Page 108 of At Your Mercy
He nodded, jaw tight, frustration simmering just under the surface. His determination made me proud. He wasn’t a quitter. When Wes had asked me six months ago to take him on as a pupil, I’d been excited.
He’d never killed anyone, never had any training before, but all I cared about was that predatory aura I’d seen the first time we met. Which, admittedly, I didn’t know who he was back then, but after everything settled down last year and Wes started implementing family dinners, we’d finally been properly introduced. He and his boyfriend/ex-foster brother, Josh, weren’t technically family, but they were close to the triad and had somehow become regulars at our house.
“Alright,” I said to him, stepping onto the mat. “Pair up with me for a round. Lane, take five.”
Dorian squared up, rolling his shoulders. “You sure?”
I smiled. “Always.”
He struck first—quick, clean, but too predictable. I blocked, shifted, and twisted his arm until he had to drop to one knee. He hissed in pain but didn’t tap out.
“Good,” I said. “You’re learning.”
“I feel weak.”
“You’re not,” I promised, helping him back to his feet. “I just have twenty years under my belt.”
“What about Lane? He only has a few months on me.”
“He also has practical experience, while you’ve never killed. You’re physically much stronger than him, and he knows that, which is why he focuses on speed and agility during your matches.”
Dorian sighed, nodding. “Yeah, you’re right. What should I focus on then?”
The sound of footsteps cut through the room before I could respond. I didn’t need to look to know who it was—that steady rhythm, measured but heavy with quiet authority.
“Don’t stop on my account,” Wes said from the edge of the mat.
Lane immediately straightened up, trying to hide the exhaustion on his face. Dorian just stood, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.
I turned toward Wes, and for a second—even after all this time—it still hit me how much had changed.
The scar from Elias ran from the corner of his left eyebrow down to his cheek. It had faded from angry red to light pink, almost white, but it was still striking, nearly regal in a way that made him look older, meaner.
He caught me staring and smiled. “You checking me out again?”
“Always,” I said, tossing Dorian a towel to wipe down his sweaty chest. He caught it and turned away from us, walking over to Lane.
Wes glanced at Lane and Dorian, then back at me. “They improving?”
I nodded. “Faster, more disciplined. Dorian’s a little too careful, but Lane’s getting creative.”
“Creative’s good,” Wes said. “No doubt Grey has something to do with it.”
Lane called out, “Hey, Wes? How long are you planning to make heart eyes at our instructor? I want to know if I have enough time to braid Dori’s hair.”
Wes chuckled, shaking his head. “Five minutes, then you’re back on the mat. And that’sMr. Cohento you. I’m basically your father-in-law.”
Lane saluted, getting a deep chuckle out of Dorian, who was sitting cross-legged in front of him with his hair down. “Yes, sir.”
Wes turned back to me, that scar catching the light just right. “Dinner later?”
“Only if you’re cooking.”
“I was thinking takeout.”
“Fine, but I get to pick the place,babe.”
“Deal. Oh, and doll?”
