Mercy's Angels Box Set (Mercy's Angel #1-3)

by Kirsty Dallas

  She nodded, and her eyes filled with unshed tears. Not a single one fell though, she kept her face as neutral as possible as she cautiously watched me.

  “If you feel you need to respond to me when I enter a room, how about you simply stand, or if you’re already standing simply look my way, give me those pretty blue eyes, or we could work on doing nothing at all. Which would you prefer?” I was trying to give her a choice while still maintaining the roll as her master.

  “I can stand, Mой,” she offered.

  “Good girl. Let’s go with that for now then.” Reaching out my hand, she only hesitated a moment before she took it. Pulling her carefully to her feet, and she looked right into my eyes, just as I had asked her to. They were stunning, a pale blue that was almost ghostly, ringed by a dark blue around the edge, framing the unique color. My lip quirked at one corner, my interpretation of a pleased smile. I wasn’t like the friends I had found in Claymont who smiled and laughed often, there really hadn’t been a lot to smile about during my life. Emily hadn’t slipped me a single smile yet, not once. I imagined she had a beautiful smile and the fact that Jonas had made it disappear made me want to kill him even more. The son of a bitch was going to feel pain unlike anything he had ever felt before. Jonas Levier thought he knew what the term cruel and unusual punishment meant. The fucker really didn’t have a clue.

  Chapter 5

  EMILY

  Mой sat at my side, his head rested back his eyes closed. He had put a movie on. My Best Friend’s Wedding, it was supposed to be a comedy romance. My eyes barely glanced in the direction of the screen and I hadn’t really heard a word the actors had spoken. When he’d gone out on deck and left me alone I had become incredibly anxious, second guessing myself, doubting my ability to be the perfect submissive for my new Master. His wants were so different from anything I had been taught. He wanted to adopt a less stringent relationship, and though my heart yearned for such things, my mind fought like a feral beast to remain perfectly submissive, to adhere to the strict rules and regimen I had learned from Master Jonas. I winced at my internal mistake. Just Jonas, not Master Jonas. Jonas, I repeated in my mind, testing the empty name, letting it echo through my thoughts. It felt wrong and liberating all at the same time. Part of me mourned the loss of my former Master. The monster had destroyed me, stolen so much from me, and here I was missing his heavy hand and ruthless dominance. I hated that feeling of loss; it made me feel even more soiled and defiled. How could I regret the loss of someone so heartless? Soon I found myself doing something I hadn’t done in a long time—I fidgeted. The perfect submissive sits quiet and still, hands at rest, body relaxed and ready. My body was so tense I was sure I might crack if I moved. My fingers rubbed at the newly acquired scar on the underside of my forearm. I had rubbed at it so hard the freshly puckered skin had reddened and began to sting. I don’t know if Mой had noticed or simply sensed my disquiet, but his head rose as he observed me. That just made me even more anxious.

  “Rebecca told me something about you,” he murmured. My eyes snapped to his as I wondered what on earth she had said. “You used to like having your hair brushed.” His eyes took in my short hair. I didn’t say anything, I was completely confused as to why Rebecca would have told him that. There was a time when I would sit on my bed while Rebecca would run a brush through my long locks. Just the simple act would calm me instantly, almost putting me into a trance like state. That was a long time ago though, I wasn’t even sure if it was something I could enjoy again. “Did Jonas make you cut it?”

  Shaking my head, I ran my fingers nervously through the soft wavy locks. “No. I asked Mast...” I paused, fear forcing my words to stop. Mой’s eyes were not berating; his features were calm and relaxed. “I asked Jonas to have it cut, to stop the other men from pulling it.”

  Mой sat forward, his arms rested on his knees. “I’m sorry you had to endure that,” he murmured.

  I couldn’t understand why he would be sorry. He didn’t do it.

  “I’ll be right back.” Mой stood abruptly and disappeared into the bedroom, returning less than a minute later with a brush in hand.

  Watching him cross to me was fascinating. His movements were perfectly noiseless and almost seductive, he moved almost like I imagined a jungle cat might, with silence and purpose. Such masculine beauty made my heart race just as his smile had done. Was this feeling attraction? Attraction was dangerous. I had been attracted to both Jonas and William at one stage, and both of them had taken turns in systematically destroying my soul.

