Page 64 of At Your Mercy
I forced myself to draw in a long breath, to lock my jaw, to smooth my expression into something steady and comforting. He didn’t need my rage. He didn’t need my guilt. He needed me—whole, solid, unshakable.
My hand tightened around his phone. I slipped it into my pocket, not because I wanted to keep it, but because I couldn’t bear the thought of him waking up in the middle of the night, opening it again, and drowning in those photos. Not tonight.
I turned off the light and opened the bathroom door.
The apartment was still dim, the air heavy with steam and the faint smell of soap. From the bedroom doorway, I could see that he hadn’t moved much—still curled in that tangle of blankets, his pale hair sticking damply to his temple. His eyes were open, but staring at nothing. When I came closer, they flicked up to me, and something in his expression made my chest clench.
He looked… ashamed, like he expected me to recoil.
I carefully lowered myself onto the edge of the bed. For a second, neither of us spoke. The silence stretched, heavy witheverything I’d seen in the bathroom, everything he hadn’t said out loud.
“Ro…” I started, then stopped, because I didn’t know how to put any of it into words. My hands flexed uselessly on my knees. “Baby…”
His throat worked as he swallowed, but he didn’t say anything. His gaze darted away, to the wall, like he couldn’t stand for me to look at him.
I reached out, hesitated, then let my palm rest lightly against the blanket covering his hip—barely touching, just enough to remind him I was there.
“I don’t know what the right thing to say is,” I admitted quietly. “I don’t think there is one. And I know there’s nothing I can say or do to make it better.”
His jaw tightened, his eyes glistening, but he kept staring at the wall like I wasn’t allowed to see him.
I leaned forward, trying to catch his gaze. “But I need you to hear this, doll. None of it makes me think less of you. None of it makes me disgusted by you. If anything, it made me realize that you’re so much stronger than I thought you were.”
His lips parted, but no sound came out. Just a shaky exhale, his fingers twisting in the sheets like he didn’t know where else to put the tremor running through him.
I wanted to pull him into my arms, to shield him from everything, but I didn’t want to push. So I stayed there, close enough he could reach for me if he wanted.
“You don’t have to talk about it tonight,” I said softly. “Or tomorrow. Or ever, if you don’t want to. I’ll never push you into that. I just…” The words snagged in my throat, but I forced them through. “I just need you to know I’m not going anywhere, okay?”
His lashes fluttered, a tear slipping free, tracking silently down his cheek and into the divot of his collarbone. He stillwouldn’t look at me, but his hand moved—just barely—sliding out from the blanket to brush against my thigh, tentative and fragile.
I covered it with mine.
We sat like that, both of us at a loss of how to move forward, the quiet somehow more bearable with our hands linked in it.
His hand was cold under mine. Too cold. I rubbed my thumb across his knuckles, slow and steady, like maybe I could coax some warmth back into him.
The silence pressed in on us, thick, but I didn’t rush it. I didn’t want him to think I needed words from him, not when he’d already bled out so much just by letting me see those photos.
So I just kept talking, tightening my grip on his hand, not letting him slip back into himself. “I know I can’t erase it. I wish to God I could, but I can’t. Fuck, and I’m so sorry for having you go into that house. I would’ve never sent you in if… if I knew. I’m so fucking sorry I didn’t see it before. But I promise from now on, I will never put you in that position ever again. I’m so sorry, doll.”
That cracked something—his lips trembled, a tiny sound breaking out before he could swallow it back. His fingers flexed against mine, gripping tight like he didn’t even mean to.
Finally, finally, his gaze dragged to mine. His eyes were raw, red, wet. “Why?” His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. “Why would you want to stay? You—you said ‘from now on.’ But why? After seeing… that?”
My chest ached so sharply it nearly buckled me.
I leaned in, brushing strands of hair from his forehead with my free hand. “Oh, babydoll… Because it doesn’t change who you are to me. Not one fucking bit. You’re still you, Ro. You’re—you’re something special to me, doll, and nothing will change that.”
His breath hitched like he didn’t believe me, like he couldn’t. But he didn’t look away this time. His hand stayed in mine, clutching hard enough to hurt.
For a long time, there was nothing but the sound of his breathing. I rubbed my thumb against the top of his hand, trying to soothe him.
Just when I thought he was done with our conversation entirely, his voice rasped out, so faint I had to lean in to catch it.
His gaze was unfocused, somewhere far past the wall. “My parents… I think they saw something, maybe even had proof of something Elias had done. I guess it probably had to do with the trafficking stuff. They weren’t even police, just regular people, so they must have just been in the wrong place at the wrong time… I still don’t know a lot of the details. Elias never told me about what really happened. I mean, a few details here and there, but I wish I knew what my parents had on him.”
My throat went dry. “Ro…”
