At His Mercy

by Shelly Bell

  Her blood went cold.

  He had to be lying.

  There was no other explanation.

  And yet as she really took him in, she saw a glimpse of the Tony of her childhood in his relaxed posture and clear eyes.

  Her best friend.

  “The first few months I was in the hospital were difficult to say the least,” he said, his voice calm and without the mania she’d become accustomed to hearing in it. “My doctors wouldn’t medicate me until they had a firm diagnosis, and then after, it took several tries before they found the right cocktail that took away my delusions but didn’t make me a walking zombie. The only thing that helped me get through those days were the letters I wrote you.” His arms fell to his sides and his shoulders slumped.

  It was clear to see he believed he hadn’t sent the letter.

  But she wasn’t as easily convinced. “You’re claiming someone else sent me the letter? Why? What possible reason would someone have?”

  He threw his hands up in the air. “I don’t know, all right? I realize it doesn’t make any sense, but I’m not lying to you. The last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt you.”

  She lifted up her wrists and slid down the sleeves of her coat, baring the scars to Tony’s gaze. “But you did.”

  Tony’s teary eyes shone. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry,” he said, his voice breaking. “I know words will never be enough and I don’t expect forgiveness, but I thought you should know. I’ll always love you, Izzy.” Looking away, he brushed away a tear that had escaped. “I saw you with that guy on the bridge. Are you in love with him?”

  She curled into herself and put her hand over her heart, almost feeling it shatter all over again.

  Sometimes words cut deeper than any knife.

  But she couldn’t bring herself to deny it. Even if Tristan no longer wanted her, her heart belonged to him. “Yes,” she answered.

  Tony’s mouth pursed as if he’d eaten a lemon. “I know I have no right to judge the guy, but I’m worried that he’s fine with you running around campus with your crazy ex-boyfriend on the loose. I mean, look how easy it was for me to find you.”

  Again, something about how Tony had found her unnerved her. Chloe had told her—

  “Chloe!”

  She had to get to her. Only a couple of minutes had passed, but what if she was already too late?

  Tony frowned. “Who’s Chloe?”

  “My roommate. She’s in trouble. I need to go.”

  The tower was behind Tony. She’d have to pass him in order to get to Chloe.

  Don’t move any closer to your attacker than necessary.

  His posture grew rigid. “Wait, your roommate’s name is Chloe?”

  Confusion over his reaction caused her to pause. Hadn’t he already known her roommate’s name? Despite his earlier assertion, that had to be how he’d learned her address. Otherwise…he couldn’t have sent the letter to her at the dorm. “Yes. Why?”

  “What’s her last name?” he asked urgently.

  “Donahue. Why does that matter?”

  He exhaled loudly, his shoulders dropping in relief. “There was a Chloe at the mental hospital. Different last name, though. She and I were…friends for a while,” he said sheepishly.

  By his tone, she got the impression that they were more than friends. “What happened?”

  “The more I improved, the more I realized she never would.” Blushing, he shuffled back and forth on the balls of his feet. “It was when I was at my sickest. When I got better, I realized she was obsessed.”

  “Obsessed with you?” she asked, unease spreading through her.

  “No.” He looked down at a patch of snow in front of him before lifting his head. “She was obsessed with you, Izzy. I shared stories about you in group. I guess that piqued her interest because she was always bringing you up. Asking me what you looked like. Your hobbies. Your favorite things. There was nothing she didn’t want to know. It was almost…” He shook his head and laughed. “I don’t know…it was like she was in love with you.” He took a step toward her. “Izzy, she knew about the letters.”

  She inched backward, keeping a good-sized distance between them.

  Eyes, nose, ears, neck, groin, knees, and legs.

  The ground beneath her feet tilted, and the bridge swayed as if there’d been an earthquake. She grabbed the railing for support.

  It was all too much.

  Morgan.

  Tristan.

  Tony.

  Chloe…

  She was stuck in a nightmare she couldn’t awaken from.

  It couldn’t be true.

