The Ruthless Heir

Judge’s [POV]

My brother is back. My fucking brother is back.

And between us, drawing closer to him stands a very naked Mercedes. I’m about to lose my fucking mind.

“Get your fucking hands off her!”

Theron’s eyes narrow, and the right side of his mouth quirks upward in that way of his. That way I’d almost forgotten but fuck if it all doesn’t just come crashing back as if I just saw him yesterday. As if he just stabbed me in the fucking back yesterday.

He switches off the shower and raises his hands in mock surrender, a grin fully on his lips now.

“I don’t see your mark on her,” he says, making a point of looking Mercedes over and fuck me. Because she’s pressed against him, her back to his chest, her bare ass against his thigh. At least he’s still wearing his jeans.

“As if that would stop you,” I blurt out, reaching for Mercedes, who slaps my arm away.

“Don’t touch me!” she says, her voice hoarse.

Theron is still grinning, enjoying this little show. And behind us, I feel my mother’s presence like a dark shadow.

“For fuck’s sake.” I grab a towel, reach into the shower stall and physically take Mercedes out, wrapping the towel around her shoulders and looking her over. “Did you do this to her?” I ask Theron, shifting my gaze over her head to him. Her face is bruised, and cut in places. Her body too.

“No, asshole. I don’t get off beating women.”

I grit my jaw at his insinuation.

“That’s your area,” he adds more quietly as if I may not have gotten it the first time around. He reaches for a towel, and I notice the tattoo on his chest that wasn’t there the last time I saw him. A hand holding a sword, the scales of justice balanced on either side. Justice. Consequence. The Montgomery coat of arms. Although it’s not exactly right.

“I’ll deal with you later,” I tell him and turn to Mercedes, who is staring up at me with her bruised face. It twists something inside me to see her hurt. I draw a deep breath in, wrap the towel tight around her, and lift her in my arms.

“Put me down, you asshole!”

I tighten my grip in warning while my brother grins. He drops the towel after scrubbing his hair with it and unbuttons his soaked jeans.

“You don’t have to go with him, sweetheart,” he tells Mercedes. “Give me the word, and I’ll take care of it.”

He’ll take care of it. Fucking unbelievable. I don’t see him charging me to do battle and save the damsel in distress.

“You just stay right here,” I tell him, and against Mercedes’s protests, I carry her through the cottage, making sure my mother sees my displeasure at her latest betrayal.

Paolo is waiting outside with Kentucky Lightning saddled and ready. I was on my way to the stable this morning when he alerted me to the naked Mercedes who ran past him. He takes care to avert his gaze as I hoist Mercedes onto the saddle and then climb up behind her. He’s discreet and respectful. My brother? He’s a whole other story.

I slip my jacket from my shoulders and wrap it around Mercedes’s. She tries to shrug it off, but I wrap one arm around her middle and tug her to me, clicking my tongue for the horse to move.

“I don’t want your jacket! I don’t want anything from you!”

I can’t speak just yet. I’m too angry. Blindsided really. Although I knew he’d come when I cut off his money. He’ll want what he thinks is his due.

Theron, my dear, blackmailing, back-stabbing brother, is back. And he was in the shower with Mercedes with his fucking hand between her legs.

“You’re hurting me,” Mercedes finally says, and I feel her nails digging into my arm.

I look down and loosen my hold a little. Force a deep breath in. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

“I was thinking I needed to get away from the asshole sadist who trussed me up like a horse and left me to sleep in the stable all night!”

I take it in. I’m still trying to figure out what the hell just happened. Still processing Theron’s reappearance. The sight of them together. His fucking hands are on her. It’s making me crazy.

“Jesus Christ, Mercedes.”

“Jesus Christ yourself, you fucking asshole.”

“Grow your vocabulary.”

She flips me off.

We reach the house, and Miriam steps out of the kitchen door. Mercedes makes a sound of disgust as I dismount. I grab her around the waist to take her inside. Again, she protests, and the jacket slides off her, exposing her nakedness. I don’t miss Miriam’s smirk.

“Stop fighting me,” I tell Mercedes.

“I will never stop fighting you.”

“Then you will never stop losing.”

I haul her over my shoulder and tug the towel down to cover her ass as I march her through the house and up to my bedroom, which is still dark with the drawn curtains. I lock the door and toss her onto the bed.

She grips the towel, but I take one corner and tug it out from around her. I look at her, all her scratches, the red, raw skin. The bruise on her forehead, the cut on her cheekbone. I take one wrist and turn it over to see how the skin looks like she’s been dragging her arm over sandpaper. I shake my head, drop it, and notice the bruised, cut-up knees. The bottoms of her ruined feet.

I draw back, raking my hands into my hair. This woman will have me pulling my hair out.

“Get a good enough look at what you did?” She sits up, her body uncovered from me, soft and so fucking fragile.

“Did he touch you?”

“What?”

I lean toward her, setting my hands on either side of her. “Did my brother touch you?”

She grins. She doesn’t back away. Never does, this one. Most women would. So would most men. But not Mercedes De La Rosa.

“If by touch you mean did he resuscitate me when I almost drowned, then yes. So we’re talking mouth-to-mouth.”

She licks her lips.

I growl. My hands become fists on the bed.

Her grin widens. “And then there’s our shower. I mean, I was so weak I couldn’t even clean myself. So he, well, you remember how it was when you cleaned me, right? I mean, it’s a very intimate moment between a man and-”

My hand is around her throat just like last night. And just like then, her hands close over my forearm trying to pry me off. What she sees terrifies her. It’s only happened a few times before, but it has happened. And I know what she’s looking at. The beast.Belongs to (N)ôvel/Drama.Org.

I loosen my grip as much as I am able. “Did he fucking touch you?”

“I can’t breathe,” she croaks out.

I let her go and turn away, going to the window where in the far distance I can see the smoke coming out of the chimney of my mother’s cottage.

“He found me naked, bound, and facedown drowning in a fucking creek. He saved my life. You owe him a debt of gratitude because if I’d died…”

I spin on her and find her standing. “Don’t fucking say that.”

“Which part?”

Her throat is raw. I hear it, and I see all her bruises again, all the scratches and the animal inside me finally yields to the protector. The beast you feed is the one that grows. Theron chose his beast five years ago. Have I chosen mine?

I sigh.

“Come, Mercedes. You’re hurt.”

I’m not sure if it’s my words or my tone that stops her, but for once, she doesn’t argue. I walk around the bed to the bathroom and run the water in the tub. Rolling up my sleeve, I check the temperature to make sure it’s not too hot for her cuts but not too cool so it’s not uncomfortable. Once I’m satisfied, I plug it in and stand, drying my hands on a towel.

She comes into view at the door, still suspicious.

“I will wash his touch off you before I take care of your cuts and bruises.”

“You hate him.”