Masters of Mercy Vol. 1 - 4 (BDSM erotica)

by Lyndon, Rebecca

  Maybe she didn’t really want to know the answer to that.

  Hannah shook her head. No, that was ridiculous. Stupid. Crazy. There was no way that Ashira, or whatever her real name was, was anything other than mentally unbalanced. People didn’t just disappear. Obviously, she’d just taken advantage of Hannah’s distraction to slip away.

  It didn’t matter where that crazy woman had gone. All that mattered was that, for some unknown reason, Geoffrey Stark had suddenly noticed her. Hannah spun back around.

  The light on the corner still hadn’t changed to green, but Geoffrey had already stepped off the curb. Dear god, the man was going to get himself killed. Car horns honked and brakes screeched as he strode across Mission Street. He didn’t pay any mind to the chaos he caused. His eyes were still on her and her alone.

  Hannah clutched her bag tighter and shot a glance toward the door. She didn’t have time make an exit before he reached the entrance to the cafe. Not a graceful one at least.

  Hannah forced herself to sit down. She was overreacting. That was all. She had let that crazy lady get inside her head. She was certain Geoffrey Stark had a very good reason for storming toward The Grind—a perfectly rational reason. One that didn’t have a damned thing to do with her. Just because she couldn’t come up with a single one at the moment, well, that didn’t mean anything.

  Hannah opened the front section of the paper and used it as shield to block out the top half of her body. She didn’t see a single word on the page. Instead she counted silently inside her head. It would only be a matter of seconds until she heard the bell above the door ring.

  Ten…nine…eight.

  Bang.

  Hannah jumped. Her knees smacked against the underside of the counter. She squeaked—it was too high pitched to be considered a scream—and the newspaper flew from her hands.

  She looked up. Geoffrey Stark stood on the other side of the glass, his knuckles still resting against the window pane. She’d seen him every weekday for the last three months. In that time, she’d thought that she had memorized every aspect of his face. She’d been wrong.

  The crystal focus of his eyes, the hard set of his jawline, the flat line of his lips, they all took on a new intensity when his focus was on her. He stared down at her for what seemed like an eternity before stepping away from the window and walking toward the door.

  She knew she should be slinging her bags over her shoulder and trying to get out of this crazy situation with the least amount of humiliation, but Hannah couldn’t seem to pry her eyes away from him. Everything about him commanded her attention.

  He came directly toward her, never for a second breaking eye contact. He stopped just in front of her. Hannah scooted her stool back a few inches, but he just took another step closer. He towered above her, his arms crossed over his wide chest, staring down at her. Hannah tried a tight smile to break the tension, but he didn’t return the gesture.

  “Hi,” she said when the silence stretched too long.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  Hannah started at the low rumble of his voice. In all the time that she had been coming here she’d never heard the sound of it. Not really. Geoffrey Stark was not a talkative sort. The staff here knew him, they knew what he drank, and they were perfectly content with a smile as thanks. Who the hell wouldn’t be? On the rare occasion that he did speak, she had been too far away to really make out much of it.

  In a way, it was just as she had always expected, deep and low. But there was another piece of it, a hint of an accent, that surprised her. She struggled to place it, but it was hard to think clearly with him staring at her.

  “Excuse me?” she said. Her mind swam, taking in everything except his words.

  “Who are you?” The set of his jaw hardened. He was obviously not a man who liked repeating himself.

  “I—I’m Hannah,” she said.

  He crossed his arms in front of his chest and raised a brow. There was obviously more to his question than she realized. He was waiting for more.

  “Hannah Jacobsen,” she offered, not knowing how that would clarify anything to him.

  “What were you doing with Ashira?”

  She should have known that this had every thing to do with Ashira and nothing to do with her. It should have been a stunning relief, but Hannah felt a twinge of disappointment.

  “Nothing,” Hannah said. “We were just talking.”

  “How do you know her?” he demanded.

