Page 81 of At Your Mercy
Elias laughed softly, the sound curling through the speaker. “Straight to business. You wound me, my love.”
“Elias—”
“I was just thinking,” he cut in smoothly, “it’s been nearly a week, hasn’t it? I gave you so much time. I thought perhaps you’d forgotten what happens when my patience runs out.”
My stomach dropped. “What do you mean?”
A quiet, delighted sound came from him—half laugh, half happy sigh. “Oh, Ronan. You really do lose track of the days, don’t you? Your time is up.”
Wes.
I gripped the counter so tightly my knuckles ached. “No. I had one more day.”
“I suppose you’re technically right,” Elias agreed lightly. “But it was taking too long. You were hesitating. I couldhearit in your voice every time we spoke. I didn’t think you could handle it anymore.”
My pulse roared in my ears. “Handlewhat?”
“The weight of it,” he said simply. “The guilt. The indecision. Theaffectionthat was growing.” He said the last word as if it disgusted him. “So I handled it for you.”
A cold dread sank through me. No, no, no. He couldn’t have.
“Elias… what did you do?”
He chuckled, low and indulgent, as if I were a child asking a silly question. “I had some men collect him for me.”
My breath caught. “Is he—”
“Mr. Wesley Cohen,” Elias said softly. “Such an interesting man. Honestly, quite a fighter. He shot three of my men before they were finally able to knock him out. One of them died.” There was a pause, as if he was savoring my silence. “Don’t worry, Ro. I haven’t started the real show yet. I wanted to wait for you.”
The world tilted. The smell of burnt onions hit me like a wave, nauseating.
“Why?” I whispered. “Why wait for me?”
“Because,” Elias said, his tone softening into something almost tender, “it’s only fitting you see what loyalty costs. You’ve been trying so hard to pretend you’re his precious little boyfriend, but we both know what you really are.”
He let the words hang there, heavy and poisonous.
“Come home, Ro,” he murmured. “It’s time you stop pretending.”
The line clicked, and the silence that followed was deafening.
For a moment, I couldn’t breathe.
The phone slipped from my hand, clattering against the counter.
His words ricocheted in my skull until they didn’t sound like words anymore—just noise.
“No,” I whispered, my voice breaking on the word. “No, no, no—”
My chest burned, every breath sharp and useless. I pressed my palms to the cool countertop, trying to steady myself, but the world kept swaying. Wes’s deep laugh flashed in my mind, his stupid grin, his voice calling my name—then Elias’s words slid over it, catching the memory ablaze.
I squeezed my eyes shut.Breathe.
This wasn’t helping.
Panicking never helped.
He was alive. Elias said so.
