Page 19 of At Your Mercy
Almost.
My life was a cruel cycle ofalmosts.
I rolled onto my side with effort, the room tilting slightly, and let the darkness close in.
6
Wesley
The bookstore smelled of paper and coffee beans, a mix I’d always found grounding. I sat tucked into a corner table on the second level, a book open, a cup warm in my hand. As a man set in routine, Sundays were my escape, the days when I could decompress from the stress of the kind of life I lived.
The scrape of the chair across from me sounded grating compared to the quiet I’d been enjoying. I knew who it was without lifting my eyes from the page.
“Didn’t know you were a bookstore kind of guy,” Ro said, sliding into the seat. His voice carried that playful lilt, the kind that made every word sound like both a dare and a flirtation.
I turned the page and glanced across the small table at him. “I’m sure there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
His pale brows lifted, then furrowed, a small scowl twisting his delicate features. “I at least know now what your backgroundis. I’m still mad at that fucker for making me look stupid. But hopefully the other night helped you understand that I’m not? Because I am so not stupid.”
I set my coffee cup down and met his eyes. “You’re more mad at him for making you look ‘stupid’ than you are for him sending you to your probable death?”
That earned me a grin—bright and mocking. “I’m used to that part. It was looking like an amateur that bothered me.” Ro leaned forward, chin resting in his palm, studying me.
“Well, don’t worry, you certainly proved yourself.”
Ro huffed and looked at my book. “Meditations?” he read the title, tilting his head. “Don’t tell me you’re meditating right now?”
“No, doll. And even if I were trying to, you’re a bit too loud.” He pouted at me, making my lip twitch up. “It’s on Stoic philosophy.”
“Sounds positively delightful,” he muttered.
I didn’t rise to it; I didn’t give him the reaction he was looking for. Instead, I went back to my book.
The silence stretched, not uncomfortable for me, but I could feel the twitch of restlessness in him, like a cat flicking its tail.
Ro stretched across the table, his arm brushing mine on purpose to get my attention. “You know,” he said, “I’m probably more interesting than that—prettier, too.”
I didn’t look up from my page. “More annoying as well.”
He smirked, lips parting to deliver another provocation—when I finally set the book down and turned my gaze fully on him.
My voice came out low, edged like gravel. “Shut up, and sit up. You’re not a toddler.”
The words hung between us, heavier than they should’ve been. His eyes widened, and for the first time, he didn’t have a quip ready on his tongue.
“I don’t mind if you stay, but if you do, you will be respectful of my time and how I choose to spend it.”
For a heartbeat, I thought he’d laugh, maybe push back with his false bravado. Instead, a little shudder went through him, his pupils blew out, and he leaned back, lacing his pale fingers together neatly on the table.
So he could listen…
“Good. Thank you.”
I picked my book back up, as if nothing had happened. An hour passed, and every so often I caught the way his leg bounced, or how he fidgeted with the shirt he wore, but he didn’t say a word.
When I finally closed the book, I let my hand linger on the cover and looked at him again. “I think it’s time for lunch. You did well,” I said, letting the satisfaction thread through my tone. “You’ve earned a reward.”
He blinked, blushing at my compliment, then tilted his head with a slyness that didn’t quite hide his surprise. “A reward?” His voice had that silk-slick edge, but it cracked faintly at the corners.