  “Would you like me to brush your hair?” Mой offered.

  No one had brushed my hair since I was a little girl. The idea spiked a rush of excitement but it was fast accompanied by hesitation. It was ridiculous to think this grown man would sit and brush my hair like I was a child.

  “It’s just a brush,” Mой said with something akin to a smirk on his handsome face.

  “Yes please, Mой,” I finally whispered.

  “Would you mind sitting on the ground here, I can sit behind you more comfortably then.” I slid to the floor and watched as Mой sat down behind me, his strong legs framing my small body. At the first sweep of the brush through my ridiculously short hair, my body trembled and a war broke out between my heart, body, and mind. The former two very much in favor of the familiar strokes, the latter was caught somewhere between shock and fear. He followed each stroke with a gentle caress of his palm and the tenderness was a reminder of all that I had lost. He shouldn’t be touching me like this. Even though he believed that he too had sinned, the depths of his depravity had nothing on the things I had seen and done, but I selfishly wanted to cling to this moment.

  I vaguely remembered my mother brushing my long hair. She would hum as she did so, one hundred strokes of the brush so that it would grow long and healthy, or so she said. Back in the days when the most difficult things I encountered were sharing toys and being scared of monsters in my closest. Then following one warm April evening my parents were gone. God saw in His infinite wisdom that He should snatch them from ‘B’ and I, leaving us alone and afraid. I had been a wistful, energetic child, and following my parents death, I stepped it up a notch. I was angry, confused and demanded the world show me some sort of beauty. I lived with defiance, stubbornly fearless and full of dreams. Leaving Claymont and my sister hadn’t even been difficult, I was too consumed with the fabulous future I was sure I would have. In my haste to leave I had left ‘B’ nothing but a measly note trying to explain my need for freedom. In an attempt to find that freedom, I found nothing but captivity. My body and soul had been taken from me, my heart shattered, and my search for proof that there was beauty to be found in this world, ripped away from me. I had lived an ugly life, surrounded by ugly people in what I had come to realize was an ugly world. But right now, in this one simple moment, I found a small glimmer of peace. As my eyes shuttered closed, my mind seemed to drift with the gentle rocking of the opulent yacht I was trapped on. The soothing strokes pushed the fear of the liquid depths surrounding me away, and for a single moment in time they made the ugly world I had lived in seem like a distant memory.

  A low cough brought me plummeting back to reality. My eyes snapped open and took in a woman standing just outside the glass door that separated the elegance of the yacht’s interior from its exterior. She was tall, with a golden tan that made me instantly jealous. Her long thick chestnut hair was drawn back into a high ponytail, and her brown eyes were lined with thick lashes as they took in Mой and me. She was wearing tan cargo shorts with a fitted black tank top over ample breasts. I wasn’t jealous of the woman’s exotic beauty; I had seen plenty of beautiful women and I had been told of my own beauty often enough to believe it to be true. But beauty was skin deep and the toxic hate inside beautiful people tarnished the outside, so no, I wasn’t jealous of beauty. What did bother me though was the way she arched a brow in our direction and seemed to take in Mой with enough familiarity for me to realize they h
ad some sort of a past. I was not oblivious to relationships where sharing was common place. I had been Jonas’ submissive; he had collared me, yet he allowed others to touch me frequently. Did Mой had a similar relationship with this woman? Or maybe the childish act of brushing my hair was just that, a man treating a broken shell of a woman like a child. Mой’s obvious intrigue in me was likely nothing more than a man doing his job. This beauty was probably his woman, the woman he didn’t treat with kid gloves, the woman he touched freely and saved those rare and beautiful smiles for. The thought actually made an uncomfortable sick feeling coil in my stomach. Was this…jealousy?

  “Emily, this is Gabriella; she works for Montgomery Security. Gabbie, this is Emily.”

  Gabbie. She had a nickname that rolled off Mой’s tongue almost affectionately. And I had been delegated to Emily rather than Em. I didn’t like it or the feeling that accompanied it. This was why I wanted to be numb—emotions and feelings were too hard—they hurt.

  Gabbie smiled and it was full of honest sincerity. “It’s nice to meet you. I thought I’d see if you would like me to set up the grill. I thought maybe we could cook up some fish, make a salad.”

