Page 84 of Built for Mercy

She shifted slightly, like she was trying to see past me—like she wanted more.

“Are you ready to explore with me?” I asked, my voice laced with the promise of everything we were about to discover together. That same pull, the one that always seemed to draw us closer, hummed between us, unspoken but impossible to ignore.

Sophie nodded, her hand tightening in mine, and together we stepped across the threshold into a world of our own making.

37

Sophie

There was a stark contrast between the club’s glamorous interior to its deserted state.

I looked at the sleek bar in the center, imagining it bustling with patrons seeking liquid courage to indulge in their fantasies. The round shape of the bar allowed for easy visibility of the whole club.

My eyes flitted from the stage on the far wall to the high-tech screens that allowed people to see what rooms were available. Maverick guided me to the hallway that led to private rooms, each dedicated to a different shade of desire. From BDSM to rope suspension, vanilla to voyeurism—Maverick had created a playground for the liberated soul.

Everything was black marble, steel, and glass. It felt clean, sophisticated, and most of all… almost taboo. I felt giddy, as if I was getting away with something I shouldn’t.

“Wow,” I breathed. “What you’ve done here… it’s incredible.” The pride on his face made something tender swell inside me. He thrived on affirmation as much as anyone else, maybe more because he rarely got it. “Guess it’s just one more reason to call it Sin City, right?”

He laughed, and tension I hadn’t noticed before eased from his posture. “I guess so.”

I glanced around again, the soft sound of my shoes slapping the floors echoing through the space. “You’ve really thought of everything, haven’t you?”

“Only the best,” he said, his voice a velvet rumble. “For others. For us. For you. Do you want to be the first to christen it?”

I did. God, I did. My nerves, once frayed from my own inner turmoil, now settled into something steadier—not quite calm, but grounded, thrumming with quiet anticipation. When I had spiraled into panic earlier, Maverick was there—not pushing, not demanding, just steadfastly present.

“Lead the way,” I whispered, surrendering to the moment as he closed us into one of the BDSM rooms.

His kiss was a searing brand, marking me as his, and when he pulled back to instruct me to strip, command laced his tone with irresistible authority. “Tell me your safe words,” he said, eyes darkening with primal intent but focusing solely on me and my body.

“Blue is close to the edge… Mercy means stop,” I replied, my breath hitching with every word.

“Good girl.” The praise washed over me, the rush as potent as the strongest whiskey. He guided me to an X-frame along one wall, securing my wrists and ankles, leaving me vulnerable and open—completely his to devour.

Maverick was an artist of arousal, painting strokes of pleasure and teasing whispers against my skin. He’d always been able to unravel me, even with just starving eyes and filthy words.

Right now, he had a riding crop in hand, flicking my nipples, my clit, anywhere that might elicit pleasure—timed just right so I never got too close to climax. I was right there, my core tight, legs trembling, unable to do anything but take it—hips bucking, body desperate. My vision blurred with heat, but I still caught glimpses of him—his dark hair a mess, his bare chest rising and falling, his temples gleaming with sweat. A goddamn masterpiece wrecking me. Right now, he was my king of darkness, my holy grail of pleasure, the reason I would heal and build a new life for myself.

My senses were alight, every brush, every breath a promise of release, of ecstasy only he could give me. My head was swimming—not just light, not just dizzy, but drowning. The room softened at the edges, darkening like someone was dimming the lights. My limbs felt weightless and heavy all at once, a strange, detached sensation that made my stomach lurch. I blinked, but everything still felt too far away, as though I wasn’t standing on solid ground anymore. My fingers curled weakly, grasping at nothing. Fuck. Something was wrong.

And just as I teetered on the precipice, the world dipped sideways. The void rushed up to meet me, swallowing everything in darkness.

38

Maverick

Iwatched her. A vision of raw fucking desire. We were christening the club for the first goddamn time—her breath coming in sharp little gasps, her body arching, nipples tight, skin covered in goosebumps.Mine.Every inch of her. The gleam in her eyes was all fire, all euphoria—

Until it wasn’t.

The fire flickered. Dimmed. Then fucking snuffed out like a candle in the wind.

“Fuck.” My voice came out hoarse, wrong.

And then she went limp. Head lolling back. Eyes rolling. Gone. My heart stopped.

“Sophie?”