Page 18 of At Your Mercy
Definitely not. I wasn’t that delusional.
Even so, the truth sat heavy in my chest. I didn’t want to kill him. That knowledge had been simmering under my skin since the night of his birthday party, sharp and inconvenient, growing bit by bit as my mind categorized his kindness as something far more important. If Elias saw it, he’d cut it out of me without hesitation.
But there was another angle, the one I’d thought of after the first night. If Wesley believed I needed saving, maybe he’d do the only real saving I deserved—end me before I ended him. It would make perfect sense, wouldn’t it? To kill before you’re killed?
I swallowed down the dark thought and pulled my gaze from the blur outside. My reflection stared back, a faint smear of blood still painted against my throat. Who would ever waste their time pulling me out of this?
Elias’s voice tugged me back. “Do you understand your assignment?”
I forced a slow inhale, then let it out through a smile that wasn’t real. “Of course. I’ll make him want me. I’ll make him believe I want out.”
“You won’t fail this time, will you?”
“No,” I answered resolutely. My eyes drifted back to the window, and I let the silence return, knowing he’d mistake it for obedience.
Inside, though, the echo of that ridiculous fantasy clung like smoke.Saved.As if I’d ever let myself believe in something so stupid.
But put out of my misery?
That could be arranged.
* * *
The apartment greeted me with silence as Elias dropped me off. I didn’t bother with the lights. My body moved on instinct, straight for the bathroom, still feeling the unwanted touches against my skin.
The toothbrush scraped against my teeth again and again, harder each time. Mint foam spilled over my lips, tinged faintly pink from where I’d torn open my gums, but the taste of that gross man still wouldn’t leave. I pressed the bristles against my tongue, scrubbing, scrubbing, scrubbing until it ached, as if I could scrape it away entirely.
I stripped down and stepped under the shower, twisting the knob until steam filled the air. The scalding heat beat down on me like a punishment. I took the loofah to my skin, dragging it across my arms, my chest, my throat, over and over until my flesh was raw. It wasn’t cleansing. It never was. But it helped—kept my hands moving, kept me from standing still long enough to think too hard.
The steam from the shower blurred the mirror, sparing me from the sight of myself.Good. I didn’t want to see.
I leaned into the spray, eyes closed, wishing it would just wash everything away—the job, Elias’s voice still in my ear, the plan he’d set in motion. Pretend to be someone who wants to be saved; pretend to be someone who deserves to be saved.
It was almost funny.
Almost.
Because if anyone needed rescuing, it was me. But I didn’t believe in that kind of story. Not for someone like me, at least.
By the time I dried off and pulled on sweats, exhaustion had crept in, heavy and inevitable. I walked from the bathroom to my bed and reached for the small amber bottle on my nightstand, shaking a few tablets into my palm. They clicked against my teeth before sliding down with a swallow of water. My body knew the ritual by heart; sleep never came easily otherwise.
I lay back against the pillow, staring at the ceiling while the weight spread through me. My skin stung, my jaw throbbed, my tongue still tasted wrong. I told myself I should’ve been grateful that the job didn’t go beyond a kiss and some groping. It could’ve been a lot worse.
If I were lucky, tonight, my exhaustion combined with the pills would keep the nightmares at bay.
The medication tugged me down, the mattress pulling at my bones until I couldn’t tell where I ended and the bed began.
My mind flickered, stubborn even against the chemical weight. I saw Wesley, and his face at the party. He was so… well, I wasn’t sure, exactly. The memory lodged in my chest. I hadn’t needed to clean myself raw from his touches. I’d liked how he touched me—how sure he was of his movements, how dominating he was without being violent.
I’d never liked it before.
I hated that Elias wanted me to carve my way closer now, to twist the knife in slow motion by pretending to need saving. Betrayal like that—it would tear him open. And God help me, I didn’t want to be the one to do it.
But what did it matter what I wanted?
I stared at the dark ceiling, lids too heavy to lift. If I could pull this off, if I could make him believe… then maybe hewouldbe the one to end it. He was strong enough, fierce enough, and perhaps he’d even feel justified when the time came.
The thought almost soothed me.