  “I don’t. Not really. I mean, I never met her before this morning.”

  He studied her for a long moment before nodding his acceptance of her words, but his piercing gaze didn’t falter.

  “What were you talking about?” he asked.

  Hannah opened her mouth, but stopped herself before the truth came out. You. Catching surreptitious glimpses of a man over the last few months didn’t mean that she knew him, or that she owed him anything. Certainly not any humiliating truths. But there was a strange kind of commanding aura about him that made it almost impossible not to answer.

  “Secrets,” she said. It was close enough to the truth.

  “Secrets?” he echoed. He pulled out the high backed stool next to her, the same one that the woman—Ashira apparently—had been on, and sat down. “Desires.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “No, you didn’t. I did.”

  Hannah finally placed the sexy lilt that tempered his gravelly voice. It was English. Of course. It was just her luck that the unattainable guy she had a crush on would have an English accent. A pushy, unattainable guy, she reminded herself.

  “Yeah, well, I don’t know where she went. She was here a second ago. If you hurried, I’m sure you could find her. She couldn’t have made it far.”

  “I’m not interested in her,” he said.

  “No?” Hannah said, not bothering to hide her surprise.

  “I want to know who you are.”

  “I just told you. I’m Hannah—”

  “Jacobsen. I know. But who are you?”

  Hannah’s eyes widened. She hadn’t thought that this morning could have gotten any stranger. She’d been wrong. His stare was even on her. He was waiting, patiently waiting, which strangely made Hannah all the more nervous. She didn’t understand what was going on. None of it made sense. For the last three months, Geoffrey Stark hadn’t so much as glanced her way, and now he was staring at her like the whole earth revolved around her. It was as if she really had been invisible all those months.

  It was as if someone really had answered prayers.

  “I’m nobody,” Hannah said in a rush.

  For the first time, his eyes swept over the length of her. Hannah tried not to shift in her seat as he took her in. Her grey pants, cream-colored shirt, and black sweater—she was dressed in a palette of neutrals, just like she always was. It had never made her self conscious before, but now she felt every inch the drab creature she had made herself into.

  “You come here every day,” he said. It wasn’t a question. “Why haven’t I noticed you before?”

  Hannah shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  He leaned forward. Hannah felt snared by his eyes, like he had caught her, and now he was about to reel her in. In a way, it was everything that she had secretly fantasized about—having him pick her out of the crowd, being the focus of his attention, having his body so close to hers—and it was proving to be every bit as terrifying as she had feared. She was overwhelmed, sitting here like a slack-jawed idiot, unable to understand his simple questions.

  “I should go,” she said.

  “Stay,” he said. It was more command than request.

  “I need to go to work, and I’m sure that you need to get back to the club,” she said.

  He arched a single brow and leaned back in his seat. “You know who I am.”

  Crap.

  Hannah looked down at the floor. “No. I’ve just seen you come out of there a couple of times.
”

  “You’re a terrible liar, Hannah.”

  Hannah lifted her head at the sound of her name on his lips. It was strangely intimate, and her body reacted as if he had caressed her. Some parts of her coiled tight, others melted.

  “I know.” She’d never had the knack for lying. It would probably be better—not to mention easier—if she just fessed up. “You come out of the front door of the Mercy Club every morning. The lady behind the counter calls you Mr. Stark. It wasn’t hard to figure out.”

  “You’ve been watching me.” A small sparkle of amusement lit up his eyes. Amusement, and something else. Intrigue. Except, she wasn’t intriguing.

  “It isn’t like that,” she tried to explain herself.

  “Yes. It is. You come here every morning. You sit right here, and you wait for me,” he said slowly. Hannah shook her head, but he went on, paying no mind to her denial. “So, tell me the truth Hannah. Why haven’t I seen you before now?”

  “I already told you. I really don’t know what any of this is about.”

  “And I told you that you were a terrible lair,” he said. “Was it Ashira? Did she do something to hide you from me?”

