Page 51 of At Your Mercy
“Sorry, I was in the bathroom,” I said lightly, taking the cup from his hand. The first sip burned, and I let it, but then the flavor came through, surprising me. “Oh, wow. This is so good.”
The man smiled widely, polite and open, before moving on to the next customer. I didn’t linger, just shifted out of the way and leaned against the wall. A stranger complimented my boots on his way past. I offered a smile, slow and lazy, without a word in return.
Most people, I’d learned, wanted more than I ever gave them. They wanted chatter, sparks, a little tug-of-war for attention. I wasn’t interested. I let my gaze move through the cafe instead, cataloging the details: wood floors, exposed brick walls, and a ton of greenery.
And then—him.
Sharp edges, dark eyes—watching me the way no one else was. He sat by the window, not moving, and not pretending he wasn’t staring. He was a man who seemed to belong to the shadows, but had chosen to step into the light, just to make sure I noticed.
I did notice.
Our eyes met.
I didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. Just curved my lips into the kind of smile that meant:I see you too.
The barista’s voice called another order, breaking the moment between me and the stranger. But I still felt the weight of it, lingering on my skin.
This wasn’t the kind of attention I usually invited. Still, I couldn’t help but feel a flicker of interest curl in my chest.
I found an empty table on the other side of the cafe and sat down, keeping my eye on the man in black leather.
Then Wes walked in, and it was like the atmosphere shifted around him. His shoulders filled the doorway, his gaze steady, unflinching. He found me instantly, not noticing the other predator in the room.
“Hey,” he said as he sat down across from me.
“Hey, yourself,” I said, leaning back in my chair. My pulse betrayed me, jumping higher than it should have.
“How do you like this place?” he asked, scanning the crowd. “My nephews recommended it. Seems a bit too hipster for their tastes, but I guess that means the coffee’s good.”
“It’s fine—good place to blend in. And yeah, my drink’s pretty damn good. Are you going to get anything?”
He drummed his fingers against the edge of our table and shot me a smile. “Maybe in a bit. I had a heavy breakfast.”
“Did you want to just jump right into it, then?” I asked, my eyes catching movement behind him. The stranger had gotten up from his table and was at the counter, seemingly flirting withthe barista. Wes looked over his shoulder to see what I was looking at.
“Do you know them?” he asked, returning his gaze to me.
I watched as the stranger disappeared into the back. “No.”
Wes’s eyes lingered on me, probing. “You seem a little jumpy today. Is everything all right?”
“I’m not jumpy,” I said flatly, blowing on the surface of my drink. “Just observant like I should be. And like you should be.”
Wes shrugged. “I’m observant where it counts.”
I rolled my eyes at him. “I’m sure you are. Now what did you want to talk about? I don’t have all day, old man.”
He leaned in, lowering his voice so it barely cut through the ambient buzz of clinking mugs and chatter. “I’m concerned there may be others like you. Preferably, we’d like to locate and get them out before things get… messy.”
I blinked, caught off guard. “Others like me?” I shook my head firmly. “That’s not possible. I’m with Elias almost constantly. I only stopped living with him a few years ago. If there were others like me, I’d know. I’ve never worked with someone else, and the number of jobs I get wouldn’t make sense if there were more of me. I’m his only assassin.”
Wes’s lips tightened, and he was quiet for a beat. “That’s… not what I meant.” His tone was soft, careful, which only made it worse. “I’m not talking about assassins, Ro. I’m talking about trafficking victims.”
The word slammed into me like a fist. My jaw locked, heat prickling under my skin. “Don’t,” I snapped. “Don’t call me that.”
“Ro—”
“That’s not what this is,” I hissed. “I just do his work. I’m not some—” I broke off, teeth grinding together. People at the next table glanced over, whispering, and I realized I was shaking. My hands curled into fists on the tabletop.
