Page 87 of Built for Mercy

I knew at this point that whatever “emergency” there had been, he’d be gone a whole lot longer than two hours. So, I completed my online check in, called an Uber, and stepped out of our suite, surprised to find no bodyguards outside that I’d have to explain my way past.

I left and didn’t look back as the Vegas heat greeted me. The anonymous comfort of an Uber gave me peace in my mind. Thebustle of the airport kept me distracted. And finally, the hum of the plane’s engine soothed my frayed nerves until I felt nothing at all.

I closed my eyes, forcing away images of the man who’d stirred feelings I never thought I’d feel, and slouched in my first-class seat.

40

Maverick

Istormed out of the suite, my heart pounding like a jackhammer against my rib cage. The door shut with a definitive click, and I immediately locked in on Paulie, who stood unaware that he was about to be on the receiving end of my pent-up fury.

“Paulie,” I spat his name like it was venom on my tongue. I took a step closer. “This is your fucking fault.” I shoved a finger in his face, feeling my temper slip.

Even in the dim light of the hallway, I could see his face drop, confusion etching across his features before I slammed his body against the wall. My fist connected with his jaw, a sickening crack echoing down the corridor. Pain shot through my hand, but it was nothing compared to the ache in my chest—the betrayal, Sophie’s hurt, everything compounding into this one explosive moment. I shook my hand out, keeping my other hand on his chest to pin him to the wall.

“What the fuck, man?” Paulie shouted. He sneered up at me, but I wasn’t done—not by a long shot.

“Fuck you, Paulie.” I grabbed the lapels of his jacket, yanking him off the wall only to send us both tumbling to the carpeted floor. Duane and the bodyguards posted outside my suite door were on us in seconds, trying to pry me away from the bastard beneath me.

“Get the hell off!” I growled, wrenching myself free with an effort that strained my muscles. I stood over Paulie, towering like an avenging angel of wrath. “I know what you did to her as teenagers, you fucking prick. Calling her Puff? Just to fit in with the popular crowd and get your cock wet?”

His eyes widened in shock, or maybe it was guilt—I didn’t care which. “Yeah, you think she justforgotabout that? She was a teenage girl. You got in her head. And now, because of your petty bullshit, she’s fighting an eating disorder. And you have the gall to taunt her inmyclub before I fucking knew? I should’ve hit you sooner, but I didn’t realize how fucking bad it still was for her.”

Paulie lay there, propped on his elbows, staring at me with a mix of anger and something like regret. But regret wasn’t enough. Not for Sophie. Not for what he just put both me and her through.

“Make another snide comment about her, and I swear to fucking God, P, I’ll make you bleed for every word.” I leaned in close, letting him see the promise of violence in my eyes. “Do not fucking cross me, or her.”

Without waiting for an answer, I stepped over him. The bodyguards hauled him to his feet, and we all moved toward the elevator, a tense silence following us.

I should’ve had my guys stick to her like glue. In New York, I would’ve. But this wasn’t New York. This was Vegas. And she’d just crumpled in my arms like a marionette with its stringscut. Normally, I’d want my guys to hang back and give Sophie the protection she needed. But after that fucking incident, she wasn't going anywhere—not today. So, for now, I gave her the space she clearly needed.

We all piled into the elevator, the doors closing with a soft ding that was incongruously polite.

My chest hurt. I told Sophie how I felt—maybe not the most optimal timing—and she shut me out. She looked ashamed. Embarrassed. And maybe she should be. What she did to herself was dangerous, and thankGodshe was in a safe place when it happened.

I loved her, and I told her as much. She wasn’t ready to hear it, given how she retreated into herself when I said it, and it pissed me off, but I’d prove it to her.

“Sorry about the punch, P,” I muttered, though I wasn’t sure if I meant it. The numbers above the door ticked downward as we slipped back into the fortified basement where I had tortured that kid.

A copper tang of blood and sweat hung in the air. The chill of the concrete floors seeped through my dress shoes as we stepped into a small room with a one-way mirror spanning the wall before us, allowing us to see the torture room. It was a voyeuristic barrier to whatever lay behind the wall.

And in this case? The man beyond the glass was a wreck, limbs twitching uncontrollably, eyes darting around the room like a trapped animal. His fear radiated through the glass and snared my attention, reeling me in. Something about him sparked a sliver of recognition, but I couldn’t place it.

“Christ,” I muttered. “Who the fuck is this?” My voice came out sharper than I intended. I was still on edge after everything with Sophie.

Paulie’s lips twitched upward in a grim semblance of a smile. He’d wiped the blood away from his mouth, but that side of hisface would surely bruise. “This is Rico Torres,” he said. “He’s been under our thumb for years, doing the dirty work.”

“Rico fucking Torres?” I snorted, recognizing the name. He was a street rat who had apparently turned informant. Perfect for dirty jobs no one wanted to touch.

“Exactly.” Paulie shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, the material straining over his broad shoulders. “Thought you’d appreciate the introduction.”

I arched a brow. “Don’t know what I’d be appreciating at this point, since I have no fucking clue why I’m here.”

Duane leaned against the wall, his arms folded as if he were watching a tennis match. Always calm and collected. “Mav, when you put me on Sophie’s tail, things weren’t adding up. Chavez was spinning fairy tales about Eddie branching into human trafficking. It was bullshit. The guy had honor—was practically a saint compared to the rest of us. We all grew up knowing Eddie.”

“Saints don’t last long in our world,” I mumbled. Eddie had been different. Everyone knew it. There were lines you didn’t cross, and Eddie wouldn’t have crossed them. I’d always known it, but wanted to deny that my own flesh and blood were capable of something so horrific.

“Rico went deep cover for us,” Duane continued, his tone laced with something dark. “I kept it on the DL. He only reported to me and P. He played up your old man and your brothers.”