Page 29 of At Your Mercy
The words hit me harder than the wine, harder than Elias’s slap the night before. My mouth went dry, my chest tightening with something that wasn’t fear—not exactly.
Something worse. Something I couldn’t control.
My throat worked around a swallow I couldn’t force down.
“I’m not—I can’t kill him,” I muttered, forcing my tone sharp. “I’m just—fuck, I need help… He watches me, he pays for where I live, my clothes, my food, everything. I need to cut myself out of his life without him pulling me back in. I’m not… I’m just saying you’re my best option. To get help.”
Wes’s brow arched. “Best option,” he repeated softly, like he was tasting the words. “Not a very flattering way to ask for help.”
My brows drew together. “I’m not asking. I don’t beg.”
“Mm.” He leaned in slightly, resting one elbow on the table, his voice lowering until it hooked right into my gut. “That’s not true. You’ve been begging from the moment you sat down on my lap that night, and you’ve been begging with every look since, every twitch, every time you put food in your mouth just because I told you to.”
My jaw clenched. “You don’t know shit about me.”
“I know enough. I know you’re conflicted. That you want to run, but you also want to stay. That you hate that I can read you—but you crave it, too. You need guidance. You supposedly need my help escaping your owner.”
I shifted in my chair, suddenly restless, hands gripping my thighs under the table. “Stop.”
“Why?” The word came like a challenge, a growl buried under velvet. “Does it scare you to be seen?”
Every nerve lit up in my body. I could hear Elias’s voice in my head—stick to the plan, boy, you’re too dumb to remember otherwise—and I tried to cling to it. “Look, I just—just need you to get me out, okay? That’s it. Nothing else. You don’t need to act like you’ve got me figured out.”
For the first time, Wes’s expression hardened, the amusement cooling into something sharper. “And if I do?”
My breath caught. “You d—”
He leaned back in his chair, cutting me off. “If I decide I know you better than you know yourself, Ronan, what then? What will you do?”
I had no answer.
The silence stretched, and Wes’s gaze stayed locked on me, unrelenting, until the weight of it made me want to crawl out of my own skin.
I forced out, quieter than I meant, “Then I guess I’d be fucked.”
8
Wesley
I let the silence linger after his words, savoring the rawness in his voice. The mask he wore, all sharp teeth and bravado, had shattered.
My lips curved faintly as I swirled the wine in my glass, watching the dark red ripple against the light. “Fucked…” I repeated softly, almost tasting the word. “Yes, I imagine you would be.”
Ro’s throat bobbed. He looked away, pretending to study the flame of the small candle on the table. His shoulders were set like stone, but I could see the tension vibrating just beneath the surface.
I leaned forward slightly, resting my forearms on the table, lowering my voice so it threaded just between the two of us. “You’ve followed me around for days like an eager puppy.”
Color rose high in his cheeks, but his expression stayed stubborn. “Maybe I’m just waiting for the right moment to slit your throat.”
“Then why wait? Because you want my help?”
His hands clenched on his lap, the twitch of his fingers betraying him.
“I think you need my help,” I murmured, “but not with what you’re asking.”
The waiter appeared then, clearing plates and offering dessert menus. I waved him off with a polite smile, and when he left, I turned my attention back to the boy across from me.
“Ro,” I said, loving how his pupils dilated at the sound of his name in my mouth. “Do you know what I see when I look at you?”
