Page 75 of Heart Over Heels

But there I was crouching, unzipping, and tugging open the weathered old bag. The canvas was worn soft, but sturdy and stuffed full. Clothes—no,uniforms—were folded beneath a clear zip-top bag. Inside that was a pair of small velvet boxes that were too big and flat to hold rings. Maybe necklaces? But why would Mercer stash jewelry with his service gear?

Temptation and decency wrestled, but curiosity won the fight. I opened the Ziploc, drew out both boxes, and flipped the lids.

Two medals gleamed in the light. One was purple with a matching ribbon edged in gold, and the other hung on a green and red ribbon with a letter V pinned in the center of it.

Mercer’s résumé had mentioned commendations from his time in the service. These must have been them.

I turned the boxes over in my hands. Awards like these were meant to be displayed and honored. They should’ve been framed on the wall or sitting in a case for everyone to see.

So why were they hidden with old uniforms and forgotten things?

And why the crutches? The wheelchair?

My thoughts raced as pieces clicked into place. I’d noticed his limp and assumed it was wear and tear, the kind of thing anyone might carry after a decade in the armed forces.

But maybe it wasn’t age or strain. Maybe it was injury. Something permanent.

“I used to be a Marine,”Mercer had said.

A strange qualifier, but an important one.

I closed the boxes, careful not to let the lids snap shut too loudly, then placed them back in the bag. Guilt sat like a stone inmy gut, but so did a growing concern. Whatever had happened to Mercer out there, he’d brought it home and buried it.

After rezipping the duffel and shutting the closet, I stood.

Mercer admitted he hadn’t been honest enough on our first outing. I knew now that he still had more to tell, and I had more to learn.

As much as that, I wanted to help him. He was one of my boys, after all, and just because he wasn’t a demon didn’t mean he didn’t have his own.

Guarding demons was one of my specialties.

Maybe I could guard Mercer’s too.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-TWO

Mercer

When I woke on the couch after dawn, Darby was nowhere in sight. For a moment I wondered if he’d slipped out and taken a cab back to the club, but before I got up to look for him, my mind drifted back to the conversation we’d had before sleep claimed me.

He’d told me what the Dollhouse used to be under Maslow—how the wraith had treated the dolls. I’d heard Maslow call the dancers dogs and even threaten Darby’s life, but the full scope of it still blindsided me.

Sex trafficking, energy siphoning, demon drugs funneled to angels… it all sounded like hell, yet Darby had assured me Hell itself was much worse.

His honesty begged further questions about things I’d accepted blindly or perhaps refused to see. Things I was now being forced to consider.

Darby being a man was a fact I’d made peace with.

Darby being a demon was a harder pill to swallow.

I’d sworn vows once, promising forever to a woman I’d barely known. That ended in child support payments and custody schedules, not fire and brimstone.

What were the eternal ramifications of falling for a demon?

During last night’s grocery run, people had stared and whispered, but Darby hadn’t flinched. He’d just hummed along to the tinny music playing overhead and asked me about my favorite cereal as if nothing were out of place. But I’d seen the way their eyes raked over him, and I’d felt my pulse jump, defensive and afraid.

What would happen when Rachel found out?