The Dom's Dungeon

Chapter Twenty

As the door to the mansion opened, Mac rubbed her clammy hands on her cape and frowned. She'd heard of butterflies in the stomach, but hers felt more like giant birds. With claws. She pressed her hand to her abdomen. I'm a friendly, competent, pretty woman. I can do this. She could act like a lady and not humiliate herself or embarrass Alex by doing something gauche. Piece of cake.

When she glanced back at their car—again—Alex's arm slid around her waist, preventing any escape. She glared into his amused eyes and managed to put a smile on her face.

“Good evening. Please come in.” The butler—a real one—took their coats. He glanced at Mac's attire and didn't—quite—sniff in disapproval.

Mac raised her chin. Alex had wanted to buy her a dress, but she'd refused. She had an adequate dress, after all. A basic black that she'd worn everywhere, ever since her sorority sister Tiffany had tossed it across the room to Mac, declaring she'd never wear the dismal color again.

In the center of the foyer, Victoria turned from the last guest. When she saw Mac, her smile disappeared. And probably not because of the dress.

Why did Alex have to have a mother? A rich, dignified mother.

“I'm pleased you both could come,” Victoria said, giving her son a kiss on the cheek. “Alex, you know the way.”

Mac stopped just inside the room and stared. A huge chandelier cast glimmering light over people dressed in suits and cocktail dresses. The babble of conversation swamped the soft music. Perfume and aftershave scented the air.

“You look lovely, little vet.” Alex kissed her fingertips, then nipped one sharply enough to make her squeak. “And when this is over, I intend to strip you out of that pretty rag, bend you over a bench, and take you hard.”

Before she'd recovered from the surge of heat at his totally unexpected words, he was introducing her to an older couple. “John, Felicia, this is MacKensie Taylor. She's a vet and working with Susan Weston. MacKensie, this is John and Felicia Lordan. They have three cats from the shelter—or is it four now?”

Just that easily, the conversation took off as Felicia talked about their newest adoptee. Mac gave Alex an admiring glance before attending to the talk.

After meeting more people, Mac turned to Alex. “Most of the people here are high society and politicians, except for the slew of veterinarians infesting the place. Isn't that combination a little strange?”

He grinned. “My mother uses her parties for recruitment. She—” He broke off, his attention on the door.

Pleasure washed through Mac when Peter and Hope entered the room. Look, I actually know someone in Seattle.

While the men shook hands, Hope gave Mac a hug, saying, “I hoped you'd come.” The small group wandered over to the drink table, presided over by a man in a black coat.

Mac smiled at the bartender before confiding to Hope, “This is the first time I ever met a real butler, but I like our Butler better. Not nearly as stuffy.”

“I have noticed that myself.”

Mac turned and froze. Alex's mother. Oh frak. Open mouth, insert foot.

Alex didn't seem to notice the chill as he laughed and said, “Our staff is growing, Mother. We now have a Chef who spends most of his time in the kitchen.” Alex grasped Mac's wrist and turned her arm over to display the scratch marks.

“Our staff?” Victoria's eyebrows rose and then snapped together as her gaze turned to Mac. “You like cats?”

Alex's voice turned cold as he said, “Enough to risk life and limb rescuing a scrawny ball of fluff from the center of Mercer Street.”

Mac winced. She'd thought the story of her dramatic rescue of the cat amusing. Instead she had gotten swatted on the butt—really hard—for almost getting killed.

“Well.” The chill in Victoria's eyes eased. “Good for you. Far too many people don't like cats.”

“I—Well, hell,” Alex said and earned himself a real frown from his mother. He held up his hand. “I'm sorry, Mother. I didn't realize I hadn't mentioned it at the ball. MacKensie's a vet. Susan already snatched her up to work at the hospital.”

Whoa. The chill disappeared completely, Mac noticed, as Victoria murmured, “A vet. Indeed.”

“Here she goes,” Alex muttered, and then the full force of the woman's personality came to bear on Mac.

“Alex is obviously quite amiss in his introductions. I presume he neglected to tell you that I run a cat rescue.”

Mac's jaw dropped. “You?”

“Me. One of the finest in the state. And we have many, many veterinarians”—she glanced around the room with a smile—“who volunteer to help spay and treat our residents.” Victoria tilted her head and waited.

Frak, the woman was way too much like her son. “I… Well, I just started working, but…I'd be delighted to volunteer as soon as I know my schedule.” Actually she would. She'd put in many hours back home doing just that. Her smile felt natural this time. “I really would be happy to help.”

“Excellent. You'll have to invite me over to meet…Chef.” Victoria accepted a drink from the bartender with a nod of thanks. “Such names.” She shook her head. “A few years back, I instructed my son to get a butler for his parties.” She took a sip of her drink, nodded approval at the bartender. “Perhaps I might have indulged in a slight amount of nagging.”

Mac kept her mouth from dropping open. The regal posture couldn't hide the laughter dancing in Victoria's blue eyes.

