Page 20 of At Their Mercy: Part I

I took a breath.

We waited.

What if they’d gone home instead? To the ranch? It was no secret they much preferred their life outside the city.

Never mind. We heard steps coming closer on the other side. I swallowed dryly, and my heart started beating faster.

He’d see us through the peephole.

I sucked in a breath as the lock turned. Then the second lock. Fuck me.

The door opened, and Emerson emerged behind it, sleepy as fuck, squinting, wearing only a pair of boxer briefs.

If I complimented him and said he was aging like a fine fucking wine, would he forgive us for being douchebags?

No, but he better put on clothes before we introduced Shay to him. I knew which Hollywood actors Shay went for, and some resembled Em.

“I know Danny already asked if either of you is dying,” he said in his morning voice. “You all right, lads? I was going to call you in the morning.”

I didn’t know if we were all right.

“Jury’s still out on if we’re all right or not,” Reese replied and walked right in. “Sorry, this couldn’t wait. But since you’re up, can we talk?”

I walked in too. “Good to see you, sir.”

I kicked off my shoes in the entryway before following Reese into the living room area. This place had sort of the same layout as the old one. Bathroom, open kitchen, with just a bar separating it from the living room. But then, only one bedroom instead of their former two.

Another thing was new. What had been stripped to the bare essentials and white walls in the past were now warm colors with memories on display. Photos of their dogs, of Emerson’s nieces and nephews, pictures of the happy couple on hikes and vacations—shit. There was even a photo of Reese and me. I’d never seen that before.

Reese flicked on the light in the living room, and I stepped closer to the picture.

It’d been taken in the basement at Hillcroft, right outside the indoor shooting range. We had matching smirks on our faces, and we were ten years younger.

I spotted other familiar faces in more photos. All black-and-white candids. Hyatt with a scowl on his face, Bo Beckett right next to him, laughing. Coach with an arm thrown around Danny. Vince Beckett with his guard up in the martial arts studio. Rowan glaring at one of the vending machines. Elliott mid-laugh, hands partially covering his face. Darius walking down a hallway, throwing a blank expression over his shoulder. Ryan asleep in a chair, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, arms folded over his chest, chin dropped. Adler in the library, buried in a book. Hudson and Sam in the cafeteria. Quinlan in his office.

I did remember Danny brought his camera to work sometimes. To capture brief moments. To immortalize the people we’d been to hell and back with.

I swallowed.

We’d left too much behind. Too many people.

Reese and I had been part of something.

I wasn’t saying I wanted to reconnect with everyone, because Hillcroft having a way of reeling you back in was legit, but Shay had a point. You retired from a job, not from people. And hey, it had been nice seeing the guys last year in Vegas. Pretty much everyone I’d had my initial training with had moved on—and everyone tried to put a healthy distance between them and Hillcroft. It wasn’t just us.

“How’s the ranch?” Reese asked.

“It’s more of a farm these days, I suppose. But it’s good.” Emerson headed into the kitchen. “Can I get you boys anything to drink?”

“Coffee, thanks,” we said in unison.

Emerson let out a chuckle. “Coffee at three in the morning. To be young.”

Reese wandered over to the kitchen bar. “What do you mean by farm? Like, you’re growing shit?”

Em inclined his head as he inserted a new filter into the coffeemaker. “I had to do something when I retired.”

I tilted my head. “Just how retired are you?”