At Your Mercy (Twisted Desires #4)

Chapter 1

Wesley

“Is this seat taken?” a sultry voice purred. My gaze dragged from the young man’s sparkling heels, up his long, creamy white legs to his fitted leather shorts, to the skin peeking out from the sequined cowl halter top he wore.

He was all fine lines and sharp angles, his face feminine, with plush lips and eyelashes that looked like spun silk.

His eyes were like nothing I’d ever seen before—like the palest blue surrounded by a light pink hue. His white hair hung just below his shoulders, dusting his collarbones.

I let my gaze linger longer than I should have, tracing him like a puzzle I hadn’t yet decided if I wanted to solve. He was fragile-looking, like a porcelain doll, but there was nothing fragile in the deliberate sway of his hips. His beauty wasn’t soft—it was a blade honed too thin.

Piercing.

I threw a quick glance around our V.I.P. table, making eye contact with one of our cleaners, Tex. Waggling his thick eyebrows, he gave me a wink, seemingly all for the boss getting laid tonight.

The rest of my team was either not in attendance or just not interested in this turn of events.

Carson, another one of my cleaners, was focused on the dance floor below, no doubt keeping an eye on his unrequited crush, Yazmin.

Yaz was one of our operatives, immensely skilled in discrete eliminations, but quite a club rat when she wasn’t on a job.

Ichabod, my head researcher and tech guy, had been glued to his phone since before we’d even walked in, utterly uninterested in the debauchery going on around him.

Looking back at the minx in front of me, I said, “Suppose so,” my voice low. “But a pretty young thing like you has no need sitting on an old man’s lap.”

Tex barked a laugh at that, but I didn’t take my eyes off the stranger. The kid tilted his head, lips curling.

“Maybe that’s exactly what I need,” he murmured.

A ripple of something dangerous slid through me—heat, curiosity, warning. He wasn’t one of ours. I’d have remembered him. And yet he carried himself like he belonged in my orbit. Like he’d been made to catch my eye.

I gestured to my lap. “It’d be my pleasure then,” I drawled.

He slid into it like liquid, sequins catching the light, a bundle of temptation.

“My name’s Ro,” he said, leaning closer so his perfume—smokey and sweet, like sugared almonds and burnt embers—slid beneath my skin. “You look like a man who gets what he wants. Am I wrong?”

I chuckled, slowly. “I don’t want many things.”

He smiled like I’d said exactly what he was waiting for. “Is that so?”

Ro draped his arms over my shoulders, his top sliding to reveal one of his rosy nipples.

“Are you supposed to be my birthday gift, babydoll?”

“Is it your birthday?”

I made an affirmative noise, nosing the side of his neck. “My fiftieth.”

“Fifty,” Ro repeated, tasting the word like it was ripe fruit on his tongue. He tilted his head back just enough to look down at me through those pale lashes, a smile tugging at his lips. “Then I suppose I should make sure it’s a memorable night.”

Tex whooped from across the table. “Hell, Wes, you don’t need us here if you’ve already got company.”

Carson snorted into his drink, but Ichabod finally looked up from his phone for the first time that night, gaze narrowing at the stranger in my lap. Always the suspicious one. Good. Someone had to be.

“Easy, boys,” I said, dragging a palm over Ro’s bare back, just enough to feel the line of bone beneath soft skin. “We don’t chase off gifts.”

Ro leaned close, whisper-soft, his breath brushing the shell of my ear. “Some gifts are best unwrapped in private.”

My pulse ticked hard, but I smiled. “That so?”

He shifted, grinding down just enough that Tex let out a whistle, making Carson roll his eyes.

“Why don’t we go somewhere quieter, birthday boy?”

The invitation was honey-laced, but my instincts stirred sharply beneath the warmth of his body. Nobody wandered into my circle without reason. And this one—this porcelain fox—reeked of reason.

I caught Ichabod’s eye over Ro’s shoulder; he gave the faintest shake of his head, the kind that meant not in the system yet, but I’ll find him. Which, in turn, meant red flag.

“Quieter, hm?” I murmured, pretending to weigh the idea while I traced a finger down Ro’s spine. “I don’t usually like surprises.”

His lips brushed my jaw in answer. “Then let me convince you,” he crooned. Danger hummed in his tone. And for the first time in years, I found myself wanting to walk straight into it.

“Convince me, huh?” I rumbled, though my hand slid lower, palming the curve of his hip. “Sounds like a challenge.”

Ro’s grin was sharp enough to cut. “I like challenges.”

He stood in one graceful motion, sequins flashing in the club lights, and extended his pale hand toward me. The gesture looked courtly, almost mocking, but there was no hesitation in it. His snowy-white lashes fluttered as if daring me not to take it.

