Page 2 of At Your Mercy
“Why don’t we go somewhere quieter, birthday boy?”
The invitation was honey-laced, but my instincts stirred sharply beneath the warmth of his body. Nobody wandered into my circle without reason. And this one—this porcelain fox—reeked of reason.
I caught Ichabod’s eye over Ro’s shoulder; he gave the faintest shake of his head, the kind that meantnot in the system yet, but I’ll find him.Which, in turn, meantred flag.
“Quieter, hm?” I murmured, pretending to weigh the idea while I traced a finger down Ro’s spine. “I don’t usually like surprises.”
His lips brushed my jaw in answer. “Then let me convince you,” he crooned. Danger hummed in his tone. And for the first time in years, I found myself wanting to walk straight into it.
“Convince me, huh?” I rumbled, though my hand slid lower, palming the curve of his hip. “Sounds like a challenge.”
Ro’s grin was sharp enough to cut. “I like challenges.”
He stood in one graceful motion, sequins flashing in the club lights, and extended his pale hand toward me. The gesture looked courtly, almost mocking, but there was no hesitation in it. His snowy-white lashes fluttered as if daring me not to take it.
“Boss?” Tex asked, amusement bleeding into unease. “You sure—”
“I’m sure,” I said, rising, the chair scraping back. I let Ro lead, though every step was deliberate. Not because I trusted him, but because I wanted to see where this game went.
He had piqued my interest.
We wove through the sea of velvet couches and sweating bodies, past the strobe-lit haze of the dance floor. Yazmin caught sight of me, mid-grind with some stranger, and lifted a brow at the sight of Ro tugging me along like a leashed pup. I gave her a brief nod—enough to tell her I wasn’t blind to what I was doing.
The club had private rooms in the back, soundproofed boxes for business deals or sins that needed discretion. Ro pushed the door open to one of the rooms with one slim shoulder and gestured me inside, that silken smile never faltering.
I stepped in, the bass muffling to a low, thrumming heartbeat as the door swung shut behind us.
The room was dimly lit with a red glow and smelled faintly of leather and expensive perfume. A low couch stretched along the wall, and a mirrored ceiling was overhead. It was the kind ofplace designed to strip pretense. Honestly, I was surprised there wasn’t a bed.
Ro slinked closer, every inch a predator dressed as prey. He pressed me back onto the couch, straddling my thighs, his white hair spilling over his shoulders like strands of moonlight. His lips hovered near mine, never quite touching.
“Happy birthday,” he whispered.
I let him settle there, my hands loose on his thighs, gaze steady. “And what do I get when I blow out the candle, babydoll?”
His smile widened, and for just a flicker—quick as a shadow—I saw it—the intent behind the charm; the hunter beneath the glitz and glamour. If I hadn’t already been searching for it, I would’ve missed it.
I didn’t shove him off, didn’t move at all. Instead, I let my lips ghost against his ear and murmured, “Careful now.”
Ro shifted in my lap, deliberately rolling his hips in a motion that would’ve undone most men. His pale pink lips hovered near mine, curving in a smug little smirk, the kind meant to sayyou’re already mine.
“You don’t strike me as the type to play coy,” he murmured, fingers dragging down my chest. “Why waste time talking when we could be making use of this couch?”
I caught his wrist before he could slip lower. Not rough, not a warning—just firm. “A man learns to appreciate conversation at my age.”
Something flickered in his eyes, quick and sharp. Annoyance, maybe—or calculation. He tilted his head, feigning innocence. “Conversation?” He leaned in, brushing his lips along my jaw. “And what exactly do you want to talk about, birthday boy?”
“That depends,” I said, catching his chin between my fingers and forcing his gaze to mine. “Are you trying to seduce me, or sell me on something?”
His smirk faltered a fraction, but he smoothed it over with a languid laugh. “What if I told you it could be both?”
“Then I’d say you don’t know me well enough yet.”
He tried again, leaning forward to kiss me, but I stopped him with a hand at his throat. His lashes lowered, his lips parting in what should’ve been victory, but I didn’t give him the satisfaction of closeness. For a second, I tightened my grip, earning a small whimper.
“You’re good,” I said softly, studying him. “Pretty, practiced, dangerous. But tell me—” I let my thumb drag against his pulse, steady but quick, “—why does a boy like you walk straight to my table, when there are a hundred men in this club who’d beg for your attention?”
Ro’s laugh was breathy, but there was an edge to it now. “Maybe I like powerful men.”