“As you might have discovered, MacKensie, Alex doesn't respond well to orders.”

“Um. No. He reacts rather badly.” Mac felt a flush creeping up her face. Just this afternoon she'd instructed him to relax rather than building a cat condo. He'd gagged her and cuffed her to a patio post. What kind of man had anchors embedded in posts?

“Exactly,” Victoria said. “So I was quite pleased when he said he'd found a fine butler.”

Mac choked back a laugh as she realized what his mother meant.

“You laugh?” Victoria raised her eyebrows. “I'll have you know, when we were introduced, that incredibly ugly Butler of his licked my ankle.”

Oh Lord, she could just see it. Mac couldn't keep the giggles down.

With a tilt of her head and a smile, Victoria excused herself to see to her guests.

Hope grinned. “Just when I think she's made of ice, she proves me wrong.”

Mac felt a tiny upwelling of hope. Maybe Alex's mother didn't hate her after all. As the others ordered drinks from the bartender, Mac watched Victoria make the rounds, and she realized the woman intimidated every damn person she talked to. Even the congressman.

For the next hour, with either Hope or Alex at her side and eventually by herself, Mac mingled and nibbled on hors d'oeuvres, argued about Seattle and Washington politics, and gossiped about celebrities. She was actually having a good time, she realized. Although a bit conservative, the guests were, without exception, intelligent and involved.

Could life get any better? She had a whole new world here, with a job and a lover and friends. Time to call the real estate agent back in Iowa and get her house listed for sale.

Smiling a little, she turned and came face-to-face with Dickerson. She gasped.

His wet lips drew up in a satisfied smirk. Grabbing her wrist, he leaned toward her. “Want to change your mind, slut?”

The blood drained out of her head, leaving her dizzy. This couldn't be happening.

“My bitch of a wife might have left me”—the enraged, sick look in his eyes made Mac's stomach twist—“but I'll have you to service me every night.”

Her mouth filled with bile, but her answer was engraved in her very bones now. “No, I won't.”

“You're nothing.” Dickerson pulled her closer.

What would it take to make him leave her alone? Insults? “I may be nothing, but you're really little. And the worst I ever had.” Her voice wasn't loud, but people's heads turned at the emotion in it. More turned when she wrenched her arm out of his grasp. “Stay away from me.”

His face turned a horrible purple. “Cunt. You don't belong here among decent people,” he said, then raised his voice. “Victoria, this woman is a whore. She's from the Midwest, where she worked out of an alley, servicing anyone who'd give her money.”

Shocked inhalations filled the air, each sound stabbing through her defenses, until she wondered why there wasn't a pool of blood at her feet. She staggered back a step and tore her gaze from his, only to meet the barrage of eyes. Condemning, disgusted.

Victoria, her mouth pinched thin. Hope, with her hands over her mouth.

Across the room, Alex. Eyes like ice, yet filled with fury. He shoved a person out of his way and headed straight for her.

She ran.

The lights of the city never went dark.

Mac stood on the balcony of the third-rate hotel and watched the cars crossing the Ballard Bridge like a jeweled ribbon of light. The saucerlike Space Needle glowed high above the city. How many children thought it was an alien spacecraft coming to steal them away?

“Take me too,” she whispered, her hands clutching the railing. She stared up into the night sky, clear of clouds, the stars muted by the city. Surely rain should be pouring from the sky and the air should be cold, to match the aching chill inside her.

How can the world go on when mine has been destroyed?

So many people had attended Victoria's party—all the leaders of this city. The gossip would spread, and then everyone would know about her and what she'd done.

In Oak Hollow, Jim had given her a job because he loved her. But here? Even if she and Susan were friendly, the other vets wouldn't permit an ex-whore to work there. My job—gone.

No one else would hire her. My future—gone.

Hope's face, the shock on it. My new friends—gone.

And Alex. She let go of the railing and wrapped her arms around her stomach, trying to contain the pain. She hadn't even dared to return to the house, even to get Chef.

Alex would have followed her there. Of course he would. And she couldn't bear to see the condemnation in his eyes.

Even if he didn't hate her, their time together was finished. No one associated with a whore.

Her knees gave out, and she slid down to sit, facing the desolate hotel room. A few more tears escaped, but she'd pretty much exhausted that avenue of comfort.

Hadn't been much comfort anyway.

Time to pick up and move on, MacKensie. But her past would bite her in the butt no matter where she went. How could she live like that, knowing someone could take everything from her again?

Maybe she should change her name and face. She gave a short laugh. Plastic surgery cost money, and gee, she didn't have a job. Not anymore. Well, she could possibly try a do-it-yourself facial reconstruction: bash her face into the wall, bust her nose, and let it set crooked. Then cut her hair short, spike it, and dye it black.

What the hell. Why not?

She was a survivor. The past years had taught her that. Knock her down and—eventually—she'd pick herself up and march on.

