Page 16 of Built for Mercy

But then I’d remember that night in the club—how she’d called mesirand rolled her eyes, while all I could fucking think about was what a nice hand necklace would look like on her. Or how she’d blushed from her ears to her toes, and I pictured how her skin would turn that delicious color if I bent her over and spanked her ass. Or how her dark brown eyes were wide as the moon as she practically begged to be fucked.

Or her fuckingtits. Jesus. That black heart piercing glinting in the light, hugging the peak of her nipple, was burned into my brain like a brand. I could still see it—her nipple tight and aching from the cold, the delicate metal catching the light like a sinful little invitation. It took everything in me to not drag it between my teeth and see just how far undone she could be.

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get the image out of my head. Couldn’t stop thinking about how soft she’d feel, how good she’d taste, how fucking bad I wanted to put my mouth on her.

Frankly, my wrist was sore from the sheer number of times I’d had to jack myself off just to quell some of whatever the fuck this was.

Fuck.I wanted herbad.

I hadn’t even taken another woman to bed since she came into my life, and I was fucking suffering. But no one else turned me on the way she did.

It was why I had to cut everything off with her. No more near-stalking—even though I wasn’t a stalker, I swear, I was just curious about her intentions and that turned into lust-filled interactions—and certainly no more run-ins while out in public. It was clear she had no knowledge of the empire her father had left behind for her, and that meant I had no real reason for keeping a detail on her.

So I scaled that back, too. I only had one guy tail her every once in a while to make sure she was okay. Not that it was my place or anything, I hardly knew the woman, but some small part of me felt like we were kindred spirits.

It had been almost a month since I’d seen her. I hadn’t even requested new pictures, going as far as taking the ones down on my wall. Even though I gritted my teeth the whole fucking time.

I could admit, that night in the club scared the fuck out of me. What had possessed me to ask her to fuckingkillVictor Chavez—a cop committing homicide, for Christ’s sake—made me reevaluate all the decisions I’d made when it came to her. I'd just made an excuse to see her and be close to her and find common ground with her.

There would be absolutely no more of that.

Nope.

So after weeks of being without her, I finally decided to set up a dinner date with Priscilla, a woman I had seen casually over the years. She knew we’d never be serious, but at least I could fuck the image of Sophie out of my head and get past whatever strange fog had clouded my mind the last couple of months.

“You look beautiful,” I said, then kissed Priscilla’s cheek before pulling her chair out for her.

“Looking good yourself, Mavy,” she cooed, blinking up at me. I fought a cringe, having forgotten she liked calling me that.

“How are you? It’s been a while.” I busied myself with the menu, feeling out of place.

Probably because I’d been laser-focused on one woman for more than two months, and now I was having to give my attention to someone who wasn’t her. Not gonna lie, it was a mild hit to my ego. I was always on my A-game, smooth-talking and letting the woman drive the conversation. But right now?

Priscilla giggled. “Yeah, it has, but it was nice hearing from you. We’ve always had fun together.”

Fun?I mean, the sex was always pretty vanilla, but it was nothing if not consistent. It pacified me. Would pacify me now, when I hadn’t had a release from something other than my own hand in way too fucking long.

My mind wandered. If I’d had a chance to have sex with Sophie? Now that—thatwould be fun.

Fucking forget about her, Maverick. It’s part of your plan.

And just as I was forcing a smile on my face to engage in a real conversation with Priscilla, a pair of black heels and tan legs appeared in my periphery.

10

Sophie

Ithought I could put Maverick behind me, especially after our last encounter. I’d left him as a red-faced, flustered ball of hormones, and landed in my ex’s bed—who was now back on the kick that there was something between us.

But, of course, Maverick seemed to know everything about my life at all times, so I shouldn’t have been shocked when a delivery man stopped me on my way into the precinct to hand me a gorgeous display of black dahlias. An ominous note from Maverick was attached, which left me swallowing bile and afraid of whatever wrath may be coming my way.

Naturally, I assumed Maverick would reach out to me again soon, or wind up in the same restaurant as me, or follow me down some random alleyway, or… fuck, I don’t know,anything.

I tried so fucking hard to forget him. I buried myself in work, stayed the hell away from New York, and ignored the fact that my ever-present security guards were dwindling one at a time.Which I hated, because I was beginning to like them. They made me feel safe… special.

Ugh, what was wrong with me? This was like some sort of twisted Stockholm Syndrome—minus the forced proximity.

I might not know Maverick in the slightest, but I got the sense that his goons wouldn’t let a hand so much as touch me. Having them there was him marking his territory. That thought—thatfeeling—had me squirming whenever I thought of it.