  And yet…

  “I have to go,” she said, taking the risk and running past him toward the bell tower.

  “Izzy…”

  When he started after her, she flipped around and shot him a look that stopped him in his tracks. “Don’t follow me or I’ll call the police. I’m glad you’re doing better, Tony, but please, don’t contact me again.”

  Racing down the path, she called 911 to report a possible suicide at the bell tower, hoping, praying, that Chloe was safe and Tony had been lying.

  But she couldn’t shake the feeling that everything she thought she knew was wrong.

  Up was down.

  Left was right.

  Front was back.

  Nothing made any sense.

  Her nightmare had returned—only he’d come to warn her. And the man she’d believed would keep her safe?

  Gone.

  How could she have been so wrong about Tristan?

  I wish I could be with you, protecting you, all the time, but it’s just not possible.

  As the bell tower came into view, clarity hit her like a thunderbolt from the sky.

  She had been wrong about Tristan. Wrong to believe that what he’d said to her on the bridge was the truth.

  What they’d shared in the forest…when he’d made her confront her fears and had helped her find her strength…that had been the truth.

  He loved her.

  And that scared the hell out of him.

  She wouldn’t allow him to use Morgan’s murder as an excuse to avoid facing his own fears.

  Disappointment slammed into her when she got his voice mail. “‘Trust me.’ That’s what you said. Now I’m telling you to do the same. Trust me, Tristan. You can pretend what we feel for each other will pass, but I’m not willing to lie to myself or to you.” At the foot of the tower, she swung open the door and headed into the darkness. “I just saw Tony. He told me that…” She took a ragged breath. What would she find when she got to the top? “Please. Meet me at the bell tower. I need you.”

  Twenty-Seven

  Tristan stood under the cold, punishing spray of the shower, his head hanging down to his chest. He was numb and it had nothing to do with temperature of the water.

  And everything to do with Isabella.

  He couldn’t get the image of her at the bridge out of his mind.

  Her tears would haunt him until his dying day.

  She’d haunt him.

  My Angel.

  Walking away from her had been the worst moment of his life. Every word he’d spoken was a lie to keep her safe. It had been selfish of him to think he could have it all.

  No one got it all. Especially not him.

  But Isabella…she deserved the chance.

  Which was why he had broken up with her.

  It was crazy of him to think for a moment that they could have lasted. Not when the deck was stacked against him. Every time he thought he’d finally gotten his head above water, life put its big ugly hands on his shoulders and pushed him back under.

  In the end, Morgan had gotten the last laugh. Even dead, she’d taken the person who mattered to him most.

  Novateur. His job. Money. Without Isabella, it was all worthless.

  His suffering meant nothing. But he would march into the deepest fiery pit of hell to save Isabella.

  He turned off the water, and getting
out of the shower, he wrapped a towel around his waist. After changing into his work clothes, he went to the kitchen to grab a coffee, shocked when he saw his friend Ryder sitting on the couch with two steaming mugs in front of him.

  He’d thought he’d left.

  “We need to talk,” Ryder said firmly, passing off one of the coffees to Tristan. “Sit.”

  “What’s up?” Tristan asked before taking a sip from the mug.

  Ryder casually crossed his legs, but the tension radiating off him was palpable. “You broke things off with Isabella, didn’t you?”

  Tristan scratched his cheek. After Ryder had warned him away from Isabella, why did the asshole even care? This had nothing to do with him. “I don’t see why that’s any of your business.”

  His friend scowled, his eyelids narrowed into slits. “Fuck you,” he spit out.

  Tristan reared back, almost spilling his coffee. “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me the first time.” A red-faced Ryder jumped up from the couch. “Fuck you,” he said, this time enunciating each word. “Fuck you and your need to punish yourself for something that was never your fucking fault in the first fucking place.”

  What the hell had gotten into him? He wasn’t the one under suspicion for murder.

