Make Me, Sir

Chapter One

Her eyes puffy from crying, mouth set with determination, Gabrielle Renard walked down the hallway of the FBI’s Miami field division, hunting for the correct office. There it was. She stopped and took a careful breath-I can do this-then straightened her shoulders and shoved the door open.

It was a typically bland room with coffee-stained, brown carpeting and off-white walls, and the scent of sweat, coffee, and overly musky cologne sure didn’t help her stomach. A metal desk with a computer occupied the right side. On the left, two men sat at a small conference table, papers strewn across the surface.

One had his back to her, and with dismay, she realized why the cologne smelled familiar. Agent Preston Rhodes. Only three or four inches over her five feet five, the pale, brown-haired creep had the whiny personality-and the morals-of the hyenas in The Lion King. During her one-month stint in Tampa last year, he’d even tried to coerce a victim’s sister into bed.

The other man had black hair and eyes, an olive complexion, and deeply carved lines bracketing his mouth. He frowned at her and asked, “Can I help you?” in a clipped New England accent.

Rhodes turned in his chair and scowled at her. “What are you doing here, Renard?” He glanced at the other man. “She’s a victim specialist with the Miami field office.”

Ignoring him, Gabi spoke to the dark-haired agent. “Are you in charge of the investigation of the women kidnapped in Atlanta?”

Renard glared. “What the-”

The man silenced Renard with a look. “I’m Special Agent Galen Kouros. Why?”

“I want to be one of the decoys.” And you’re going to let me.

“Do you now? Just how did you happen to hear about them?” His icy voice sent an answering chill up her spine. She let her own anger wash through her.

“One of the kidnapped women is a friend, and her mother called me after your visit.” Weeping hysterically, begging for help from Kim’s FBI friend. Gabi had driven to Atlanta for information from Kim’s mom and also the local FBI office. None of it had been good. Gabi looked away, blinking back tears. “I found out another young woman had been kidnapped and shot.”

“The only details released to the news were that a woman had died of a gunshot wound on the freeway. How did you get more?” The agent leaned back in his chair, studying her.

“There are rumors here and there.” Especially in the seething Atlanta field office. Not so easy here. But during her brief stay in Tampa, she’d discovered that one of the secretaries loved to gossip. She’d also told Gabi that Rhodes’s very appropriate nickname was Dickhead.

Kouros pointed to a chair across from Rhodes. “Sit.”

New Englanders could be so brusque. He needed to meet a southern gentleman and learn some civility. But she obediently took a seat.

“Tell me what you know. All of it.”

“A total of four women, including Kim, were kidnapped in Atlanta. All members of BDSM clubs. The last one escaped on a freeway by running out into oncoming traffic. She died of a gunshot wound before the ambulance arrived. But she managed to tell a trucker a few things.” She must have been in agony. Terrified. Gabi swallowed.

“Go on,” Kouros snapped.

“Apparently the kidnapper said more women were to be kidnapped in Tampa.” She frowned. “Um, the last delivery of women is August twenty-ninth, and then they’ll hold a slave auction.” They’ll sell Kim. She gathered her thoughts. “You’re putting female agents as decoys in four Tampa fetish clubs, hoping the kidnapper will target one.” It seemed a little far-fetched. Why would he go after them and not another woman in the club?

“You’re remarkably well-informed.” He hadn’t moved as she talked, his stillness a contrast to Rhodes’s fidgeting. “I can see there are some loose tongues in this office.”

Dickhead stiffened.

Ignoring him, Kouros eyed Gabi. “What qualifications do you have for playing a decoy, Ms. Renard? I’ll admit you’re motivated-and because of that I doubt you can be objective. You’re the right age. You’re pretty enough, probably smart enough. But you’re not an agent; you’re support staff-a social worker. Why should I use you instead of an agent?”

At first she hadn’t seen any way to help. She was a counselor, not a field agent. Then she’d checked the agents they planned to use. “It doesn’t matter if I’m objective or not. I’m not going to work the case, just play decoy. Second, you only have three agents for decoys, not four. As far as I know, none have visited BDSM clubs before.”

His face hardened at the further evidence of how much information she’d obtained, and she continued hurriedly, “I have experience.” A little and long ago, but who’s counting?

He sat forward like a cat scenting a mouse. “You’re submissive?”

She nodded.

“You’re not seriously considering using her,” Rhodes burst out. “She’d blow the whole operation.”

As Kouros studied her, his gaze drifted over her face, lingered on her cheek. “How’d you get the scar?”

The ugly memory sliced her as easily as the knife had sliced her flesh. Her hands fisted. “Wrong place during a gang war.” And she’d promised herself she’d never willingly get near violence again. How plans do change.

“You’re braver than you appear.” Kouros actually smiled. “You might just do, Ms. Renard. As it happens, I need a decoy for the Shadowlands.”

Rhodes stared at him. “You think you could get that asshole owner to admit her? She’s not an agent.”

“Zachary Grayson had a good point. An inexperienced, nonsubmissive woman might manage to pass in a busy public place, but the members of his club wouldn’t be fooled.” Kouros turned to her again. “The Shadowlands is a private, very exclusive BDSM club outside Tampa. Assuming we can talk him into it, the owner will set you up as a trainee sub.”

