At His Mercy

by Shelly Bell

  She used to consider Tony’s parents as part of her family. But after the incident, they’d been forced to choose a side, and of course, they’d chosen their son’s. She never blamed them for it, but it had hurt just the same. At least they’d had the decency to warn her.

  “The police can’t do anything, because he hasn’t broken any law,” Erin needlessly reminded her. “Unless he violates the restraining order, there’s nothing I can do at this time.”

  After ending the call, she hung her feet over the side of the bed and put her head in her hands. She had to stay strong. She’d made a promise to herself and to Tristan that she wouldn’t allow Tony power over her anymore.

  Still in her hand, the phone rang again.

  Tristan.

  “Are you okay?” she asked immediately.

  He hesitated. “I’m fine.”

  She exhaled. “I was so worried. Where are you?”

  “I’m home,” he said. “I need to see you.” His monotone voice gave nothing away. Maybe someone was with him and he couldn’t speak freely.

  That had to be it.

  She wouldn’t entertain any other option.

  “I’ll come over right now,” she said, rolling out of bed. She had to tell him about Tony. “Listen, I need to—”

  “No, don’t come here. Meet me at the bridge by your dorm in ten minutes.”

  The next thing she heard was a click.

  He’d hung up without saying good-bye.

  Her stomach churned with nervousness. Not only because she didn’t want to walk by herself with Tony on the loose, but because of the way Tristan had spoken to her on the phone.

  If he had killed Morgan? Could she stay with a man who’d stabbed his ex-wife?

  She loved him. There was no question of that. But having been a victim herself, she couldn’t imagine a circumstance other than an accident where she’d be able to forgive him for killing Morgan.

  She immediately dismissed that idea.

  She knew in her heart he never could have done something so awful.

  After throwing on some sweats and her winter gear, she headed out toward the tower. As a result of not enough sleep, her body ached, and her eyes felt as if they had sandpaper in them. She stepped outside and immediately started shivering. It was so cold, her breath was visible in the air. At least it helped wake her up.

  Without a home football game, Sundays were quiet on campus. There was hardly anyone around as she hurried to the bridge, but her neck prickled with awareness. She shivered again, but this time, it was from the sense of being watched.

  Tristan was leaning with his back against the wall of the bridge, his eyes closed, and his hands in his pockets. He looked so fragile and vulnerable like that. She just wanted to wrap her arms around him and assure him that everything would be okay.

  It would be. It had to be.

  She couldn’t lose him.

  Not now. Not ever.

  “Hey,” she called out as she approached him.

  His eyes popped opened and he pushed off the wall, meeting her halfway.

  Disregarding the possibility of being seen, she did what she wanted and threw her arms around his middle, resting her head on his chest. “I was so worried.” He didn’t return her embrace, but instead stood frozen, his limbs like ice. She took a step back and peered up at him, noting immediately that he wouldn’t look at her. In fact, he was looking at everything but her. “What’s wrong?”

  He clenched his jaw, the muscles around his mouth twitching from the tension. “I came to tell you I can’t see you anymore.”

  The bottom fell out below her feet and the earth spun around her. She couldn’t have heard him right. “You mean just for a little while. Just until the police find the real killer.”

  His gaze slowly made its way to hers. “No.”

  She took a deep breath to steady herself. He didn’t want this. No, he was playing the martyr. “You’re doing this to protect me,” she said confidently. “Well, I refuse to let you. I don’t care if everyone finds out about us. I’m going to tell the police the truth.”

  “And what truth is that?” he asked, his expression hard as granite.

  She stumbled back, the rage radiating off him almost palpable. “That I was with you when Morgan was murdered. That the blood on your clothes was mine.”

  He grabbed her by the arm and pushed her up against the wall. Whether it was to give her support so that she didn’t fall or because of his anger, she didn’t know. And that scared her. He was scaring her. “No. You’re not saying anything to the police. It’s not your fight. Stay out of it.”

  “What do you mean it’s not my fight?” She laid her palms on his cheeks. “Your fight is my fight.”

  He shook his head and removed her hands, rejecting her comfort. Rejecting her. “Not this time. My fight is my fight and mine alone.”

  She felt as if she were grappling with the rocks on the edge of a cliff, unable to gain purchase. “I told you, I know what you’re doing. You think you’re protecting me, but I don’t need it.”

  “Protecting you? How am I protecting you?” he spit out with clear contempt. “Because I don’t want you to ruin my life by telling the police I was with my fucking my student when my ex-wife was murdered? I’ll lose my job and lose any chance to expand Novateur. That’s why I’m here at Edison. It’s the only thing that’s important.”

  Every word he uttered was like a physical blow to her heart. How could he minimize what they’d shared together? He made their relationship sound so sordid. This wasn’t the Tristan she loved. The man she’d come to know would never say these things to her. “Well, if you go to prison for murder, you’re not getting the loan either.”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “They’ll figure out the blood on my clothes isn’t a match for Morgan and start looking in another direction.”

