Page 21 of At Your Mercy
And that was enough.
The wine slid warm down my throat, smooth and rich. Across from me, Ro set his glass down, his movements a tad bit sharper than necessary, showing his nerves.
“You’re crazy,” he muttered.
“Mm,” I hummed, cutting into the bread roll the server had left. “I’ve been called worse.” I spread some butter on it and took a bite, unbothered by the glare aimed at me.
Ro slouched further in the booth, arms crossing. “I don’t get this.”
“What’s not to get? We’re just two acquaintances having a nice meal.”
He reached for his own bread and tore into it with his teeth as though to prove a point. I only arched a brow.
“Can you just tell me what you want?” he huffed.
“I just want to enjoy lunch with you,” I answered, holding back a smirk at his growing irritability.
His lips parted, and then he gave a sharp little laugh, shaking his head. “God, you’re fucking infuriating.”
The steaks arrived shortly later, steaming and perfectly seared. The server set them down, offered a polite smile, and disappeared again into the sea of tables.
I waited until Ro picked up his knife and fork before speaking. “Eat.”
He froze mid-motion, eyes lifting to mine. “I was going to.”
“Then you won’t mind me telling you to.”
There it was—that flash of surprise and something else again, quickly smothered. He cut into the meat, chewed slowly, glaring at me the whole time.
I savored my own bite before speaking. “Good boy.”
The silverware stilled in his hands. His throat worked around the mouthful he swallowed, eyes narrowing as if he hadn’t quite processed what I’d said—or worse, had processed it and didn’t know what to do with it.
“This is some kind of trick, isn’t it?” he asked, voice lower now, almost as if testing the words. “Don’t call me that. And don’t do this cringy, weird-ass Alpha Daddy shtick.”
“No, it’s not a trick. I genuinely brought you here to be my lunch companion, nothing more. And I’ll try to refrain from complimenting you, I guess.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, not a smile but something perilously close. He leaned forward, elbows braced on the table. “I could stab you with this steak knife. Would be real easy,” he purred.
I leaned in too, my tone as steady as ever. “Then do it. No one’s stopping you, babydoll.”
The silence that followed was thick, vibrating with the tension strung tight between us. Ro looked at me like he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to claw my eyes out or crawl into my lap.Maybe it was both.
I sat back, returning to my meal as if nothing had happened, giving him space to squirm in the quiet.
Ro shifted in his seat, the knife still in his hand, his fingers tight around the silver handle. His eyes stayed on me, searching, calculating—like he was waiting for me to flinch.
I didn’t. I dabbed my mouth with my napkin. “You’ve got questions,” I said mildly, “but I’ve got one first.”
His brows knit. “What?”
“Who told you to kill me? You mentioned a ‘him’ earlier.”
The question landed like a stone between us. He didn’t even try for a joke this time. His jaw worked, the muscle ticking tight before a brittle smirk appeared. “I’m not telling you that.”
“Of course not,” I answered, cutting another piece of steak and chewing it leisurely. Then I met his gaze again. “But it’s Elias, right? The man who owns your apartment?”
Ro frowned. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