She opened her mouth to agree, but he held up his hand.

“You’re missing one vital piece of information the victim gave us-and we confirmed. I want you to think twice before we go any further. You see, the kidnapper is targeting only blatantly rebellious submissives. Noisy ones. The buyers want the pleasure of breaking their spirits.”

“No. That can’t-” No, not Kim. Her stomach twisted.

Kouros’s face softened. “You’re not getting the point, Gabrielle. I’m talking about your involvement. The decoys will have to demonstrate disobedient, insolent behavior. If you’re familiar with the lifestyle, you know how a dom will react.”

Gabi stiffened. Doms wouldn’t tolerate rudeness. They might just stop the scene and let the sub go-or might discipline her.

“Ah. I see you know.” A corner of Kouros’s mouth rose. “Grayson says only a few Shadowlands doms like brats, so either you’d end up sitting alone with no chance to attract attention or he’d need to get you into the trainee program…which forces the trainer to deal with you, whether he wants to or not.”

She nodded. To be dealt with. Her hands had gone clammy.

“Another fact. Despite their protests, the club owners are sworn to secrecy, so aside from the owner and Rhodes, no one else there will know you’re playing a part. That includes the dom in charge of the trainees, who, according to Grayson, is a hard-ass when it comes to disrespectful submissives. Are you sure, Gabrielle?”

She clasped her hands together, hoping to hide her trembling. Knowing she’d be setting herself up as a target for a murderer had terrified her so much she’d thrown up before leaving the motel.

Now this. To beg for punishment from a dom who didn’t know she was playing a part? Oh God.

But for Kim? All through college, Kim had shaken her awake from nightmares of the past, listened to her, comforted her. Now Kim was living in a nightmare.

Gabi raised her chin. “I’m sure.”

Marcus Atherton walked into the Shadowlands entry and nodded at the domme and security guard across the small room. Down the center, his five trainee submissives knelt nicely in a line. He strolled around them, checking that clothing was neat, appropriate, and seductive. “Y’all look very nice tonight,” he said. “I’m proud of you.”

Vivacious Sally, Goth Dara, and sweet, gay Austin had been there before he’d taken over the program last spring. After he and the owner, Z, had talked at length, they’d added Uzuri, with her gorgeous, chocolate-colored skin and the soul of a prankster, and a newer bisexual, Tanner, who wanted a mistress or a couple.

“I will not be in charge of you this evening.” Z’s voice-mail message had requested that he free himself up tonight, but hadn’t said why. “So Mistress Olivia has kindly agreed to supervise y’all.”

Their unhappy expressions warmed his dom’s heart. They’d become as attached to him as he was to them. When he saw mischief rising in Sally’s eyes, he added, “You best be nice to Mistress Olivia, or next time I’ll ask Mistress Anne to watch over you.”

They actually paled.

He had a mind to tell Anne-the sadistic mistress would enjoy their response immensely. “I’ll have an eye on all of you. Don’t let me down now.”

They murmured, “No, Sir” and “We won’t, Master Marcus.” He nodded and stepped back to let Olivia take his place.

The hefty domme smiled at the trainees. “First, let me run through my rules.” She slapped a switch against her tight latex pants, and the movement drew every gaze.

Chuckling, Marcus stepped into the main club room and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting from the chandeliers and wall sconces. This early, no one played on the equipment against the walls; no murmur of conversation came from the sitting areas. The lingering scent of cleansers mingled with the fragrance of leather.

Within an hour, the Shadowlands would rumble to life. Odd how much he’d come to love this club.

He looked around and spotted Z. Dressed in his usual black silk shirt and tailored slacks, the owner of the Shadowlands sat at the circular bar in the center of the room, talking to the bartender and his submissive.

As Marcus walked over, Cullen grinned. “Hey, buddy, I met your new trainee. Great hair.” The bartender’s voice echoed in the huge, silent room.

“What new trainee?” Marcus gave Z a quizzical glance.

Z frowned. “I’d hoped you’d arrive earlier, Marcus. I certainly didn’t intend to spring this on you.”

“The trial ran late.” And had been satisfying as hell. By the time he finished his closing argument, the jury had been of one mind, and the bastard who’d preyed on young boys hadn’t had a chance. Guilty. The sense of satisfaction in knowing he’d taken one more monster off the streets made all the late nights worthwhile. “What’s going on?”

“I’m sorry about the lack of discussion, but I have another trainee for you.” Z nodded toward the back. “I told her to wait for you by the chain station.”

Marcus stared at him. They always talked over any addition to the trainee program. And now a new one, just like that?

Z took a sip of his drink. “I appreciate you taking Gabrielle on, Marcus. She’s rather misbehaved, and she’s going to need a firm hand. Please keep her for a month-say the end of August-before you give up on her.”

Anger started a sullen glow in his gut. Z hadn’t asked a favor; he’d given an order. What kind of bullshit is this? From the set of Z’s jaw, there would be no discussion about refusing this trainee. Marcus could either take on the submissive or step aside as trainer.

