This is who I am

Chapter Twenty

In the Shadowlands, Sam leaned against the bar, keeping an eye on the door. No Linda yet. His gut was coiled like a rattlesnake about to strike. Over the past couple of weeks, she’d been out of town on buying trips to restock her store. The two times she’d returned, he’d been tied up with the construction, the groves, planting.

Was she pulling away? He snorted. Men often stepped back from a relationship after a wedding, but not women. Wouldn’t that be fucked-up?

He wasn’t comfortable with how much he missed talking with her. He missed her sweet body against him in bed. Missed hearing her laugh. She’d given him her cell phone number, but damn. He wasn’t the type to talk on a phone.

“Sam.” Wearing the gold-trimmed vest of a dungeon monitor, Jake strolled up. “Z asked if you wanted to monitor the Gardens tonight.”

Linda had said she’d try to make it tonight. “Not this time.”

“Here go, boys.” Cullen handed Jake a bottled water and thumped one down in front of Sam before moving up the bar to mix a drink from the fancy-ass liquors.

“Thanks, Cullen,” Jake called. He opened the bottle and regarded Sam quizzically. “Never seen you play in the Capture Gardens.”

“Never will.” Sam studied the man. A shame it hadn’t worked out with Heather. “Served in ’Nam. I can understand the rape fantasy. Seeing it in real life left a bad taste.”

Jake lowered the bottle without drinking. “I get that. Saw the aftermath a time or two.” He paused for a moment, then said slowly, “You monitor the Gardens a lot.”

Sam shrugged. Fantasy was fine, but there wouldn’t be any real rapes happening on his watch.

As if Sam had spoken, Jake frowned. “Got it.” After sucking his water down, he checked his watch. “I’ll keep an eye on the Games for you tonight.”

Good man. As the Dom strolled away, Sam watched Linda appear in the door. And there she is. The tightness in his shoulders relaxed.

Her black dress was midthigh—too long—but the way it clung to her ample curves left him in a forgiving mood. She was barefoot too, so Ben hadn’t approved whatever shoes she’d hoped to wear. She made it a few steps into the clubroom before the noise stopped her.

Sam grinned. Z and Jessica had returned from their honeymoon. The club had been closed for the two weeks they were gone, and now everyone was in a celebratory mood.

The music was an upbeat Lacuna Coil, making the scenes lighter than normal. The Mistress caning her blonde sub danced a few steps between each strike. Over at a suspension scene, the Dom had set the submissive to swinging in time with the music.

Linda took it in, picking up the atmosphere immediately. She bounced a little herself. To Sam’s satisfaction, when she spotted him, she headed over immediately.

When he caught her lavender-and-lime scent, he hardened. As he roused to the darker side of the Shadowlands, the beast inside him rose at the approach of its prey. A sadist’s toy.

Her pupils dilated at the look he gave her. Under her silky black top, her nipples contracted into hard spikes.

Good. Someone wanted to play. Curving his fingers around her nape, he cupped her breast with his other hand. When his thumb circled a nipple, he saw the tension mount inside her. Damn, but he’d missed her. “I’d order you a drink, but I’d rather hurt you first.”

She looked shocked. Then red streaked her cheeks.

He kissed her lightly and whispered against her mouth, “See you cry.”

Her lips quivered under his.

“Hear you scream.”

“Oh, heavens.” Her voice was as husky as if she’d already gifted him with a few screams.

He fisted her hair, keeping her in place, then tightened his fingers on one nipple, firmly enough to hear her suck in air. As he watched, he could see how the pain slid into her like a caress.

Arousal lit her eyes and darkened her lips.

“Let’s go.” He led her through the main room, down the hallway, and into the colder, crueler dungeon room. Manacles and shackles were embedded in the rock walls. Chains hung from the dark ceiling beams. A queen’s throne near the back held a Mistress with a slave worshipping her feet. Whimpering came from a submissive on the bondage table who had a dominant couple taking turns with wax play. A thin male sub strapped in the leather sling groaned as his Dom fucked him hard.

Sam put his arm around Linda and pulled her close, studying her face. Anxiety and arousal, but no fear. She’d come a long way in trusting him. He picked a free area and yanked on the chains dangling from a heavy beam. Sturdy. Z was as careful as any Dom he’d met, but checking equipment was a habit. No submissive would suffer harm he didn’t intend to give her.

Linda’s gaze focused on the chain, and she jumped when he ordered, “Strip and kneel.”

