Dark Mercy by Rebecca Lyndon Page B

the inside and turned it into an ultra-exclusive nightclub. The Mercy Club.
    Rumors had been flying since the doors had opened three months ago about what exactly went on inside. People whispered it was a place where a person’s darkest fantasies came true, where deviant sexual desires were fulfilled.
    Cassandra swallowed hard as the stories she’d been told of what went on inside these fortress walls flashed in her mind. They were the same wicked imaginings that had been stewing in her mind since she’d returned to her cubicle yesterday to find one of the Mercy Club’s coveted invitations on her desk. The same ones that that left her twisting in her sheets last night, unable to sleep.
    But they were only rumors, mostly because the owners had yet to open their doors to members of the press. Until now.
    Cassandra would be the first journalist admitted into the Mercy Club. She didn’t bother to fool herself over the reason. She had been the only one with more than a passing interest in the story. She had been the only one asking hard questions since the sale of the Arsenal was first introduced. Who were these nine men? Why did they have such influence over the city council? What was their real agenda in her hometown? Obviously, her poking around had gotten their attention.
    Well, she would have her answers soon enough.
    Cassandra smoothed her hand down her brown pencil skirt, the one that matched the color of her eyes. She checked that every strand of hair in her tight ponytail was in place. She had made sure the looked the part of the impartial journalist before she left her small Outer Richmond apartment that morning. Perfectly professional, she assured herself as she started up the steps.
    Someone must have been watching her from inside. The barred door opened wide before she had a chance to reach it. A dark-skinned security guard dressed in all black tilted his head in greeting as he held it open for her.
    “Cassandra Davis here to see Mr. Richard Guildford,” she said in her most businesslike voice as she stepped inside.
    “Of course, Miss Davis,” he said as though he already knew who she was. As though he had been waiting for her.
    She wasn’t sure what she expected to find in the front room of the Arsenal, a scene of harem-style depravity, perhaps. Bodies writhing in piles of silks and furs, or maybe leather-clad dominatrixes flogging a line of slaves.
    She was half disappointed to find what looked like the lobby of any number of businesses with a line of cushy chairs ready for waiting patrons and a large fountain burbling in a corner. A few potted plants brought a little life to the cavernous interior. At first glance, the place could have passed for a day spa. A very well secured day spa.
    Behind the reception desk, a dozen more massive security guards milled around computers and video monitors. The Arsenal appeared to be as well protected now as it had been a hundred and fifty years ago.
    “Do I need to check in?” Cassandra asked the man at her side.
    “That’s not necessary. My instructions were to deliver you to Mr. Guildford immediately.”
    Deliver? Cassandra paused at the choice of words, but not for long. Her courier started off without her, past the desk and into the heart of the building. Cassandra’s heels beat a fast tattoo on the marble floor as she raced to catch up.
    She met up with him at the base of the main staircase that zigzagged back and forth through all four stories of the building.
    “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” Cassandra said as she followed him up.
    “Marcus.”
    Cassandra’s eyes widened as a tall, beautiful, and completely topless woman turned the first corner of the staircase. There wasn’t a speck of shame in her eyes as she gave Cassandra a friendly smile. “Pardon me,” she said as she passed.
    Cassandra politely averted her eyes and nodded. “Is that sort of thing a common occurrence around here?”
    Far ahead of her, Marcus shrugged his broad