Page 19 of At Their Mercy: Part I

Kevin threw him an irritated glance, but it was nowhere heated enough. “You’re right. They don’t pay me enough. Fuck off.” He jerked his chin at the elevators.

Reese offered a loose two-finger salute and moved on. I followed.

“What floor are they on now?” he asked.

“Thirteenth,” I replied. They’d bought a one-bedroom a few years ago to cut their commute on busy days. The new place was closer to the elevators and had a nicer balcony.

A few years…and Reese and I had only been there once.

Reese pushed the button before leaning back against a wall, and he looked up at the display showing what floors we passed. “Still can’t believe Joyce likes you more than me.”

I shrugged. I was way more charming. “To be clear, she doesn’t like you at all.”

He shot me a look.

I smiled.

He went back to looking at the numbers, and so did I, ’cause this elevator was fucking slow. They weren’t supposed to be.

“Do you remember the year before Nana died, she bought that new couch?” he asked out of nowhere.

I looked at him, but he kept his gaze fixed on the numbers.

“She was sick a lot and knew she didn’t have all the time in the world anymore,” he murmured. “But she still insisted on getting that protective plastic cover for the couch.”

I felt my mouth twist. I did remember that. We’d argued with her, saying it was okay to enjoy her damn couch without that fucking plastic on it. But she’d stood firm. The plastic only came off when she had company—and on holidays.

“We should be a little more like that with the people in our lives,” he went on.

I raked my teeth across my lip and nodded slowly.

He was right. And it wasn’t a matter of protecting lives anymore. It was about protecting relationships. Nurturing them. Giving back. Accepting being included.

“Ash and Nate want us over for dinner soon,” I mentioned. “Shay and his brothers are invited too.”

“Okay. We should go.”

Okay.

Tenth floor, eleventh floor…

I reached out and grabbed his hand, and he threaded our fingers together.

Twelfth.

Thirteenth.

The elevator dinged, and we stepped out.

And I was promptly hit by a frazzled rush of nerves. My stomach tightened as I peered down the hall. Their condo was only four doors to the right, and I couldn’t predict their reactions. Bitching from Danny, of course, initially. But after that? Who knew.

Reese and I released each other’s hands, and I pressed a fist to my mouth and cleared my throat. Fuck, I hoped Emerson wasn’t angry. Or, worse, disappointed. Or sad? Goddamn.

We’d been so fucking careless and blind. At most, we’d invited them to check out Mclean a couple times, but they’d declined. They weren’t “community people,” they said.

Emerson had been Danny’s Daddy Dom for over two decades, but as far as I knew, they’d only visited one kink community. Clara Hill, up in Pennsylvania. Emerson’s brother ran it.

“It’s this one, right?” Reese stopped outside their place, and I nodded once. He didn’t wait around. I could see the unsettlement in his posture, his expression, and he knocked without dragging things out. Three firm knocks, before he flicked a glance at the peephole. “Here goes.”