Her sweet compliance made him smile.

“Good girl.” He really did like the submissive-masochists. And he intended to test her surrender, to push it a step further.

Her melting brown eyes showed both trepidation and need. It had been over two weeks since they’d played, since he’d hurt her. They’d both enjoy tonight.

He bent and fastened well-padded leather wrist cuffs on her with panic snaps attached to the D-rings.

Her eyes went wide, and she started to shiver. Just the way he liked his subs. Pain was meat and potatoes, but anxiety added the dessert. “Up, girl.”

She rose, moving into position slowly. Odd how a masochist craved pain yet wanted to avoid it.

He clipped her wrist cuffs to a place on the chain that would keep her steady but not up on tiptoes. Not only because she didn’t have a younger woman’s supple joints, but also because he wanted her able to wiggle her ass this time. A Velcro strap around her ankles kept her legs together and limited other mobility. Her breathing had sped up, and he took a minute to stroke her smooth back. She had the prettiest dimples on each side of her low spine. Her legs were tanned, but her ass remained a seductive white that begged for stripes.

“Relax, missy. This won’t hurt much.”

She snorted. “‘This won’t hurt much’ from a sadist is as believable as hearing a root canal is just a little uncomfortable.”

“You’re right.” He grinned and slapped her ass, leaving red handprints on the white canvas. And because he enjoyed the sound of his palm hitting skin and her sharp inhalations, he spanked her even longer. After a bit, her muscles loosened and her ass pushed back for each swat. His cock hardened, wanting to satisfy her unspoken request, but he’d wait until she was breathing in the stinging like incense.

When her skin glowed a rosy red, he decided to up her arousal. Some masochists were a straight line—pain alone. Some liked a base of pain and sex, and he loved to drive both sides of that triangle right to a peak at the top.

After pulling a stool over to her side, he donned a glove and lubed the fingers. With a hand on her belly to keep her still, he forced his slick his fingers between her ass cheeks.

“Noooooo.” Even her whining was beautifully musical.

Trying not to laugh, he pressed one finger against her anus, breached the rim of muscle, and slid in.

Her back arched in unspoken protest as she gasped.

“We’re just getting started, you know.” He emphasized the statement by sliding his free hand up to give each breast a hard squeeze. Even as she hissed a protest, her ass cheeks clenched on his hand, making him grin. He added another finger. Damn, she was tight. His dick was uncomfortable inside his leather pants.

When he moved his hand from her breasts down to her pussy, she was as slick as any Dom could want. Still seated on the round stool, he pinned her legs between his knees. Watching her face, he set his thumb over her clit and thrust two fingers into her cunt. Her asshole clenched in response around his other fingers. Circling her clit, he alternated finger thrusts between her cunt and asshole until he heard her breathing change, until he felt her leg muscles tighten as she approached orgasm.

The perfect time to add in more pain.

When he slid his fingers out, she groaned in frustration.

After disposing of the glove, Sam took a kiss, playing with her nipples at the same time. When he lifted his head, her eyes were closed, her cheeks flushed. Beautiful Linda.

Wrapping an arm around her waist, he bent and swatted her ass. Her body tensed—no, she wasn’t in subspace yet. The beast in him loved this point, when she still felt the pain a moment before the pleasure. She was almost to the shift, after which every blow would feel good.

As guttural Lesiëm chants came from the dungeon’s speakers, Sam spanked her ass in time with the music. Undoubtedly, each swat vibrated that tender little asshole he’d just stretched.

When a few people came into the dungeon to stand by the wall and watch, Linda noticed and flushed.

Sam grasped her chin, turning her head toward him. “Attention on me.”

“Yes, Sir.” Her eyes focused on him. Only him.

“That’s right, girl.” He ran his knuckles gently down her cheek. A submissive’s need to please could often override any other instinct, and Linda was deeply submissive.

And ready for more. Her breasts were puckered nicely, her cheeks flushed, lips reddened. Damn, she was pretty.

He picked up the cane from his bag and started on her ass. Eventually, he’d move around to her breasts for some fun.

SOMETIME LATER, AS Linda slid back into reality, her skin swam with lingering sensations. Her breasts ached with the most delicious burn from the light caning followed by the crop. As if in balance, her back, bottom, and upper thighs felt scalded with sublime pleasure.

Everything had felt so good. Her head sagged against her upraised arm; her mind as hazy as if filled with fragrant smoke that made curling tendrils in the empty space.