  “And you call me naive? You had the motive and opportunity to kill her,” she pointed out, careful to keep her voice down even though she wanted to rail at him at the top of her lungs and beg him to see reason. “They’re not going to look at anyone but you.”

  “You think if you tell the police you were with me around the time of Morgan’s murder it’s going to clear me? If anything, it will only give them another motive.” His eyes darkened as he fixed his gaze on her. “She was fucking blackmailing me over you.”

  The resentment in his voice nearly bowled her over. “What?”

  “She had photos of us together. Naked photos,” he clarified. “Thank fuck she didn’t have them on her when she was murdered.”

  Nausea gripped her. “How do you know she wasn’t lying?”

  “Because I took the set she had on her and destroyed them,” he said coldly. “Actually, ‘took’ is too nice of a word.” He looked her in the eyes. “I wrestled her to the ground and ripped her purse away from her. Still think I’m a nice guy?”

  Is that what this was about? Guilt over the fact he’d manhandled Morgan? “I think you did what you needed to do, and lots of people would have done a lot worse. Case in point. She’s dead.”

  “If you and I hadn’t been so weak, this never would’ve happened. She might still be alive.”

  She flinched at the accusation. He blamed her for Morgan’s death. All the air in her lungs disappeared and her eyes stung with fresh tears. “What happened to no regrets?” she whispered.

  “It was stupid to think we could make this work.”

  “Why are you doing this?” She had to make him see that he was wrong about them. That they were better together than they’d ever be apart. “All I have to do is go to the police—”

  “Providing me an alibi isn’t going to help,” he repeated. “What it will guarantee is me losing my job and you getting kicked out of school. Is that what you want?”

  She couldn’t hold back the tears, allowing them to spill over onto her cheeks and leave an icy path. “No. It’s not what I want. But I can’t sit back and allow you to be charged with a crime y
ou didn’t commit.”

  He ground his teeth. “How do you know I didn’t do it?”

  “Because I know you,” she said softly, taking his hand in hers. “You’re not capable of killing anyone.”

  He looked down at their joined hands. “You’re wrong. I’m not only capable, but I wanted her dead. You heard me threaten her.”

  “You didn’t mean it. You were angry.”

  “You’re so naive, Angel.” Giving her hope, he tucked her hair behind her hair like he had so many times before. “You see the best in everyone even when all the signs are right in front of you.”

  “That’s not true. Maybe it was at one time, but—”

  “I could have done anything I wanted the night we met. You didn’t know me and yet you trusted me enough to have sex.”

  Anger sliced through her. “Don’t throw that back in my face. Maybe it was naive, but I’d never regret my decision. It was our beginning. We wouldn’t be where we are now.”

  “Where do you think we are? You’re a freshman. How long did you think we were going to last? I’m only here for another few months and then I’m going back to the city. Permanently.”

  There had been a few times over the last couple of months that she’d allowed herself to think about that, but she’d chosen to remain optimistic. “So? Plenty of people have long-distance relationships. We can make it work.”

  He let go of her hand and took a giant step back, creating a chasm between them that she feared could never be crossed. “No. I don’t want to make it work. Our affair always had an expiration date, Isabella. It’s time you accepted that.”

  “I don’t accept that. You said you were falling into me. Well, I’ve already fallen,” she admitted. “And I think you have too.”

  For a second, she thought she’d gotten through to him. His expression softened and she saw it there. Love. But then, like a mirage, it was suddenly gone. “Another time, another place…you and me, we might have had a chance. But we were doomed from the start. I’ll always care about you, Isabella.” He swallowed. “But I can’t do this anymore.”

  “This?”

  “Us.” He raked a hand through his messy hair and blew out a breath. “I haven’t been fair to you. I made you believe you meant more to me than you do.”

  An ache settled into her bones as a long shadow fell on them. She searched the space behind Tristan, but was unable to find the source. “I don’t believe you,” she said even as she was plagued with doubt. He’d never actually said that he loved her. Had she been so eager for someone to take care of her that she’d read something into their relationship that wasn’t there?

  “Why? Because you don’t want to believe someone you care about could hurt you? Didn’t you learn your lesson with Tony?”

  She winced. “How could you say that? You’re nothing like Tony.”

  He nodded. “You’re right.” Cold steel glinted into his eyes. “He loved you.”

  She swore she heard the sound of her heart shattering into a million pieces and covered her ears to make it stop. “Stop. Just stop. I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to push me away because it’s your misguided way of protecting me. But I won’t let you do it.”

  In two strides, he was right in front of her, ripping her hands away from her ears and holding them tightly. “You need to hear this. You’re wrong about me. You’ve put me on this pedestal and I don’t belong there. You had some romanticized notion about me and for a while, I thought maybe…maybe I could actually be that man, but it was all a lie. Do you know why I found you so attractive that night at Ryder’s?”

  She shook her head, but he ignored her.

  “I’d fucked almost every other female sub there already and you were new,” he said darkly. “You were like a fucking lamb stumbling inside a hungry lion’s den. I wanted your innocence and I took it. That’s it. There was nothing magical about that night or what’s happened between us since then. It’s just sex. Great sex, but sex just the same. It’s not enough for me. It’s not what I want. Before I met you, I had plans. Big plans. And for a while, I got distracted, but Morgan’s murder reminded me what matters most. That’s Novateur. So you see, this has nothing to do with protecting you. This is all about me finally doing what’s best for me.” He dropped her hands. “It’s over.”