  Hannah’s eyes widened. “Ashira? The crazy lady?”

  “Ashira is many things, but crazy is not one of them.”

  Hannah’s mind reeled. She didn’t understand any of this. She didn’t want to understand. All she wanted to do was run away. She’d leave and never come back. Not to this cafe. Not to the Mission District. Not to this damned city if that’s what it took to keep from feeling this strange mix of confusion, fear, and want that now muddled her thoughts.

  It was time to end this torment.

  She grabbed her bag. In a flash, a strong, warm hand covered hers and held it flat against the table. Hannah didn’t try to pull away. A flash of tingles shot up her arm. Her breath hitched. Her heart pounded hard against her breastbone. Not from fear this time, but from desire. Plain, simple desire.

  How desperate was she that a simple touch on the hand could nearly knock her down with lust? Sure, she hadn’t been on a date months, and it had been almost a full year before that since she’d gone to bed with anyone, but it wasn’t like she was some kind of fainting virgin to get so flustered over a touch.

  “Stay,” he said again.

  “I can’t.”

  “Why?”

  “I really do have to get to work.”

  “Tell me the real reason,” he said.

  Hannah drew in a shaky breath. She knew that he would never let her go if she didn’t give him what he wanted. The truth.

  “Because I’m afraid of you,” she admitted.

  He released her hand, but in the next instant he pulled a red envelope out of his back pocket and held it out to her.

  “Go, but come to me tonight,” he said.

  “Why?” It was a stupid question, but she couldn’t seem to help herself.

  “Because it’s not me that you’re afraid of, Hannah. But if you come to the club tonight, I promise to show you what really scares you.”

  Hannah slid the envelope from between his fingers. She told herself that she had only taken it to get away from him. There was no way she was going to Mercy Club tonight. She repeated the thought several times as she rushed out of the cafe and practically ran to the office. There was no way she was ever going back there.

  None at all.

  Geoffrey stood and turned as the lithe Hannah Jacobsen practically ran out the door of The Grind. He watched as she flew up Mission Street, and he fought the nearly overwhelming urge to chase after her, to toss her over his shoulder and drag her back to his club, willing or not.

  But he couldn’t. Not right now. The hair on the back of his neck had been standing at attention since he’d first walked out onto the street this morning. A vague sense of unease had taken root deep in his belly. He knew what it meant. In the last thousand years, he had only felt this way a handful of times.

  A moment later, he felt a slim, elegant hand fall across his shoulder. Geoffrey stiffened but didn't turn around.

  “You shouldn’t have let her go,” an unearthly, melodic voice whispered in his ear.

  “Ashira,” he said. “Bold of you to appear in such a crowded place.”

  She came to his side. Her slim shoulders rose and fell. “No one else seems to mind.”

  In truth, not a single person was looking in their direction. It was as if she had made them both invisible. Geoffrey knew it was well within her power. He was intimately aware of what Ashira was capable of.

  He’d had his first brush with her magic nearly a thousand years ago outside the walls of Antioch. He had been nothing more than a simple soldier the night that he had first crossed paths with her, but, before the sun had risen that next morning, he had been changed into something much more.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “Oh, don’t act so petulant, Geoffrey,” she said with a smile. “It’s not my fault that you let her run away.”

  Geoffrey shook his head. Ashira hadn't changed in a millennia. Why should she? She was a god. She had no reason to change. She was still just as gorgeous, just as proud, just as powerful.

  “She’ll come back to me,” he said.

  “You’re certain of that, are you?”

  “I am.”

  He'd felt sure of it the moment that he’d held her hand in his. With that simple touch, he'd felt the promise of life flowing through him. His blood had practically thrummed in his veins. Hannah Jacobsen was his One. And she would be his. He knew it.

  “You should know that she’s different, Geoffrey. She’s not a sure thing. I can’t force her to come to you.”

