Page 65 of At Your Mercy
He shook his head once, sharply, to keep me from interrupting. “Elias went there to kill them. I don’t know if he planned to…” His jaw tightened, a muscle twitching. “to hurt Henri and Lia or me. But we were all there that night. And… and he saw me and…”
The words hung heavy between us. My stomach twisted, bile burning the back of my throat.
“I was the only albino in my family,” Ro continued softly. “I guess he thought I looked rare or exotic, and he… well, he likes to own things that no one else has.” His breath stuttered, but he kept going. “You’d think whoring me out would go against that, but I think he sees it as loaning his toy out for others to play with.” He stopped there, lips pressed tight, his whole body taut as if he said any more he’d break into pieces.
I lifted my hand, cupping the side of his face. “You don’t have to tell me the rest,” I whispered. “Not until you’re ready. Andeven if you’re never ready, that’s okay. I’ll support you no matter what.”
His eyes flicked to mine for a second, glossy and pained. Then they fell shut, and he leaned into my palm, just barely, as if testing if it was safe.
Ro’s words still echoed in the silence between us, excruciating, cutting edges I couldn’t smooth over.
His hand shifted against mine, uncertain at first, then tightening. “Wes,” he whispered, voice small in a way I’d never heard from him. “Will you… just hold me? Please?”
“Yeah, doll, of course.” My chest constricted as I slid closer, gathering him into my arms. He curled into my chest without hesitation, his head pressing under my chin. I kissed the crown of his head.
For a while, I only held him, breathing with him, trying to comfort us both. My hand stroked lazy circles over his back, memorizing every bone.
But a thought gnawed at me, heavy and relentless, and finally I forced the words out, asking hesitantly, “Ro… can I ask you something?”
He made a faint sound of assent, not moving.
I swallowed thickly. “Have you ever been uncomfortable with me? With anything we’ve done? If there’s ever something you’d rather I not do—anything at all—I need you to tell me. I can’t stand the thought of—” My voice cracked. “of being another man who hurts you.”
His head tilted back just enough for his eyes to meet mine. “No, Wes,” he whispered, fierce despite the tremor in his voice. “Never. I’ve loved everything we’ve done. Every touch, every kiss.” His fingers fisted weakly in my shirt. “I feel safe when you touch me.”
My chest broke wide open at that, raw and aching. I pressed my forehead to his, eyes squeezing shut. “What about the slapping and choking? It doesn’t trigger you?”
“No. I mean, maybe it should, but it doesn’t. And believe it or not, I was never choked before, but you did it that first time, and it just… made everything still. Like being underwater, in a way. And I really, really like it.” A pretty flush spread across his face.
I smiled at that. “Just make sure to use your safeword if you need to. Promise?”
“Promise. And Wes…”
“Yeah?”
“You will never be like them.”
I kissed him then, tenderly, lovingly even—although I wouldn’t dare to say those words yet—and held him tighter, as if I could keep the whole world from ever laying another hand on him again.
Another question came to mind—one I was almost afraid to ask. Not because the answer mattered to me, but because I didn’t want to bring up any more memories tonight.
“Ro… I should’ve asked before now, but… would you like to be called by your birth name? Andreas?”
He tensed for just a second before relaxing back into me. “ I-I don’t know. I should know. I just… I need to think about it. Is that okay?”
“Of course. You can take all the time you need. I’ll be here.”
16
Ronan
The next morning, I woke up before Wes, who was still asleep on his back, one hand tucked under his head. I stayed silent, just admiring him. There were lines etched at the corners of his eyes that seemed to hold years of laughter. He had a little softness over his ribs, though he wasn’t exactlysoft. No, his skin was rough, and his muscles were still hardened despite his age.
My finger found his cheek on reflex, trailing lightly from jaw to temple. The skin under my fingertip was warm, and his beard scratched me.
Usually, my mind would be telling me to check for anything wrong, read his expression for a threat, a tell, or a lie. But now my touch just lingered as my mind stayed hushed.
It felt wrong and right and impossible all at once. Safe was a word I hadn’t felt since before the night my family stopped being a family. It didn’t fit easily into the sentences of my head,like a piece of clothing I couldn’t quite squeeze into. But when I pressed my palm flat to his chest and felt the slow thud of his heart, I felt more than safe.