But this time she'd march without her heart. Oh God, Alex… She wouldn't go back for her clothing. No. Just disappear from his life. She rocked back and forth. What would he be thinking now? Would he feel betrayed? She tried to tell herself that he wouldn't care, and kept seeing his face when he held her in the dungeon. “Stay, little vet.”

How long would he wait for her to return? Oh please, don't let him be hurt. Her breath hitched as her throat tightened. Guess she hadn't cried herself out after all.

She heard a key in the lock and looked up.

The hotel-room door opened. A young man in the hotel's uniform glanced at her before turning to someone in the hallway. “You were right, sir. She does look ill. Do you need me to call an ambulance?”

“I'll let you know.” Alex stepped into the room. He handed the bellboy several bills. “Thank you for your help.” As the man disappeared, Alex closed the door.

Alex, Alex, Alex. His name reverberated in her head with the beat of her pulse. “H-how”—her voice cracked—“how did you find me?” She couldn't voice the real question: why are you here?

“Your taxi. We helped start the company. As a courtesy, they keep a car or two on the street for Mother's parties.” He bent and hauled her to her feet.

Couldn't she get anything right? Not even an escape? “Alex,” she whispered. “No.”

His jaw tightened. He pulled her into the room and sat on the bed beside her. His grip moved from her arms to her wrists, a ruthless grip that didn't release when she tugged. “Explain,” he said.

She stared down at his corded, muscular hands, at the thickness of his wrists. “You heard him. It's true. I'm a whore.”

“And you've been trolling Pioneer Square in your spare time?” He snorted. “I said explain. This was what happened twelve years ago. How did you get started?”

She yanked at her hands again without success. Her worst nightmare never included sitting next to Alex and delving into the dregs of her life. “I am not going to talk about it.”

“Yes,” he said quietly, his voice deepening. Dom voice. “You are.”

And he would keep her here until she did. Talking wouldn't be easier an hour from now. Her stomach twisted into a massive, painful knot, and she swallowed hard. The hands encircling her wrists felt more restraining than any leather cuffs. No escape. “I ran away. My foster home… When Arlene's daughter graduated, she closed down. The one I went to—the man tried to touch me.” Her bitter laugh sounded more like a sob. “I ran from him and ended up under others. Smart, huh?”

His thumbs rubbed the back of her hands, and the tiny comforting gesture made tears pool in her eyes. He couldn't hate her and do that.

“How old were you?”

“Fifteen. Old enough to know better.”

“You could have gone back…”

“I'd decided to. But…I was stupid, so stupid. I hadn't eaten in three days, and a guy bought me a burger. He said he had an extra room.” Alex's hands slid down to hold hers, enfolding them in warmth. “I walked into his apartment thinking everything was going to be all right.” The relief singing through her.Food. A place to stay. A friend. Then the slap, coming out of nowhere. “He was a pimp. He beat me.” A fist in the stomach. The shocking, horrible pain…

She tried to smile as she said lightly, “I tried to escape once or twice, but he didn't like that.” The beatings, over and over. Face pressed into the carpet, bleeding, crying.

Alex's hands tightened around hers, and she heard a low noise, almost like a growl, but when he spoke, his voice was even. Unemotional. “How did you escape?”

“Jim.” The memory caught her and pulled her upward. The sweetness of being cared for, of being loved. Why did they have to die? “Jim and Mary found me after a…client had expressed his displeasure, and Ajax had…” She licked her dry lips. “They took me in.” Clean. Bandaged. Fed. But she didn't trust them. She'd already unlocked the bedroom window. “Jim came in and put a puppy into my lap.” Wiggles and joy, soft and trusting. “I…I was caught.”

“How old were you then?”

“Just under sixteen. I had walked the streets about a year.”

“They kept you. Helped you get into college. And then you went back to Oak Hollow for Jim.”

Her gaze jumped up. “How'd you know that?”

His eyes crinkled, and then his gaze turned cold. “The point is that you should have been the one to tell me.”

She should have. Guilt seared through her so fast that her eyes teared. She looked down, away, anywhere but at his face. “I'm s-sorry. I should have told you about being a whore. That you'd be going to bed with a—”

“Dammit!” Hard hands gripped her shoulders, and Alex shook her once. “You're not a whore. And you should have told me because you share painful things with your Dom—and your lover. I thought you'd been raped, for God's sake.”

“Not rape. I gave it away for money,” she whispered, the shame like scalding water.

“Oh, sweetheart.” A hand against her cheek turned her face to his. “You were a teenager, which is another term for idiotic. You jumped from bad into worse, but that wasn't your fault. Hell, even if you took money for sex and had a good time doing it, that's not something I'd hold against you.” A crease appeared in his cheek. “I know too many women—and men—who've married for money, which is essentially the same thing, only with better living conditions.” He set her on his lap and wrapped her in his arms.

The sweetness of his embrace made more tears come. But she knew he didn't really mean it. A whore was a whore.