Page 53 of At Your Mercy

I dropped onto my couch, staring up at the ceiling fan spinning in lazy circles. I needed a reason. I couldn’t just call him up and say I wanted to hang out, or that I missed home, or some shit he wouldn’t buy into.

My gaze landed on the weapon case tucked under the coffee table. Knives, pistols—a small collection I maintained myself. Most of them were gifts from him over the years, chosen not for their practicality but because he enjoyed watching me use them. He liked the artistry.

The aesthetics.

He’d never question my appetite for a new weapon. He was usually the one offering them to me, but I had asked him for specific weapons before. It wasn’t a stretch that I’d want to get my hands on something new.

My fingers hovered over my phone for too long before I pressed his contact. It rang twice.

“Ronan,” Elias’s voice purred on the other end. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

I forced my voice into casual ease. “I need something from you.”

A pause, sharp enough to make my skin itch. “…Is something wrong?”

“No,” I said quickly—too quickly. “No… I just… felt like my arsenal could use an upgrade. Something new.”

Another pause. I could hear the smile in his silence. “Oh,that’swhat this is about.” His tone warmed, the suspicion draining into amusement. “For a moment, I thought you were calling to tell me you missed me.”

I swallowed. “You know I’m not sentimental.”

“You say that,” he murmured, “and yet I suspect otherwise. What did you have in mind?”

“Not sure. Something interesting. I’ve just been getting bored with my current stuff.”

“Mm. I’ll make some calls.” His voice was now pleased. “And I’ll have a car pick you up in an hour. You can browse while I speak with a dealer I trust.”

My hand tightened around the phone. “An hour?”

“Yes. Oh, and Ro?”

“Yes?” I asked.

“Wear something nice, please.”

My throat went tight, but I made my voice even. “Okay.”

“Good boy,” Elias said, soft and indulgent. “I’ll be waiting.”

The line went dead.

I lowered the phone to my lap, heart thumping. An hour. That was all the time I had to steel myself before stepping back into his gilded prison.

And if I slipped even once, he’d know.

Over the next hour, I showered, shaved, blow-dried my hair to perfection, and got dressed. I knew what he wanted me to wear, but I felt sick to my stomach at the thought of showing up half-naked and bedazzled. So, instead, I opted for sleek leather pants, heeled booties, and a gauzy taupe tank top. It was stillpretty damn sexy, so I was hoping that it’d pass as acceptable in Elias’s eyes.

The car pulled up outside my building right on the hour, a black sedan with tinted windows.

I slid out the front door of my apartment, jogged down the steps of the building, and ducked into the backseat without a word. The driver didn’t look at me—they never did. They were just hands on a wheel, another extension of Elias’s control.

The car smelled new, the kind of rich chemical scent that made my stomach twist. I leaned back against the seat, eyes fixed on the blur of city lights outside the window as the car wound its way out of my neighborhood and toward Elias’s estate.

The ride was quiet, but my mind certainly wasn’t.

I hadn’t set foot in his house for months, only going when it was absolutely necessary. Elias always laughed when I told him I didn’t like it there, and said that meant the place was doing its job.

And now here I was, practically begging to be invited in.