Page 6 of At Your Mercy

“So yes, I sent you in blind,” Elias said, voice smooth as oil. “Because I wanted to see if my best creation could crack him.”

I spat the words back at him. “I’m not your fuckingcreation.”

Elias smiled, slow and serpent-like. “Aren’t you?”

Silence—the kind that made my skin crawl.

Finally, I turned away, raking a hand through my hair, glitter flaking to the floor. “He’s dangerous…” The words came out low, like a confession. “You should’ve told me. You promised…”

Elias rose then, coming to stand behind me. His reflection slid into mine in the mirror above my little liquor cart, looming, a shadow I could never scrape off. His hands rested on my shoulders—too gentle, too possessive.

“That’s why he has to die, Ronan. And that’s why you’ll be the one to kill him.”

I met my own reflection, pale, exhausted eyes ringed in fury, Elias’s smirk ghosting behind me like a brand. My nails dug into the palms of my hands.

I’d get another chance.

And this time, I’d make sure Wesley Cohen didn’t walk away smiling.

I wouldn’t fail again.

Elias left a few minutes later, wishing me a sickeningly sweet goodnight.

Sleep was out of the question. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the confident smirk tugging at Wesley’s lips, the way his gaze had cut through me like he already knew what I’d try before I even tried it. My body still vibrated with the ghost of his grip, the way he’d dominated me so effortlessly, without even needing to raise his voice.

And worse—worse than the humiliation—was that deep, treacherous part of me that wasthrilledby it.

I curled into myself on the couch, robe drawn tight around my chest, trying to suffocate the thought. Elias’s words buzzed through me, an infection I couldn’t claw out:my best creation.

I hated him for saying it.

I hated him for being right.

Mostly, though, I just hated him for being him.

My pride stung, every memory of the night replaying on a loop. I should’ve been the one in control. I should’ve had Cohen wrapped around my finger, bleeding for me,beggingfor me. Instead, I’d been made a fool of.

A laugh broke out of me, sharp and bitter. He’d turned me into the very thing I despised most—a pretty distraction, nothing more.

I dragged myself to the desk shoved against the wall, pulling the drawer until it groaned open. My knives gleamed back at me in the dim light, little fangs lined up all neat in their velvet sheaths. I traced one with my fingertip, pressure just shy of breaking skin.

“You’ll see,” I whispered to no one. Maybe to Elias. Maybe to myself. Maybe to Wesley. Maybe to the world. “I’m not weak. Not a toy. You’ll see.”

I pictured Wesley’s throat, that rough, strong jawline tilting up under the blade. The power I’d take back when his blood slicked my fingers, when his perfect control shattered under me.

And yet—my hand trembled.

Not with fear, but something much scarier.

I slammed the drawer shut before I could betray myself further, pressing my forehead to the wood. My breath came ragged and shallow.

He’d looked at me like I wasinteresting.Not just Elias’s dog, not just some broken thing. He’d looked at me like I was a person.

I wasn’t.

* * *

Morning crept in too soon, painting my apartment a jaundiced gray. I hadn’t slept more than a few minutes. My robe was wrinkled, my hair tangled, my eyes bloodshot. My body felt wrung out from pacing back and forth across the floor for hours on end.