  Mой stopped brushing. “We only had breakfast a couple of hours ago, but you know me, I’m always up for food.” Gabbie smiled warmly at Mой. She cast us one last curious glance before turning to leave, and I found the nerve to speak up without my Master’s permission.

  “Thank you,” I said quietly.

  Gabriella glanced over her shoulder, a question in her perfectly arched brow.

  “For the clothes,” I explained. Her smile was genuine.

  “Couldn’t have you sauntering around the yacht naked. Bomber is a breasts man, he wouldn’t have been able to pry his eyes away. Larz wouldn’t have been able to stop blushing, and Mr. Possessive here would likely have beaten them both to a bloody pulp for just looking.” With that she left us alone again.

  Why would Mой care if anyone else saw me naked? I felt more than heard Mой’s soft sigh behind me. “And that’s our Gabbie, telling it like it is.” Our Gabbie? Not his Gabbie? The confusing thoughts swirling through me were difficult to follow and understand, it was frustrating to say the least. “How’s your head, Em? The sedative I gave you can sometimes cause a lingering headache.” I was all of a sudden Em again. Silently I chastised myself for the foolish emotions I was fumbling with. I wanted this man to see me as something, but I had no idea what that something was. The perfect submissive? A woman? Something, more? The crux of the matter was, I was simply broken, and my temporary master was delivering me home in splintered pieces. He would never see me as anything but damaged goods and I could never offer him anything more than that, like he truly deserved. If Gabbie and he had something more than a working relationship, they both deserved that untainted happiness. Taking stock of my body I searched for any lingering pain. I was far too accustomed to pain and had lived with it on a daily basis for so long it was almost peculiar not to feel it. A low ache at the base of my skull confirmed the presence of a headache but it was hardly worthy of notice.

  “I’m fine. Thank you, Mой ,” I whispered.

  “How about you help me put a salad together?” Mой suggested.

  This made me nervous for numerous reasons. First and foremost, I didn’t know how to cook. I had never had a need for it. Master Jonas…Jonas had a house chef always on staff. I glanced over my shoulder, and Mой had a sexy smirk on his face that made my stomach flip with anticipation. Anticipation of what, I wasn’t sure. My body was responding to him, to the way he looked. It wasn’t difficult to understand why, because the man really was stunning.

  “From the horrified expression on your face, I am assuming you don’t cook much?”

  Heat rose in my cheeks. Blushing was a physical response I thought I had long ago done away with. In the life I had been forced into, there was no room for inhibitions or embarrassment. However, Mой had brought color to my cheeks without any effort or use of sexual innuendos. The smile that followed his playful smirk began low on his lips catching at one corner and led to a full-fledged grin that made his eyes crinkle in the corners. I followed the path of his joy, my eyes taking in every inch of happiness, my own lips frozen like stone in a frown that felt perpetually unbreakable.

  “Come on, I’ll teach you.” Mой easily stepped over me and I quickly stood and followed him to the state-of-the-art kitchen. The thought of doing such a mundane task was actually exciting. Being able to cook and feed myself was a gift in itself.

  Once all the ingredients were set in front of us, Mой had me slicing tomatoes. Easy, I could do this, and it would help keep my mind off the movement of the yacht. Well, it had done so until I peered out the window and found myself wondering if we could possibly hit an iceberg or something and sink. I looked back down at the tomatoes and tried valiantly to ignore my fears.

  “Mой?” I couldn’t help but seek out his permission to speak.

  “Hmmm?” Mой answered as he expertly diced and sliced the leafy greens, while I slowly and painstakingly dissected a tomato.

  “What did you say your boat was called?” I watched his lips twitch with the need to smile.

  “My yacht is called Utonut' Moi Grekhi.”

  I was watching Mой handle the knife at my side like a pro, and I tried to emulate his movements. “May I ask what that means?”

  “You may ask me anything you wish, Em. It is Russian for ‘drown my sins’. Larz thought it was in bad taste to have a vessel with the word ‘drown’ in its name, but I’m the type of man that cannot be deterred once I have set my sights on something.” The depth of his statement was profound as his dark eyes pierced mine. In that moment I truly believed this man would have everything he ever desired, and more. Unable to hold that intense gaze, I invested all my concentration on the tomatoes before me.