  As she slid down the wall to her knees, no longer feeling the cold, no longer feeling anything but emptiness, the man she loved turned from her and walked away, taking all the pieces of her shattered heart with him.

  Twenty-Six

  When her phone rang, Isabella wasn’t sure how long she’d been on her knees. She looked around, confused. Everything was dark and gray. It was snowing. The sun must have disappeared behind a wall of clouds, because it couldn’t be any later than noon. She was submerged in darkness, the shadows having disappeared along with Tristan. It was as if he’d stolen all the light from her world when he’d left. How could she have been so wrong about him? The pain of Tony’s knife had nothing on the pain of Tristan telling her that he didn’t love her.

  She’d been so certain she’d found her soul mate, the man who helped her be the best version of herself. But she had just been a temporary distraction for him, someone to keep his bed warm until he finished his exile in Edison and returned to his real life. She would’ve been better off if she’d never met him. At least that way, she wouldn’t have known how much it hurt to love someone who didn’t love her back. There was a huge, gaping hole where her heart used to be.

  How could she have been so blind?

  The worst part was she couldn’t avoid him.

  He was still her professor for a few more weeks.

  And if she wanted to stay in school, she’d have to continue as his assistant next semester.

  It was going to be agony.

  She told herself everything she was supposed to: She was a survivor. The pain would lessen over time. Her heart would heal. She’d fall in love again someday.

  Blah, blah, blah.

  Her phone rang again. She frowned as she answered. “Hey, Chloe. This isn’t a good time.”

  “Isabella?” Her roommate’s voice sounded funny. Far away and shaky as if she’d been crying. “I need you.”

  Isabella jumped to her feet. “What’s wrong?”

  “Everything,” Chloe said hoarsely. “I’ve lost everything.”

  She turned in the direction of the dorm. “Are you in the room?”

  “No. I’m on top of the bell tower.” Chloe sobbed. “Isabella? Why does it always have to hurt so much?”

  What was she talking about?

  Tristan must have left a piece of her heart behind because it had started to beat faster. Something in Chloe’s tone frightened her. “What do you mean? What hurts?”

  “No matter how hard I try, I lose everything. I’m tired of losing.”

  Isabella’s scars tingled. She recalled her conversation when Chloe had confided she’d once tried to kill herself.

  She wouldn’t.

  Ice slithered down her spine. “Oh, hon. I’m on my way. Promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”

  There was a long pause.

  “It’s too late.”

  Chloe hung up.

  What did she mean it was too late?

  Looking at her cell phone with the intention of calling 911, she took a couple of steps toward the tower and smacked straight into a wall. She put her hands on the wall to steady herself, realizing at once it wasn’t a wall but a person. Her head snapped up and she reared back at the blue eyes that met hers.

  She took a step backward, her heart skipping a beat in fear. Her throat frozen in terror, his name came out no louder than a whisper. “Tony.”

  Noise is your friend.

  She hadn’t seen a soul on campus. Would anyone hear her scream out here?

  “Hey, Izzy.” He moved toward her with his arms out as if he was about to give her a hug.

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


  She held up her hands, and her eyes darted for an escape route. “Stay away.”

  He nodded, his own hands up in surrender. “I will. I promise. Just don’t run away.”

  If you can run away, do it.

  She should run. Run fast. Run and scream.

  Would he chase her?

  Knock her to the ground and beat her?

  Take out a knife and slice and stab and cut?

  Why wouldn’t her fucking legs move?

  Even without him giving her drugs, she was immobile.

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

  She wouldn’t let him hurt her again.

  She wasn’t going down without a fight.

  “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t run,” she ordered, buying some time to get herself together.

  “Because I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here because I’m worried.”

  He looked older than the last time she’d seen him. The hair she used to run her fingers through was gone, replaced by a military-style buzz cut. Even though he’d avoided it during his teenage years, he had acne on his slightly swollen face. He was still handsome, just…different. She wondered if his meds had caused some of the changes in his appearance.

  “What a coincidence. I’m worried too. You’re not supposed to be here,” she reminded him. “How did you find me? Did you follow me?”

  He tilted his head to the side as if weighing how best to answer her. “Most freshmen live in your dorm. I just figured I’d start there and ask around if anyone knew you. Then I saw you run out of there like your feet were on fire, so yeah, I followed you.”

  She frowned, something about his explanation sparking a hazy recollection of a similar discussion, but she couldn’t grasp it, the memory just out of reach.

  Tony brushed his hand down his face. “Look, I know I’m not supposed to contact you, but I had to come. I didn’t send you a letter.”

  “Tony, I recognized your handwriting.”

  “I’m not denying that I wrote it. I just never sent it to you.” He linked his fingers together and put his hands behind his neck. “And I never sent you a text. I didn’t even have access to a cell phone in there.”