Page 100 of At Your Mercy
We reached another locked door. Hudson punched in a second code, then stepped aside for Wes to go first. I followed, pulse thrumming in my ears.
The sound of quiet conversation met us first.
A man who must have been Hayes, given his near identical appearance to Hudson, stood near a metal table, arms crossed, a smirk playing at his mouth. There was a smaller, redheaded man in a miniskirt and a pink blouse, perched on the edge of the table, and an older man standing next to him, dressed sort of like a university professor.
And in the corner—
Elias.
He was inside a glass enclosure. There was a bucket and some dirty bandages in the corner of the cell, but not much else.
His hair was tangled, his face marked with bruises and the kind of exhaustion that came from too many sleepless nights. But when his eyes met mine, the corners of his mouth lifted into a slow, crooked smile.
“Ronan,” he drawled, voice hoarse. “I was so worried about you.”
My fingers twitched at my sides, but I didn’t answer.
Instead, I walked toward the small group of people at the other end of the room. The redhead perked up, smiling at me as I approached.
The feeling of a firm hand on the small of my back told me that Wes had followed me over.
“Some more introductions are needed, I think,” he announced. “This is Ro.” When I looked over at him, I met his eyes. My heart squeezed at the expression on his face.
It was one I hadn’t seen in a very long time.
Pride.
He wasproudto introduce me to his family.
His arm circled my waist, tugging me closer to his side. “This is Hayes, Lane, and Greyson.”
Lane was the first to speak. “How do you know who I am?”
Wes chuckled. “I’m getting the vibe that I should come around more often. I’m sorry. Lane, I keep track of everyone in my nephews’ lives. Of course, I know who you are.”
Lane’s eyes narrowed as he pouted. “Then why didn’t you come to our wedding?”
“Princess…” Greyson warned, a brow raised.
“I’m sorry. I should’ve made time for it. I did get to see the pictures, though. It was a lovely ceremony.”
I’d have to ask him later why he hadn’t gone.
Lane sighed, his expression warming back up. “Thank you for sending a gift anyway.”
“It was my pleasure. The least I could do.”
I was starting to feel out of the loop.
Lane turned his attention to me. “He gave me some of the prettiest jewelry I own. The pieces are so amazing,” he gushed.
I smiled faintly, glad for the brief warmth before everything inevitably went cold.
Lane’s energy was almost infectious—a bright light in a dark room that reeked of death.
Hayes, on the other hand, leaned back against the table, arms crossed, watching me and Wes with a smirk that could cut glass. He looked like the kind of man who never turned down an opportunity to stir the pot.
“So,” Hayes drawled, eyes flicking between us, “this istheRo, huh? Dorian described you perfectly.”