  “You speak Russian?”

  “I do. My stepfather is Russian. I was taught from an early age though I rarely use the language anymore.”

  I tried to discreetly watch Mой from the corner of my eye. “Not even with your family?”

  His gaze looked sad for a moment, but the emotion was quickly disguised under non-chalance. “I don’t see my family anymore, Em. You almost finished?” He changed the conversation swiftly, his voice void of emotion.

  In my haste to finish, my hand slipped, and the knife sliced my finger.

  “Em!” Mой growled out.

  The force of his voice caused my hands to drop, my head to lower submissively. I had upset my Master; my body immediately sank to a position of forgiveness while tensing ever so slightly in preparation for punishment. Mой’s strong hands gently took my injured finger and wrapped a clean dish towel around it to stem the flow of blood. While holding my hand against his chest, his other hand cupped my chin and lifted my gaze.

  “No punishment, Em, I promised remember?”

  I nodded. Of course I had remembered, but I still didn’t entirely trust that punishment wouldn’t be delivered. There was always punishment—always.

  “I’m going to take a look and see if you need stitches.”

  Nodding again, I watched him carefully unwrap the dishtowel like one might open a fragile gift. Blood pooled from a deep gash in my finger. The sight made me feel slightly woozy, but I locked my knees in place and drew a long deep breath.

  His gaze darted to mine for a moment. “I don’t think it will need stitches. Let’s clean it up and put a small bandage on.”

  Again I nodded, a wooden and despondent movement. My body was still guarded, as if awaiting the flogging that would surely come. Mой led me to the bedroom, pushed at my shoulders in a silent request to sit, and I did. He disappeared into the bathroom and came back out with what I assumed was a first aid kit.

  He knelt before me and began another careful examination of my finger. “This is going to sting a little.”

  I watched him raise the bottle of liquid and pour it directly over the cut.
There was some pain but nothing unfamiliar and not entirely uncomfortable. Mой watched me carefully as he continued to dry and wrap the cut. Once he finished, he sat back on his heels still vigilantly watchful.

  Just before I had a chance to become uneasy with his meticulous consideration of me, he spoke, “It bothers me that this doesn’t bother you.” His head nodded toward my hand that now rested in my lap.

  It was just a cut. I wasn’t sure what he expected from me. Tears? Flinching? I had endured worse, much worse.

  “It was the same in the hospital; your reaction to pain is one of indifference.” Not quite sure how to respond I kept quiet. “It’s not a normal way to react to pain.”

  Suddenly I felt nervous. Jonas had assured me that I would not be able to fit into everyday society; that I was not normal and people would notice. He told me I would more than likely be institutionalized, locked away with all the other crazy people.

  “Mой, it was just a small cut,” I whispered fearfully.

  “When you were in the hospital in Claymont, you refused pain medication.”

  A thought suddenly occurred to me that Mой might think I got off on pain. There were men and women out there who enjoyed pain on a sexual level. Perhaps he thought I was one of those people, a masochist of sorts.

  “I don’t like medication that makes me sleepy, Mой. I don’t like being helpless,” I quickly explained.

  He raised his hand, and just when I thought he might place it on my knee, he hesitated. He had promised me he wouldn’t touch me without my permission, a promise which I found almost laughable, if I ever remembered how to laugh again. He was my Master; I was his slave, his property. He could do as he wished with me. Curiously, for the first time I could ever remember, I wanted this Master’s touch. I wanted to make him happy. Taking his hand and I placed it carefully on the exposed skin of my knee. Watching carefully I waited for the panic that would normally consume me now, the taint that would transfer from my dirty skin to his clean skin. It didn’t come though. The warmth under his large gentle hand felt soothing, and I could not hold back the soft sigh that tumbled from my lips in a whisper of air. His touch was protective and tender, so unfamiliar yet desirable. The pleasure of this touch was captured in Mой’s dark eyes. Any further words were caught in my throat. I was utterly speechless. This large, mysterious almost fearsome warrior was looking at me with such lust and yearning. I couldn’t breathe and didn’t move. While part of me hungered for his touch, I was afraid of it, too. Mой’s fingers moved ever so slightly on my skin, as if testing the feel under his hand. There were no scars on my knees; the skin was smooth and blemish free.