In a world where he can have anything, he wants her.
~Mercy~
I check my watch for the hundredth time.
11:40 a.m.
That’s three hours and ten minutes of sitting in this bland, uncomfortable waiting room, even though I made sure to arrive at eight thirty sharp this time, when visiting hours opened.
If there’s one thing I can say about Fulcort, it’s that it’s quickly becoming as predictable as a thief browsing a shop full of jewels.
And, I swear, that woman who just passed into security arrived well after me. So did the last five people they called. But I don’t dare complain. That leering, strip-search-threatening security guard from last weekend is there again today, stealing frequent looks my way that make the hairs on my arms stand on end.
With a heavy sigh, I sink back into the LSAT prep text book I borrowed from a friend, keeping one ear perked for my name to be called. It’s hard to focus—what with all the buzzers buzzing and people milling impatiently and Pervy Parker’s brusque barking—but time is not a luxury I can afford to waste, not if I’m actually going to pay the registration fees and take this test in the fall.
In my periphery, I sense a figure approaching, and a moment later they settle into the chair directly beside me. Even though there’s an open section across from me that would give this person—this male, based on the black Adidas and dark wash jeans that I can see from my hunched angle and the spicy cologne I just inhaled—an empty seat on either side of him. But, no, he has to sit down
right
beside
me.
I grit my teeth, annoyed. But I’m in a prison waiting area and likely to go in soon, so there’s no need to cause a potential scene by getting up and moving. Either way, I shift my body to give him the back of my shoulder.
“You want to be a lawyer, huh?” the stranger says, and somehow his deep, raspy voice slides down my spine like liquid honey.
And now he’s reading over my shoulder.
As much as I’d like to ignore him, my father’s words from last weekend about making enemies ring in my ear. I don’t need to be making enemies around here either. “Yup,” I murmur politely, but keep my head down.
“Smart and beautiful. I haven’t had that combination. Yet.” There’s no mistaking the humor in his voice. Or the insinuation.
Had?
Yet?
This is where my politeness ends. “Look, no offense? But I’m not here to get hit on by….” The rest of the words fall off as I turn to find myself caught in intense blue eyes the color of nightfall.
Oh shit.
It’s the guy from last week. The sexy-as-all-hell guy.
The one visiting the mob boss.
I clear my throat several times as a wild rash of flutters stirs in my stomach.
His lips curve into a knowing smirk, as if he can sense my reaction. He’s somehow even more attractive today. Almost model-pretty, with that cutting jawline, high cheekbones, and deep-set eyes. But the thin layer of stubble coating his cheeks, the rough hands, the slouchy, legs-spread way he sits in that chair radiates masculinity.
Pretty, but likely dangerous, I remind myself. God only knows how dangerous. This guy was visiting Fulcort’s version of Al Capone last week. For all I know, he’s a mob henchman. Maybe he knows where that missing witness went.
Maybe he’s the one who helped make him disappear.
I need to stay far away from this man.
“I’m no expert, but I’m guessing lawyers who can’t find their tongues don’t do very well in that profession.” His gaze drops to my mouth, where it sits for several beats. “Sorry, what were you saying? Something about not being here to get hit on by…?”
I clear my throat again. Being outright rude to him would be as stupid as welcoming his cocky version of flirtation. I settle for polite honesty. “By anyone.” But especially not by the goddamn mob.
“I guess it’s a good thing I wasn’t hitting on you then.” His dark blue eyes drift casually around the room. “You’re not my type.”
“Well… good.” I duck my head as I try to shake my embarrassment. What is his type, I wonder? Silicone-filled, no doubt. Likely also dubious morals and a loose—
“Who are you visiting?”
“My father,” I find myself answering before I can stop myself. I hesitate. “You?”
He smirks. “Same.”
My stomach drops. This guy isn’t a mobster minion. He’s the son of a mob boss. Is that better or worse?
Nina West’s SWEET MERCY is now available and FREE in Kindle Unlimited! Grab your copy today!
About SWEET MERCY:
One visit to my father in prison—convicted for a murder he didn’t commit—and I’ve attracted the attention of the last man I’d ever want knowing that I exist.
Gabriel Easton.
Son of an infamous crime boss. Pretentious liar. Merciless womanizer. A scoundrel to the core.
Worse, he has figured out how desperate I am to protect my father from brutality behind bars. He has the power to grant that protection and he has offered it … for a price.
Me.
I am to become a prisoner in his playhouse mansion, to live with him until he tires of having me around.
I'll do anything for my father, including agree to Gabriel's cruel game. But I won't comply with his every whim and wish.
Not when he taunts me with that ruthless spark in his cold blue eyes.
Not when he requires that I share his bedroom at night.
Unfortunately for me, I think my loathing for him is what he’s enjoying most.
That's fine. By the time I’m through with him, he’ll be crying my name.
Mercy.
**Sweet Mercy is the first book in the Dirty Empire series.**
FREE IN KINDLE UNLIMITED! GRAB YOUR COPY TODAY!
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And don’t miss the next title in the Dirty Empire Series, GABRIEL FALLEN! Pre-order your copy today! ✦Amazon✦
About Nina West:
Nina West is the author of the sinfully sexy and highly addictive The Wolf Hotel series. She enjoys binge-watching holiday movies, quoting lines from Friends, and weekend wine-touring (but will settle for anything that gets her a glass of wine.) She lives in the city but spends her summers in the wilderness with her husband.
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Dear Diary,
I might have gotten myself into a wee bit of trouble—and I'm not talking about the "court mandated community service," or “therapy sessions from bashing a bloke in the head" kind of trouble.
I wish it were that simple.
Nope. I’m talking about the "falling in love with one of my client's daughters,” kind of trouble . . .
The kind of problem I can’t talk my way out of when the truth gets out.
How I ended up with her phone is a long story—and when she called to get it back, I took things a bit too far. One innocent exchange wound up leading to so much more.
Fun, new, and totally immune to my charm, Sutton is different. And I had no idea she was the daughter of Foster Green.
Blame it on the dark colored stout running through my veins, pushing me toward one bad decision after another. Pushing me toward her even though I know right from wrong; even though she's my client's daughter.
Dating her might be the best or worst decision I've ever made. Only time, whiskey, and one more roll around the mattress with her will tell.
USA Today Bestselling Author, wife, adoptive mother, and peanut butter lover. Author of romantic comedies and contemporary romance, Meghan Quinn brings readers the perfect combination of heart, humor, and heat in every book.
