Page 88 of At Your Mercy

I glared at him. None of the rope tricks were going to work. I realized with a cold, bright clarity that there was one brutal option left if I wanted to try to get my hands free on my own terms: something irreversible, painful, and probably stupid.

I flexed my fingers and looked down the length of my right arm. I measured time in breaths. My head throbbed and my vision narrowed—the world compressing into the rope at my wrists.

“Don’t,” one of the men said softly, surprising me.

Elias looked over his shoulder at the man. “Don’t what, Ripley?”

The man nodded toward me but remained silent.

Elias looked back at me, his brows knitted together in irritated confusion.

I stopped thinking and moved.

Muscles in my shoulders and back burned as I pulled, twisted, then slammed my over-extended wrist hard against the back of the chair—once, then again, the way you smash a hinge until it gives.

The pain exploded like glass. It was white and hot and all-consuming, then a lower, duller throb that buried itself behind the first flare. The taste of iron filled my mouth. I bit down until my jaw ached.

Something inside my wrist cracked and rearranged itself with a sound that was smaller than I expected and too big to ignore. I closed my eyes and breathed through it, breathed through the heat. The ropes tightened as I moved; the knot bit like a pitiless animal. I shoved my hand, shoulder-first, through that loop—slow, clumsy, jaw-closing on the scream that wanted out.

It came free.

The motion felt unreal, like watching someone else. My fingertips, numb and slick with sweat and warm blood, found air. The sudden relief was its own kind of agony. My right hand hung, useless for a moment, then I willed it to work—fingers groping under the knot, searching for the weak spot.

Elias leaned forward. “Did you just break your wrist?”

I ignored him, focusing on the rope.

“I think he did, sir,” one of the men said, a tinge of apprehension in his voice.

“Damn,” Elias murmured.

Finally, I was able to slip free of the rope, but before I had the chance to try anything, the sound of footsteps on the stairs made me freeze.

When Ro appeared at the top of the stairwell, the light behind him made him look celestial, like an angel descending into hell to save a lost soul.

He didn’t look at me—his eyes were locked on Elias with a focus that bordered on inhuman.

“Ro,” Elias greeted, his voice smooth as ever. “I was wondering when you’d join us. You’re late.”

Ro didn’t answer. He descended the stairs with a calm that set my nerves on edge, one slow step after another. His clothes were dark, simple, his expression blank.

This was a version of Ro I hadn’t met yet.

And as much as I would like to say that my faith for him stood strong, I couldn’t help but falter at this stranger.Why wasn’t he looking at me?

“Elias,” he said finally, his voice steady but quiet.

“Ronan,” Elias purred. “It’s time for you to complete your assignment, sweetheart.”

My mouth went dry.Assignment.I wanted to say his name, to reach him somehow, but Ro still wouldn’t look at me. He even held himself differently.

“Here?” Ro’s voice was low, controlled.

“Obviously.”

Ro’s jaw flexed.

“It’s time to put an end to this. Where is your loyalty, my boy?” Elias continued, taking a slow step toward him. “To me? To him?” He flicked his gaze toward me, his smile turning cruel. “Or are you trying to have it both ways again?”