Page 105 of At Your Mercy

Ro then stood, a little too gracefully for what he was doing, stepped over to where Elias’s feet lay, and roughly yanked his body to the floor.

He knelt beside Elias’s head and grabbed the ice-pick.

Taking a deep breath in and out, he positioned the ice-pick directly over the inner corner of Elias’s eye.

“Bye, Elias,” he murmured, almost too quiet to hear.

Then, he lifted the mallet, a slight smile on his lips. In the next moment, he hit the ice-pick, plunging it past the eye, into the brain.

“I think I love our new uncle, guys,” Hudson said, brows raised.

I couldn’t fucking agree more.

24

Ronan

“Looks like this is it,” Wes announced, pulling into the small gravel parking lot. The car shuddered to a stop, the sound of crunching stone fading into silence. I stared out the window for a long moment, at the iron gate ahead with its simple arch of letters—St. Dymphna Cemetery.The name felt heavy on my tongue, though I didn’t say it aloud.

The wind shifted, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and flowers in through my rolled-down window.

I didn’t move until Wes cut the engine. The world went quiet, the hum of the car dying away, leaving only the soft rattle of leaves.

“You don’t have to get out right away,” Wes said gently. “We can take our time.”

I nodded, fingers tightening around the door handle. “I know, but I’m ready.”

The air outside was cool as we stepped out of the car.

Gravel crunched beneath my boots as we made our way toward the rows of headstones. The grass was neatly trimmed, with patches of late-autumn flowers tucked into vases here and there. Someone tended this place, kept it alive, even when the people it holds are long gone.

Wes stayed a few paces behind me, quiet. I was grateful for that. I didn’t think I could have spoken even if I wanted to.

It didn’t take long to find them. The headstones were small but clean, four in a row—my mother, my father, my brother, and my sister. Their names were carved deep, the letters smooth under my fingertips when I knelt. Someone had left fresh white daisies on my mother’s grave. I wondered who.

There was an open space next to the graves, as if it were waiting to be filled. It wasn’t marked, but I could tell it was for me.

My throat tightened, burning with emotions. “They didn’t have any extended family or anything,” I murmured. “No one left to claim them. But the people from town… they raised money to bury them here. Made sure they weren’t just—left there.”

Wes stepped closer, his shadow falling beside mine. “That was kind of them.”

“Yeah.” My voice cracked.

I brushed a bit of dirt off the base of the stone, tracing the etched date with my thumb.

Wes knelt beside me, close but not touching. He let the silence breathe between us, unhurried.

“They didn’t deserve what happened,” I whispered.

“No,” Wes said softly. “They didn’t.”

The chilly breeze stung my eyes. I blinked, though it didn’t help much. “You have no idea just how many times I’ve thought that I should’ve died with them. It felt unfair to be kept alive.”

Wes turned his head, eyes sharp. “Babydoll, no…”

“It’d have been easier.”

“Maybe. But you wouldn’t have met me,” he said quietly. “And you wouldn’t have gotten to make it right.”