Page 91 of At Your Mercy

“The hell you are.” His hand brushed the bandages, featherlight, his thumb trembling. “You scared the shit out of me, Ro. You bled out in my arms, you—” He broke off, shaking his head like he couldn’t finish the thought.

I reached up and brushed my fingers against his jaw, tracing the line of the bruise there. “You’re hurt,” I repeated.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” I said quietly. “Your eye—”

“It’s fine,” he interrupted, but I could see the way his mouth tightened when he said it. “Just a cut.”

“What about your vision?”

“Don’t know yet,” he said, his uninjured eye still flitting around my face and chest, as if looking for proof of life—like he couldn’t fully believe I was awake and talking to him.

“What does that mean?” I asked, reaching out to brush my thumb along the edge of the bandage.

He sighed. “It doesn’t look good. The doctor who treated us said we won’t know for sure until the wound heals, but that it’s possible I’ll be blind in that eye.”

A distressed whimper slid out of my throat. “Blind? Oh, Wes.”

He shook his head, giving me a sad smile. “It’s okay. All that matters is that you’re alive.”

“What about your wrist? And the bruise on your cheek? Are there more injuries—”

Wes leaned in and pressed a kiss to my lips, silencing me. As he pulled back, he said, “Please, doll, I’m fine. I broke my wrist to get out of the restraints. I have a few bruises here and there, but that’s it. Nothing some pain meds can’t handle. Which, speaking of, it’ll be time soon for your next dose of antibiotics and oxy.”

“You broke your wrist?”

Wes grunted and wrapped his good hand loosely around my neck. “Ronan. Be good and drop it. I promise I’m okay. The best thing that you can do for me now is let me take care of you, alright?”

I nodded, leaning into his hold.

His lips tilted up, and his eyes softened. “That’s my good boy. Thank you.”

I bit my lip, almost frightened to ask the question that’d been on my mind since I opened my eyes.

He, of course, noticed. “You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?”

I lowered my eyes. “Is he…”

Something flickered in his expression—bitterness and a quiet fury. Still, he replied, “He’s alive. I have my team holding him. I was… going to kill him. I wanted to.” His eyes shifted away, focusing on my bandages.

“Why didn’t you?”

“I realized something.” He met my eyes, and there was something heavy in his gaze. “You don’t miss your mark.”

“Are you forgetting—”

“No.” He cut me off. “You never actually tried to kill me, no matter what you say. If you wanted me dead, I’d be dead. And now… It’s the same with him.”

I looked away, staring at the ceiling because I didn’t trust myself to look at him. “I didn’t want him to have an easy death,” I murmured.

There was a long silence. I could feel him watching me, the weight of his stare pressing against the side of my face. Then he said quietly, but without hesitation, “I know, Ro. So we kept him alive. He’s yours to deal with, just not until you’ve healed a bit, okay?”

I turned my head toward him. His good eye was bright, fierce, unwavering. “Okay,” I whispered, a bit choked up.

“I don’t care how you need to do it,” Wes said. “But I need to be there with you when you do.”

Wes’s hand slid over mine. His skin was warm.