But he liked supervising the trainees, helping them broaden their education as submissives, helping them find a dom to match their needs. And the volunteer position filled his need to give back to the community. He tapped his fingers on the bar and considered his options. Perhaps he should meet the new trainee before burning his bridges behind him. As he’d slowly come to know the other Masters, he realized he’d never found a club that suited him so well.

“I’ll work with her.” For now. Then he gave Z a steady look and drew his line in the sand. “You are the owner, sir, but they’re my trainees. I would be most grateful if you could remember that.” Don’t do it again.

Gray eyes level, Z tilted his head in acknowledgement and slid the trainee’s paperwork down the bar top.

With a grin, the bartender set a drink on the bar. “You know, Marcus, you say fuck you almost as politely as the boss.”

Marcus huffed a laugh. No one stayed riled up around Cullen very long. He scanned the papers, giving Cullen the high points. A short summary would go on the bulletin board for the other Shadowlands Masters since they all participated in sub training. “No medical disease or problems. No phobias she’s willing to admit to. She doesn’t want any serious pain, piercing, scarring. Bondage and sex are okayed.” Fairly normal for a trainee’s choices. “Would you please give me a set of trainee cuffs and ribbons?”

The bartender rummaged in the shelves below the bar top, then handed over a pair of gold-colored leather wrist cuffs and a box of colored ribbons.

Marcus added the appropriate ribbons to the cuffs, the colors indicating what the trainee would permit: yellow for mild pain, blue for bondage, green for sex. No red ribbons for severe pain. “Many of the choices have question marks. The information about her past experience is sketchy.” He glanced at Z, hoping for an explanation.

“I don’t know much. I’m simply doing someone a favor.” Z gave Cullen a faint smile. “Does that sound familiar?”

“It does.” Cullen’s laugh boomed out as he glanced at his submissive, a tall, golden-haired sub tough enough to handle the giant dom. He waggled his eyebrows. “Sometimes it’s even worth the effort.”

Andrea wrinkled her nose at her dom and said, “Thanks, Señor.”

Marcus remembered that Cullen had taken her on as a favor when he had charge of the trainees. Well, maybe this new trainee would prove as delightful. “Did Gabrielle herself request that you let her into the program?”

“She wanted in, but a friend-Galen-did the asking for her. He hopes that as a trainee she can find what she needs. He says she’s quite badly behaved, and he recommends you not go easy on her.” Z frowned. “She might prove a challenge even for you, Marcus.”

A difficult submissive. Wonderful. “I’ll do what I can. In fact, I’d best go make her acquaintance and get started.” He clipped the cuffs to the back of his belt, nodded to the two men, and smiled at Andrea, remembering what a run she’d given Cullen before he’d reeled her in. Way too much work. Maybe Z was wrong, and this new trainee would be quiet and sweet and obedient.

She wasn’t by the chain station.

Marcus frowned and looked around, finally spotting her in the hallway for the theme rooms, staring in at the medical room setup. She appeared mesmerized by the gyn table, enema bags, and shelves filled with speculums, dilators, and other fun toys. After walking over silently, he leaned a shoulder against the wall and crossed his arms, taking the time to study her.

Not ugly, but not particularly beautiful either, at least from what he could see. Medium height, nicely padded. A long blue skirt hid her ass and legs. He approved of the black bustier, which pushed up a fine set of breasts. Her shaggy-styled hair barely reached her shoulders. She was a redhead like Nolan’s sub, but more of a strawberry blonde, and her coloring was so pale that she almost glowed. Not a freckle in sight. A light sunburn had pinkened her shoulders and breasts, and he smiled. How far down did the burn go?

His gaze dropped. Submissives went barefoot in the club, and she had pretty feet, but she’d painted her toenails a vibrant blue. Blue?

“Did you get yourself lost?” he asked.

She jumped and spun so quickly her skirt wrapped around her legs. Apparently she’d dyed one fluffy lock of hair on the left to match her toenails. A long scar, a shade lighter than her skin, ran from her left cheekbone to the corner of her mouth. Despite the whiteness indicating it was an old injury, the sight bothered him on a visceral level, that a sub coming into his care had been hurt.

“Oh, hey. Hi.” She shook out her skirt and grinned at him. “I’m just poking around. New place and all that.”

“I see.” Interesting face, he thought. Not a model’s face with jutting cheekbones and sharp chin, hers was all soft curves. Not beautiful, but…friendly. When she smiled, dimples flashed in her cheeks.

But what was she doing by the theme rooms? He asked gently, “Were you instructed to wait here?”

“Ah.” The grin disappeared, and a wary expression shaded her wide brown eyes. “Master Z said the trainer would come back to fetch me.”

“And did he say, ‘Wait here,’ or did he give you permission to wander around?”

When she blushed, her ivory complexion turned a delightful pink. If nothing else, he could look forward to enjoying that.

“He said, ‘Wait here.’” She waved her hand toward the chain station. “Guess I shouldn’t have moved, huh?”

Had she no idea of how to address a dom? How to obey? “I do believe that might have been a mistake.” And so might this trainee Z had dumped on him.