Page 83 of At Your Mercy

“But he said he was here!”

The man flinched. “I’m sorry, sir. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

I took several heaving breaths before answering him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I just—are you sure no one’s brought in a man who may have been unconscious?”

His eyebrows raised, then furrowed. He stammered, “N-no, sir. None of Mr. Craig’s… associates… have been here all day. It’s just been the house staff.”

“Fuck!” I kicked a nearby end table, rattling the decor on top of it.

A few other workers peeked in from the hall, fear and worry etched on their faces.

My nerves started to buzz. My brain caught up to the pieces too slowly.

“I’ll check upstairs, maybe they snuck in.” I brushed past the door attendant and the small group gathering outside the sitting room.

“Sir, he’s not here!” the attendant called after me as I jogged toward the grand staircase.

He wasn’t here.

He hadn’tbeenhere, not since this morning.

I was halfway up the stairs when it hit me, so sudden and violent that I stopped cold.

He hadn’t meanthishome.

He’d meantmine.

For a heartbeat, I couldn’t breathe.

The air left my lungs in a single jagged exhale as the blurry image of a modest single-family home at the end of a cul-de-sac crashed into me.

“No,” I whispered, shaking my head as if that could undo it. “No, he wouldn’t—”

But of course he would.

Of course he fucking would.

Elias had always known how to dig deepest, where it would hurt most.

He wanted me tocome homebecause he knew exactly what that word meant, what it represented.

This was a punishment.

I stumbled back from the top step, heart slamming against my ribs. “You son of a bitch,” I breathed, and turned, sprinting down the stairs two at a time.

20

Wesley

Pain—a sharp, pounding ache right behind my eyes, spreading backward through my skull like someone had split my head open and poured fire inside. I groaned and tried to lift a hand to touch it—only to realize I couldn’t.

My hands couldn’t move.

For a second, confusion fogged everything. I blinked hard, trying to bring the room into focus. The light was dim and yellowish, emanating from two bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling. The air smelled like mildew, dust, and something metallic.

The floor was concrete, and I could see uncovered pipes running across the ceiling. I was in a basement.

When I shifted, the chair creaked beneath me—and the ropes around my wrists bit tighter.