Page 98 of Built for Mercy
Sophie
The drive back to New York with Callie and Maverick was quiet, the silence in the vehicle dense enough to smother any attempt at casual conversation. I stared out the window, feeling Maverick’s presence behind me like a physical touch. It was suffocating yet inexplicably comforting.
Back at the hotel room, while I shoved my belongings into my bag with little care, Maverick leaned against the door frame, his eyes dancing over the space that had become my temporary sanctuary. I felt his gaze sweep over the mess, almost tangible, like a touch—the scattered clothes, the empty bottles, the half-eaten room service. I ducked my head with embarrassment, heat crawling up my neck.
“Call Halls,” Maverick instructed his phone, voice smooth as sin as he continued to survey the room, clearly entertained by the state of it. “We’ll need a ride back.”
I gritted my teeth, hating that he was seeing me like this—raw and exposed. Weak.
But he didn’t regard me with pity or disgust. Just something heavy. Something unreadable.
And fuck, that was worse. Because if he wasn’t looking at me like I was fragile, like I was broken—then what excuse did I have to fall apart? Something inside me snapped, a reckless surge of defiance rushing in to fill the space where shame had been. If he was going to see me like this, then fine. Let him see it all. Let him see what he was dealing with. I decided I didn’t give a shit anymore.
“Enjoying the view?” I snapped, meeting his eyes head-on.
“Immensely,” he drawled, pushing off from the doorway and strolling closer. “It’s not every day I get to see Sophie Reyes fall apart.”
“Ha-ha,” I retorted, zipping up my bag with more force than necessary. “So, are you ready to tell me why, until today, you’ve been avoiding Newark like it’s infested with the plague? Or rather, me.”
He paused, and there was a flicker of something serious in his eyes before his mask of nonchalance slid back into place. “Let’s just say Newark has memories I’d rather not deal with. Ghosts that don’t play nice with others.”
“Your ghosts or mine?” I challenged, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Both,” he admitted, and for a moment, I saw the raw edge he so expertly hid behind his cocky smirk. “But mostly mine. I’ve got enough skeletons rattling around without adding to the collection. Said skeletons being all the people involved in the cartel that the NPD could tie to me, putting eyes on me and my operations.”
Part of me had always known this was the reson, I just wanted him to stop worrying about that so fucking much. I wanted to bemore to him. And today, he’d shown that I was. I opted to not address his admission. “Must be a crowded closet,” I mused, the tension between us shifting, becoming charged with an energy that was impossible to ignore.
“Overflowing,” he agreed, a sly grin spreading across his face. He knew what I was doing. “But I find it’s better when you’re not dealing with it alone.”
“Is that so?”
“Absolutely,” Maverick said, stepping into my personal space. “Misery loves company, Sophie. And I’ve found I quite enjoy yours.”
“Careful, babe,” I warned, though my body betrayed me by leaning in. “Keep talking like that, and I might start thinking you care.”
“Wouldn’t want that,” he teased, his voice dropping to that gravelly tone that sent shivers down my spine.
“Definitely not,” I agreed breathlessly.
He brushed a stray lock of hair from my face, his touch setting my skin ablaze. We were playing with fire, and neither of us seemed to care about getting burned.
Maverick and I sat pressed together in the backseat, hands clasped in my lap, my head resting against his shoulder. The car was silent, but not empty. Not cold. It was the kind of silence that settled deep, that felt like a truce, a promise, a breath of peace before the next storm.
***
“Welcome home,” he murmured, the words more significant than he likely intended, when we stepped over the threshold.
I barely had time to register what I wanted to say when a soft meow drew my attention downward. By Maverick’s feet was ascruffy black cat, its blue eyes peering up at us with guarded curiosity.
“Who’s this?” I asked, kneeling down to the creature’s level, watching with fascination as it circled Mav affectionately.
“Meet Wednesday,” he said with an equally affectionate stroke over the cat’s ears. “Found her in an alley a few nights ago. Reminded me of you—resilient, a little rough around the edges, but with a heart begging for a place to call home. Plus, you said you always wanted one, so here we are.”
“That’s… actually really sweet, Mav,” I said as Wednesday nudged her head against my hand, and I melted.
“Seems she’s made her choice,” Maverick chuckled, watching as Wednesday curled deeper into my lap, her tiny paws kneading at my thigh. I ran my fingers along her spine, tracing slow, lazy circles, and she purred, pressing into my touch like she was mine already. Maverick’s gaze lingered, something dangerously fond flickering behind it.
I picked Wednesday up, and she playfully wrapped her paws around my hand, batting at my fingers with tiny, harmless claws. I giggled, the sound light—too light for what I was about to say. The weight in my chest didn’t just lift—it shifted, transformed into something else. Something reckless. Something final.