Across the river, on the shady side of town, in the back of a smoky tavern, behind a thick steel door, down a damp stone stairway, along a musty hallway, kept from view with an oak door, was the Banana House. It was neither a true home, not did it contain much fruit. Instead, it housed men of the night, men for rent to the privileged and elite.
The atmosphere at the brothel was quivering with excitement. Each and every available man had been booked that night by a special sect of military women. They were called Mermaids, and they were both seductresses and spies, and battle ready combatants. The Mermaids were the most highly trained military personnel in the nation, and twice a year they visited the Banana House to satiate their most primal urges.
Each woman had undergone an extensive application process, submitting their medical records, pych evals, and a detailed description of sexual do's and don'ts. They were then paired with the partner who best matched their sexual preferences and a room was booked.
Gabriel stood in one such room, trying to pick the best song to set the mood for the night in front of him. He was an experienced professional, but this was his first time with a Mermaid, as he had only come to the Banana house a few months prior. The pressure was causing knots to form in his neck. These women were national heroes, and any inability to fulfill the Banana House reputation would end in Gabriel blacklisted in all the prominent brothels in the country. If he failed he would go back to advertising on Craigslist.
A soft knock on the door and Gabriel had to abandon his quest for a perfect song. He squared his shoulders and put on his best seduction face, then opened the door.
When he saw the Mermaid on the other side, his expression transformed into one of awe. He had been expecting her to be in uniform, all hard edges and military precision. He expected her to look like she would eat him alive. His expectations were wrong. She stood at less than five feet and a half in a slinky black dress that left little to the imagination. Every bit of her was dark and sensual, from her thick, shiny, black hair, to her prominent chocolate colored eyes, to the deeply tanned legs that ended in satin black pumps. Her bow-tie mouth grinned before she spoke.
"Mercy," she chimed, brushing past him.
"You want mercy?" Gabriel quizzed, confused. "But I haven't done anything yet."
She laughed, deeply, with her head thrown back, and Gabriel's eyes were drawn to the smooth skin of her neck. He would be kissing her there soon.
"No, silly. My name is Mercy." Gabriel admonished himself internally. Mercy, short for Mercedes, which was listed in her profile. He should have known that.
"You got a name Blondie?" she asked. "Or am I just going to have to call you lover all night?"
"You can call me whatever you want," he replied, closing the door and sealing them from the outside world. "But if you like, my name is Gabriel."
"Gabriel, I like that," Mercy mused, perching on the edge of the bed. "Like the angel."
"Does that make you the devil?" He asked, moving closer to her. She smelled like Jasmine.
