Page 59 of At Your Mercy
I made myself hold his gaze. “Just a headache and some nausea. It’s probably nothing.” My voice was soft, steady enough to sell it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to ruin your evening by mentioning it.”
Something flickered behind his eyes. He didn’t believe me. Or maybe he just didn’t care. But then, as though deciding my claim was convenient enough, he let go of my chin and smoothed a hand down my cheek.
“You do look too pale,” he murmured, more for the others than for me. He turned, commanding instead of asking, “Have the car brought around. Ronan will return home. I won’t have him fainting at my feet.”
The stylist looked disappointed. The weapons dealer only shrugged.
I exhaled slowly through my nose as Elias steered me toward the door, his hand firm at the small of my back.
At the front, the driver already waited, standing stiffly beside the black sedan. Elias stopped with me just shy of the steps, leaning close so only I could hear.
“Rest. I’ll have my purchases delivered to you tomorrow.” His fingers pressed into my hip, a subtle warning. “And, Ro… if you’re keeping something from me, I’ll know.”
I forced a weak smile. “I know. I’ll let you know how I feel in the morning.”
He kissed my temple and let me go, and I climbed into the car before he could change his mind.
The door shut, and the engine hummed to life.
Only when the gates closed behind us did I let my mask slip, leaning my forehead against the cool glass, my phone clutched tightly in my pocket as if it were the only thing anchoring me to this world.
I’d gotten what Wes wanted, but at what cost? My last bit of sanity?
I pressed my knuckles against my mouth, keeping the sobs buried where they belonged. My phone was a weight in my hand, heavy with the photos I should’ve never taken. Proof. Evidence. My past carved open in pixels and dates.
When the car finally slid up to my building, I climbed out without a word, not waiting for the driver to open the door for me. My legs carried me up the flights of stairs to my apartment door on autopilot.
I clumsily unlocked the door and closed it behind me.
I stumbled toward the bathroom, stripped nothing, kicked nothing aside. Just dropped my phone on the floor mat, then turned the shower knobs until steam began to fill the space and stepped in, shoes and clothes and all.
Hot water slammed against me, soaking through fabric, plastering sequins to my skin until they scratched like thorns. I sank down into the tub, knees tucked to my chest, arms locked around them. My hair clung to my forehead, water trailing into my eyes, stinging salt mixing with it.
The heat couldn’t touch the chill inside me. Couldn’t burn out the images still seared into my head.
I pressed my forehead to my knees, rocking once, twice, before reaching and fumbling for the phone on the mat. My fingers slipped, wet, trembling, but I managed to swipe it open.
Wes’s name glowed back at me.
I hit call.
The line rang once, twice, and when he picked up, I didn’t let him speak.
“I need you.” My voice raw, the words more a plea than anything else.
Then I ended the call, dropped the phone back on the mat, and curled in tighter beneath the pounding spray.
I stayed there, letting the water batter me down, until I could almost pretend I was being washed away.
15
Wesley
I’d called him half a dozen times. No answer. My texts went unread. There had been nothing but silence after that three-word plea.
“I need you.”
The way he’d said it had lodged deep under my ribs, painful and unshakable. So I’d driven faster than I should have, red lights blurring past, my gut twisting tighter with every unanswered ring.