“Boss?” Tex asked, amusement bleeding into unease. “You sure—”

“I’m sure,” I said, rising, the chair scraping back. I let Ro lead, though every step was deliberate. Not because I trusted him, but because I wanted to see where this game went.

He had piqued my interest.

We wove through the sea of velvet couches and sweating bodies, past the strobe-lit haze of the dance floor.

Yazmin caught sight of me, mid-grind with some stranger, and lifted a brow at the sight of Ro tugging me along like a leashed pup.

I gave her a brief nod—enough to tell her I wasn’t blind to what I was doing.

The club had private rooms in the back, soundproofed boxes for business deals or sins that needed discretion. Ro pushed the door open to one of the rooms with one slim shoulder and gestured me inside, that silken smile never faltering.

I stepped in, the bass muffling to a low, thrumming heartbeat as the door swung shut behind us.

The room was dimly lit with a red glow and smelled faintly of leather and expensive perfume. A low couch stretched along the wall, and a mirrored ceiling was overhead. It was the kind of place designed to strip pretense. Honestly, I was surprised there wasn’t a bed.

Ro slinked closer, every inch a predator dressed as prey. He pressed me back onto the couch, straddling my thighs, his white hair spilling over his shoulders like strands of moonlight. His lips hovered near mine, never quite touching.

“Happy birthday,” he whispered.

I let him settle there, my hands loose on his thighs, gaze steady. “And what do I get when I blow out the candle, babydoll?”

His smile widened, and for just a flicker—quick as a shadow—I saw it—the intent behind the charm; the hunter beneath the glitz and glamour. If I hadn’t already been searching for it, I would’ve missed it.

I didn’t shove him off, didn’t move at all. Instead, I let my lips ghost against his ear and murmured, “Careful now.”

Ro shifted in my lap, deliberately rolling his hips in a motion that would’ve undone most men. His pale pink lips hovered near mine, curving in a smug little smirk, the kind meant to say you’re already mine.

“You don’t strike me as the type to play coy,” he murmured, fingers dragging down my chest. “Why waste time talking when we could be making use of this couch?”

I caught his wrist before he could slip lower. Not rough, not a warning—just firm. “A man learns to appreciate conversation at my age.”

Something flickered in his eyes, quick and sharp. Annoyance, maybe—or calculation. He tilted his head, feigning innocence. “Conversation?” He leaned in, brushing his lips along my jaw. “And what exactly do you want to talk about, birthday boy?”

“That depends,” I said, catching his chin between my fingers and forcing his gaze to mine. “Are you trying to seduce me, or sell me on something?”

His smirk faltered a fraction, but he smoothed it over with a languid laugh. “What if I told you it could be both?”

“Then I’d say you don’t know me well enough yet.”

He tried again, leaning forward to kiss me, but I stopped him with a hand at his throat. His lashes lowered, his lips parting in what should’ve been victory, but I didn’t give him the satisfaction of closeness. For a second, I tightened my grip, earning a small whimper.

“You’re good,” I said softly, studying him. “Pretty, practiced, dangerous. But tell me—” I let my thumb drag against his pulse, steady but quick, “—why does a boy like you walk straight to my table, when there are a hundred men in this club who’d beg for your attention?”

Ro’s laugh was breathy, but there was an edge to it now. “Maybe I like powerful men.”

“Mm.” I finally let him slide forward enough that our mouths brushed—barely there, more suggestion than contact. “Or maybe powerful men are the only ones stupid enough to take the bait.”

That earned me another flicker—his posture tightening, his hand flexing against my chest like he was considering his next move. He tried to push my shoulder back into the couch, to flip the balance, but I didn’t budge. My smile widened as I felt his frustration simmer under the act.

“You’re awfully sure of yourself,” he said, his voice sweet as sugar, yet cutting as glass.

“I’ve earned the right.” I smoothed a hand up his side, over his ribs, until my palm cupped the back of his neck. This time, I pulled him forward, crushing the space between us, kissing him like I was the one dictating the pace.

And when I pulled back, leaving him breathless, I whispered against his lips, “Happy birthday to me.”

The look he gave me then—equal parts lust and fury—told me one thing clear as day.

He wasn’t used to losing control.

Ro adjusted in my lap again, his sequined top sliding dangerously low. His hand ghosted over my belt buckle, the kind of move that would’ve been an invitation in any other situation. Here, it felt like a test.

“Let me give you a proper present,” he purred.

His fingers tugged at the leather, but I caught his wrist a second time, firmer now. His eyes flicked up, a flash of irritation behind the pale pink-blue.