted on the couch, praying no one detected the desperation lining her new clothes. She'd spent a whole week's budget on the outfit, but she'd needed to be a drop-dead bombshell for Hoyt's welcome home party. The past two months had been pure torture and she needed all the ammunition she could get to convince Hoyt to listen to her.

  Any minute he’d come walking down the hall into the living room. He’d be wearing one of those tight black t-shirts that perfectly displayed his corded biceps, his ripped hard abs would flex and narrow into hips even leaner than six months ago. Her mouth watered at the thought and her skin grew sensitive.

  He’d look at her in a way that made her heart beat faster. No, twit, he wouldn’t. He doesn’t want you anymore.

  As if to test her nerves, the low buzz of chatter in the living room crested over the latest hit playing on the radio. But even the rising decibels had no hope of drowning out the sound of her heart pounding in her ears. Nothing did, nothing but Hoyt.

  Evie winked at her from across the room. Hayden tugged her hemline down again. Was her sister-in-law sending some hidden message? Did everyone in the room feel sorry for her?

  The whole team and their spouses were here today, even Colonel Grey. Hayden reached in her purse for that imaginary pack of cigarettes. If she still carried around a pack, she’d probably throw away the past five-month, ten-day, six-hour long cessation and toss her nicotine patch in the trash.

  She didn't need to give Hoyt another excuse to ignore her. Hell, she couldn’t figure out why he’d pushed her away in the first place. She’d made it clear she didn’t care about his scars, she would stand by him and help him through his torment.

  “I wasn't sure you'd come.” Jared, Hoyt's brother, took a seat next to her on the sofa. His black hair and matching dark eyes were so different from Hoyt's golden coloring. He wasn’t a man who usually showed his emotions, but there’d been regret in his eyes the day he told her Hoyt didn't want to see her anymore.

  “I wasn't sure if I would either.” Liar.

  His arm brushed hers and Hayden scooted sideways to make more room. He hadn't sat too close on purpose. His shoulders just took up about six more inches than a normal guy’s. The love seat she'd occupied wasn’t roomy enough for any member of Task Force Scorpion.

  “Good decision.” He smiled, a sort of sideways grin meant to put her at ease, but his concern shone through. Jared was losing his poker face.

  “Thanks, for telling me about the party. I’ve been worried about him.” This was the first chance she'd had to see Hoyt in over a month. After having Jared do his dirty work, he'd refused her calls, her texts, and her one bit of late-night, buzz-induced bravery—knocking on his window. He didn’t seem to understand that she didn’t see his scars when she looked at him. She saw him…The man, and he stole her ability to breathe.

  Jared leaned back and dropped his gaze to his lap. “He's changed. Drinks all the time.”

  Hayden covered his hand with hers. “It's not your fault. You saved him, you're the reason he's alive.”

  “Can you really say he's living when he won't even leave this house?”

  Her stomach tightened and she pulled her hand back to her lap. The Hoyt she knew lived for the outdoors. He'd taken her camping and fishing, insisting she learn to be a real 'country girl.' She'd loved every minute.

  But that had been months ago. “So why the party now? He's not ready.”

  “He needs to see we support him. Maybe it will help him past this dip,” Jared said.

  Dip? More like the Grand Canyon. “You're just as stubborn as your brother. Freud would probably blame it on the wrong kind of bottle when you were a baby, but I think it must be a military thing.”

  Jared smiled, and this time it reached his eyes. “Those college courses you're taking are getting to your head. Ask anybody, stubbornness is in the male DNA.”

  “It's about time you two smiled. I thought we were prepping for a funeral.” Sparrow, Jared's fiancée, perched on his knee, her copper-colored hair pulled back in a low ponytail. She leaned over and placed a quick kiss on his cheek.

  “Where have you been hiding?” Jared asked.

  “Out back with Squirrel. He ain't used to this many folks at once.” The twang in her accent was pure Tennessee hills.

  Squirrel was like a father to Sparrow, practically raised her after her mother’s death. The old man had left Tennessee to be with her in Mercy.

  “Is he still living in the camper out back?” Hayden asked.

  “Yep, refuses to move into the house with us. Said he doesn't feel right taking up our space. I told him he's flat-out crazy, this place is huge, but he won't listen.” Sparrow glanced over her shoulder. “Hoyt come out yet?”