  Tristan set his coffee onto the table and stood, folding his arms in front of him. “That’s a lot of fucks, even for you. Why don’t you stop the fucking swearing and get to the fucking point?” Then leave him the fuck alone the way he fucking deserved.

  “Your mother,” Ryder said, lowering his voice. “You couldn’t have prevented it. Nothing you did led to your mother’s death.”

  What did Ryder know about it? Ryder’s mom might have died when he was a baby, but he’d always had his father and plenty of other family. It was his choice to cut them out of his life.

  He didn’t know what it was like for Tristan and his mother. His entire life, they’d only had each other.

  Tristan shook his head as if the action could erase his memory of her ashen, emaciated shell of a body lying in her coffin. “I know that. I also know my mother has nothing to do with my breaking things off with Isabella.”

  Their only commonality was his reluctance to discuss either of them with Ryder.

  Disappointment banked in his friend’s eyes. “Doesn’t it?” He paused and tilted his head. “What do you get from being a Dom?”

  Tristan chuffed out something resembling a laugh. He should have known his friend would eventually bring the subject back to sex. “I’m not having that conversation with you.”

  Ryder being Ryder refused to drop it. “Know what I think? You use it to keep women at arm’s length.”

  He let out a snort. “That’s ridiculous.” Like Ryder was one to talk. Tristan wasn’t the one who refused to have sex with the same woman twice.

  Wringing his hands, Ryder strode toward the door, then turned back to Tristan. “You’re like that one family member who always takes the photos at the holidays. You might be there, but you refuse to be a part of it. Being a Dom means you make the rules. You demand the honesty. You become the protector.”

  And what was wrong with wanting control? Having rules meant each party had clear expectations. Honesty led to open communication and trust. And as for him being the protector? It was his role to ensure the safety of his sub.

  “Morgan preyed on that,” Ryder said with disgust. “She didn’t demand anything from you other than your money.” He smirked. “But Isabella? She’s won’t let you get away with that, will she? Ten minutes of being in the same space with you two and I saw it. She’s not one of those subs who obediently complies without asking questions. She won’t let you stay behind the camera, and that scares the shit out of you.”

  Ryder didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. Nothing about Isabella scared him except for the fact he didn’t want to drag her underwater with him. “I’m still not understanding what any of this has to do with my mother.”

  His friend slowly walked across the room until he stood right in front of him. “Even if you had been there, she still would’ve gotten cancer. She still would’ve died,” he said softly. “You didn’t do anything wrong by going to college and having your own life. You couldn’t have saved her. And it’s not your job to save Isabella now. You owe her the truth, man.” He clutched Tristan’s shoulders. “Let her in. Let her help you.”

  He didn’t need anyone’s help. He’d made his bed and now he would have to lie in it. No matter what Ryder believed, he had done the right thing by breaking it off with Isabella. She never would have done it herself. No, she would’ve sacrificed her dreams for him. She wouldn’t see it now, but someday, she’d appreciate that he’d made the decision for her.

  Tristan’s gaze fell onto his phone sitting by his coffee cup, and noted the message emblem was lit. “Did my phone ring?”

  “Oh yeah.” Ryder squinted, thinking about it. “’Bout five minutes ago. While you were in the shower.”

  Tristan didn’t bother checking to see who had called before listening to the message. His heart galloped upon hearing Isabella’s sweet voice. He closed his eyes, expecting her recriminations and tears. There here was none of that. Only strength…and love.

  But it was her next words that made his blood run cold.

  Tony.

  His eyes met Ryder’s. “It’s Isabella. She’s in trouble.”

  Twenty-Eight

  Isabella was out of breath and a hot sweaty mess by the time she reached the top of the bell tower. She listened for the sound of sirens, but it was eerily silent on campus. What if they hadn’t believed her? What if Tristan didn’t get her message or, worse, ignored her plea?

  Her chest constricted, not from the exertion of the climb but from trepidation.

  She had to know.

  And only Chloe could provide the answers.

  This time, she couldn’t run away. She couldn’t keep her distance.

  Not until she confirmed that Chloe was safe…

  And that Tony had lied.

