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Mercer's been in the Thieves' Guild dungeon for days, as best he can tell. Dungeon, hah, one sorry room with chains bolted to the stone floor, where they soften up people who don't want to talk. They should have killed him, Karliah and Brynjolf and their little stooge, instead of beating him half to death and dragging him back here in disgrace. They're going to be sorry they didn't kill him.
The door clangs open and torchlight spills into the room. Mercer squints at it. "Finally, some company," he sneers. "I was getting bored in here."
A booted foot catches him in the gut and knocks the wind out of him. "We'd hate for you to be bored, Guild Master." Brynjolf, angry as if he's the one who just had years' worth of work torn away from him by upstarts.
He's not alone. Most of the guild is here, both the inner circle and the nobodies Mercer never bothered to spend much time on, piling into the cell with him. This is going to be a bad night. "Forgive me for not getting up to greet you," Mercer says, rattling the too-short chain between his shackles and the rings in the floor. Hands and knees is the best he can manage. "I'm a little inconvenienced right now."
"Just an endless list of complaints," one of the girls says from behind him. Sapphire, probably.
"Not for long." The guy closest to Mercer's face takes another step closer, unlacing his trousers and pulling out his cock.
"You sure you wanna do that?" Mercer asks. "One good bite and you'd be real sorry."
A knife rips up through the back seam of his trousers. "Do it," Sapphire says. The point of the knife touches his balls, just enough to be unsettling. "The guys've already agreed, first time you try to bite, I get to cut these off and see how much you bleed."
Fuck. She'd love the chance, wouldn't she? The realization must show on his face, because the guy up front grabs him by the hair, pulls his head back to force his mouth open, and crams that dick down his throat. Mercer chokes, struggling to pull back, and while he's distracted something cold and hard gets shoved up his ass. It burns, and there are hands gripping his hips to keep him from moving. He can barely see others out of the corners of his eyes, unlacing, pulling their cocks out and stroking themselves hard as he gets railed.
When the guy fucking his mouth finishes, he comes halfway down Mercer's throat so it makes him cough and choke and struggle to swallow. His throat burns. He gasps for breath as soon as his mouth is free, but he doesn't even have time to form a protest before one of the others is taking over.
The thing in his ass gets pulled out next. Someone spits, and then the fat blunt head of a cock is forcing its way into his asshole, barely slick and stretching him too far. Both of them drive in hard, and Mercer can't help the whine that rises in his throat.
"See, here's the thing, Mercer," Brynjolf says. "We talked it over as a guild. We got a rough estimate of how much you've cost us. And we agreed that you should pay it back—like this. So get comfortable. You're going to be here for a while."
That smug bastard. Mercer chokes on the cock pounding his throat, closing his eyes so the tears won't spill. He can endure this. He's patient.
They're going to be sorry they didn't kill him.