  Hayden's gaze shot to the hall. Nope. The light wasn’t even on. It was like the hidden entrance a rock star uses to get to the stage, but Hoyt was over an hour late to the show.

  Jared shook his head. “Not yet. I'm gonna give him five more minutes before I drag him out.”

  Hayden heard a distant sound, almost like glass shattering and sat forward, fingers twisting the end of her hair. Maybe this was her chance to talk to him alone. “I'll check on Hoyt,” she said quickly, speaking before either of them could object.

  Jared gave her a slight nod, the corners of his eyes creased with concern. She jumped from the couch and all but ran down the hall. Hoyt's door was at the very end, shut tight. She lifted a shaky hand and knocked, laughing at herself for being so nervous.

  The worst thing he could do was order her to leave.

  Again.

  But this time he’d have to tell her to her face.

  He didn't answer. She knocked harder. He might not want to see her, but she wasn't about to leave until he gave her an explanation. Why they couldn’t beat this darkness together.

  He still didn't answer. She banged on the door again.

  No response.

  Dread took a sudden grip of her muscles. He didn't know it was her. There was no reason for him to just ignore the knocking.

  It was too quiet on the other side of the door. He might be pissed at her for intruding, but she'd deal with that later.

  Hayden opened the door and walked right in.

  Her brain took a moment to catch up with the horror laid out before her…Hoyt, on the floor, his arms out spread, blood pooling around him. A long piece of broken glass in his hand…a huge gash from his elbow to wrist.

  Her heart stopped beating.

  She stopped breathing.

  Stopped everything.

  “Hoyt!”

  Chapter 3

  Three months later…

  “So in conclusion, class, trauma can manifest in many ways, both consciously and subconsciously. You have to learn to be experts at reading body language when you’re a practicing psychologist.”

  Professor Latham stepped from behind the podium at the front of Hayden's psychotherapy class. The florescent lighting overhead flickered, shining on the professor's bald head. He walked to the center of the stage in the auditorium-style classroom. “And as a professional, you have to realize when a person has gone past the point that counseling can rehabilitate them.”

  Professor Latham stopped, took his glasses off, and rubbed at the lenses with his shirttail. As he replaced the glasses, he sighed and looked straight ahead. Straight at Hayden. Her heart dropped to her stomach, and she followed it down, scrunching smaller in her seat in the first row of chairs.

  She might as well hang a flashing neon sign
over her head—warning, a relationship with Hayden James will lead to never-ending doom.

  Her only two relationships, if you could call them that, had not exactly led to happily ever after.

  She glanced quickly to the right and then the left, certain the other hundred or so students were staring at her, but everyone's gaze remained riveted on the professor.

  “No matter how much time you've invested or how involved you've become with a client, at the end of the day you have to be able to separate your work life from your personal life.”

  Oh my God. Hayden slunk lower in her seat and dropped her head into her hand, waiting for him to shout out, Hayden James, everyone look at Hayden James.

  “You have to know yourself, really know yourself, and recognize when you're in too deep. When you stop becoming objective, you are no longer the solution, but part of the problem.” Professor Latham paced back to the podium, stood behind it and grabbed the sides. His gaze swept across the classroom, but it ultimately landed on her…again.

  She slumped lower, but there wasn't any room left between the chair and her butt.

  He paused, and she was convinced there were lasers behind those coke-bottle thick glasses. She could practically feel her skin burning. Her whole body tensed as she waited for the kill shot.

  “That's enough for today. Study chapter fifteen over the weekend. Now that you know all the theories behind the different modes of therapy, we’ll start diving into the actual processes next week. Have a good weekend.”

  The lights clicked on over the rest of the class and everyone stood, shuffling papers into backpacks and quickly shuffling out the door. It was Friday afternoon, so the other students were all eager for the weekend. They had plans to party, to procrastinate on homework.

  The weekend didn’t mean the same thing to Hayden, not anymore. Her only plans were to work, study, and avoid social interaction.

  The long line of students filing down the aisle would take another few minutes to clear. She had to either wait her turn or shoulder into the line of metaphorical cattle and risk being trampled. But Hayden stayed glued to her seat. She didn’t like to draw undue attention to herself.