  The light breeze cooled her sweat as she walked around the tower counterclockwise in search of her friend.

  She found Chloe sitting on the ground, staring at the wall in front of her. In her hand was a large kitchen knife, its blade sliding back and forth across her wrist.

  Hot adrenaline coursed through Isabella as she remembered the pain of when Tony had cut her. She couldn’t get enough air into her lungs. Dark spots floated in front of her eyes. She couldn’t lose it now. Not when her friend obviously needed her help. “Chloe, honey?”

  Chloe looked up at her with red, swollen eyes. “You came. I knew you would. Best friends always take care of each other.”

  “They do,” she agreed, searching Chloe for evidence of blood, but not finding any. “Why don’t you put the knife down and tell me what happened.” Not wanting to spook her friend, she fought her instinct to go to her and instead stayed a few feet away.

  Chloe exhaled, but continued moving the knife, almost as if she wasn’t aware she was doing it. “I didn’t get into West Side Story.”

  She was confused. “That’s not true. You told me you got Rosalia. You hung out with the other cast members last week.”

  “I lied,” Chloe mumbled, dropping her gaze. “I never even auditioned.”

  Why would she lie about that? “But you left me up here to go to it. When I called you that night about the text…”

  Chloe had offered to come home, but Isabella hadn’t wanted to go back to the dorm room or to Chloe.

  She’d only wanted Tristan.

  Just like she wanted him now.

  Had he gotten her message?

  “When I got to the auditions,” Chloe continued, “I heard them sing, and I just couldn’t do it.” Tears trickled down her cheeks. “They were so much better than me. The director called my name and I panicked. I ran out of there…” She gazed up at Isabella. “…and went back to the tower.”

  Chloe dragged her knife acr
oss her skin once more, this time pressing hard enough that dots of blood welled on her skin. “I saw you there with Professor Kelley,” she snarled. Her pupils shrunk to pinpoints as her voice rose to an accusatory pitch. “I followed you to his apartment. How could you do that me?”

  Isabella opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out but air. She didn’t understand why Chloe was so upset.

  Her stomach rolled, nausea choking her.

  Unless Tony had been telling the truth.

  She tempered her words, wary of offending her friend. “I’m sorry, but what happened between Tristan and me had nothing to do with you.”

  Chloe jumped to her feet and waved the knife in the air. “How can you say that? I love you, Isabella. I love you and I know you love me too.”

  She took a giant step backward, her fear that Chloe would harm herself changing to the fear that Chloe would use that knife on her. Where the hell were the cops? “I do love you, Chloe. As a friend.”

  Chloe tore at her hair, pulling on it harshly with one hand while the one holding the knife dangled at her side. “No, no, no. That’s just what she said. After everything we’d shared, she just denied it. She told the school board that nothing had happened between us and that I was a sick girl with an unhealthy fixation on her. No one believed me. She lied to keep herself from a prison sentence and threw me under the bus.” She bit her lip hard enough that blood trickled down her chin. “Tell me you believe me.”

  “I believe you,” Isabella said immediately.

  Chloe smiled, a dreamy look entering her eyes. “I knew you would.”

  Sirens rang out in the distance. Thank God. She just needed to keep Chloe talking until they got there. She didn’t think Chloe would hurt her—after all, she thought she was in love with her—but then again, Tony had loved her too.

  “I know you’d never do anything to hurt me, so I’m confused as to why you sent me Tony’s letter,” she said gently.

  Chloe’s eyes darted from side to side. Bits of blood and hair were stuck to her palm, but she didn’t seem to notice as she gripped the hilt of the knife between both hands and raised the blade to chest level with the tip pointing to the sky. “Would you ever have told me about him if I hadn’t sent it? It brought us closer together. We bonded over our tragedies. Tony talked about you. How beautiful, sweet, and loyal you were. And when he said you were going to attend Edison, I realized it was destiny. So when I got out of the hospital, I gave destiny a little push and contacted you about rooming together.”