She hasn’t eaten all day. Miriam briefed me upon my arrival. It’s probably why she passed out. That or the guilt I’m sure she’s been reliving locked in here with nothing to distract her. That’s the point, though. No distractions. The way out is through. Too many people expect shortcuts in life. But that’s not how things work. Darkness touches all of our lives. The strong ones stand tall and walk willingly into the abyss to face down the shadows. The weak ones distract themselves so as not to have to face it. I won’t let Mercedes be weak. She’s not that.

“Mercedes.”

Nothing.

I push the hair from her face. Her forehead is damp. I wonder if that’s from the yoga—her mat is laid out on the floor—or from being sick. My guess is the latter when I see the puffy, pink skin around her eyes.

I’ve never studied her before. Never had the opportunity, really. And I realize there’s something not quite right about doing it while she’s passed out, but I shove those thoughts aside and find myself undressing her with the pretense that she’s too hot under the clothes. But I do want to get a look at her—at those scars—and I doubt she’d allow it if she were awake.

And so, without much more thought, I strip off her sweater and pants, the tank top beneath, and set them at the foot of the bed. When I sit her up to remove her bra, she makes a sound, but her head lolls against my chest. Once the bra is unhooked, I cup the back of her head and lay her down. She quiets as I pull the straps from her arms and set the bra on top of her clothes.

I take in her breasts. Full. Perfectly round. Her large nipples darkening as they pucker. I clear my throat, then look over her chest, her stomach. Nothing here. Just perfect, unblemished skin. The sleeping beast inside stirs. I shift my gaze from her flat stomach to the lace panties just barely covering her. I slip my fingers into the waistband.

What would she think if she woke now? What would I tell her? The truth. Those scars are concerning. Santiago wouldn’t have done that to her, would he? Does he even know about them?

I slide her panties down her long legs and am about to set them aside, but push them into my pocket instead. I stand. Take her in, my gaze again catching on the slit of her sex. She makes a sound, moves, but quiets again. Her legs part just a little. Just enough to give me a glimpse of the open lips of her pussy.

A rumbling inside my chest signals the beast’s interest is piqued. I take a deep breath in, then slowly exhale. Adjust myself.