  “I don’t need you to.”

  “Such confidence. I suppose that’s why I always liked you.” Ashira turned and trailed a finger down his chest. He didn't move.

  He had known exactly what he was getting himself into when he had given up his soul to her all of those years ago. He had known the truth of her bargain, and he had taken it with no regrets. But he couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t anxious to be done with their arrangement. A thousand years was a very long time.

  “But tell me, how can you be so sure she will come back to you?” Ashira asked, pulling her hand away from him.

  “Because this is what I do. It’s what you made me.”

  It was the strangest walk that Hannah could ever remember taking. She warred with herself in her mind with every step. Should she? Shouldn’t she? She had fantasized about a night at Mercy Club with him for months now. She would be a fool not to grasp the opportunity to make it real.

  Then again, fantasies were safe. Reality was not. Could she handle the consequences of her desires? And then there were all the bizarre things that had gone on this morning, all the talk of goddesses, and gifts and destiny. Did she really have any idea what kind of crazy people she would be giving herself over to?

  It was the same argument that she’d had with herself all day. She hadn’t been able to concentrate at work. Everyone had noticed. At least five people had asked if she was coming down with something. In a way, she was. The invitation Geoffrey had given her had started a fever inside her, and no matter how she tried she just couldn’t shake it.

  And she wouldn’t. Hannah knew it way down deep. Not until she went to Mercy Club. Not until she finished what she had started.

  As the war inside her raged on, her feet kept on moving toward the Arsenal. It was as if they had already made up her mind for her. It felt like she was being pulled down the street, like she needed to get there before her nerve ran out.

  Before she knew it, Hannah was back at the cafe. It was closed, but she went toward it anyway. It was a small comfort to pretend she was just following her regular routine and not on the precipice of a major decision.

  She leaned up against the darkened windows and looked across the street. Her eyes swept up the four-story brick wall. There were only a few windows to break the monotony of the ma
ssive building, most of them nothing more than slits. It wasn’t until she got to the higher levels that there were any sizable openings. She was sure it made sense from a defensive standpoint. This place was built to repel a major attack. To keep what was outside out…and what was inside in.

  Her belly did a little flip, and she suddenly questioned her decision to skip lunch. Not that her stomach would have allowed her to eat a thing. It had been tied in knots all day. But now she was starving. No doubt that was contributing to the tremble that had crept into her hand, and the lightheadedness…and the poor decision-making skills she was displaying.

  Not that she had made a decision. She leaned back against the wall of the cafe and let another wave of pedestrians pass her on the street. For them, this was just another Friday evening. Everyone was going home or out to a restaurant or some other everyday place. Everyone except her.

  Crap, what was she thinking? She couldn’t go in there. The thought may thrill her, but the reality…hell, she wouldn’t last five minutes in there without revealing her naiveté and humiliating herself.

  A shadow moved in one of the top floor windows. Hannah’s eyes went right to it. She brought her hand up to shield her eyes from the glare of setting sun. She could just make out a form up there, blocking out most of the window, but she couldn’t make out any features. Still, her chest tightened, and her pulse began to race.

  It was him. Hannah knew it. Geoffrey Stark was up there, staring down at her, and waiting for her to make up her mind.

  She stayed a half a minute longer, waiting for the shadow to tire and move away, but it didn’t. How long would he stand there? He would outlast her. Of course, he would. He was a soldier after all. He had all the patience in the world, all the discipline. She wasn’t going to win this staring contest.

  Come to me.

  The memory of his words were loud in her mind.

  She followed the command.

  Hannah pushed off the cafe wall and raced across the street before she could think better of it.

  There were a few people lingering outside of the main door of the Arsenal, the same one that Geoffrey came out of every day. Some were posing for pictures in front of the infamous building. Others were just lingering around it. Perhaps they were hoping to steal just a little of the place’s mojo. She couldn’t blame them. Wasn’t that what she had been doing every morning?