Time had passed. Maybe a lot. She’d gotten off twice and still wanted more. More pain, more touches. More, more, more. But Sam had said no—said she’d had enough. And now he flicked the crop up and down her back in mere touches of velvety pleasure rather than a conflagration. He was bringing her up slowly, barely cracking the window to reality. He was so careful of her.

And she loved him so much.

Her body throbbed, but now she could feel how the air was slightly cool against her legs. How her shoulders were starting to ache. The heavy sound of a flogger came from her right. People were talking somewhere in a low hum of conversation. She tried to raise her head and gave it up as a lost effort. Didn’t seem to matter. Everything was so comfortable. Her blood sang through her veins with lovely little surges; air flowed in and out of her lungs. What a nicely working body.

“Linda?”

“Mmmm?”

Sam made that low snorty chuckle. “You’re still off in space.”

She started to close her eyes—realized they’d already closed—and instead tipped her head, hoping he’d make that growly sound—the one that squeezed her spine, hand over hand, right down to her core.

Instead, she heard other voices from the observers. A tenor, a baritone, a woman’s contralto. Then a higher tenor with an odd…scratchy sound.

Goose bumps broke out on her body as her chest tightened. That voice. Her hands fisted as the stench of the slave cages swept over her. Her own body stinking of urine and fear, women sobbing and screaming, and—

“Goddamn.” Hard hands closed on her shoulders, a body pressed against her, and she cringed, shook her head, trying to get the fog to lift. “No. No.” Her lips were numb, her words slurred.

“Open your eyes.”

The rough command swept through her, lifting the pressure on her chest so she could take a breath. Many, many breaths. The air was too heavy to fill her lungs.

“Eyes on me.” Fingers gripped her chin, lifted her head.

Eyes. Hers were scrunched shut. She forced them open and stared into the blazing blue fire of Sam’s gaze. As her knees buckled, her weight dropped painfully onto her restrained arms. She jerked at them, needing to be free. Get away. Run.

“Easy, girl.” His powerful arm closed around her waist, holding her up. With his other hand, he used the quick release to free her left wrist, then the right.

“I’ll get her ankles, Sam.” A woman’s voice. Worried.

Chills ran up Linda’s spine, spreading to fill her until she shuddered. A blast of heat swept over her skin, followed by more ice. She couldn’t stop shaking.

The world spun as Sam lifted her into his arms. “Look at me, Linda. Just at me,” he growled. Lights flickered to the sides as if she were in a car moving through a fog-filled landscape. Lost in a blurry world.

But his arms were around her, his chest solid against her side. A tremor shook her so horribly she moaned, and the fear-filled sound of her own voice shocked her.

Somewhere darker, quieter, he sat down.

He said something incomprehensible, yet the senseless growling smoothed the terrified knots in her head. Something wrapped around her. Warm. Fuzzy. Sam shifted, pulling it securely around her.

Naked. She’d been naked. Now she wasn’t. She blinked, expecting to see a ballroom filled with buyers and slaves. Her gaze focused on a pedestal planter filled with ferns. Another held begonias. The tiny blooms were like stars in the dark foliage. Life in the darkness. No one was screaming. The police had shouted and—no, that wasn’t here.

She wasn’t at the slave auction.

Men were talking. Her brows drew together as she tried to understand the words.

“What happened? She didn’t seem anywhere close to a panic attack.” A voice like the most expensive of dark chocolates. Familiar.

“Hit some trigger, but damned if I know what.” The subterranean rumble through the chest under her ear. She could listen to him forever. “Never had a sub panic at the end of a scene. She’d been totally in subspace, and I was bringing her down.”

“That is odd. May I speak to her?”

“Do it. She’s back with us.”

She felt a brush of something on her hair. Sam was rubbing his chin on the top of her head in the most comforting of gestures, the one that said, I got you.

The other man’s voice lowered. “Linda, I feel you listening. Can you look at me?”

Why did her eyes keep closing? Sam’s arm was across her waist, his fingers holding her hip. She curled her fingers around his forearm—stay here—and forced her eyes open. Saw nothing except skin. Her face was pressed against his chest. Don’t want to move. Don’t want to see.

“C’mon, baby. Head up.” His voice was deeper. Rougher. She’d worried him. Love him. Don’t want to worry him.

She dug her fingernails into his skin so no one could snatch her away, then lifted her head. He held her tighter as if to reinforce she was safe. She turned her head.

Master Z was on one knee, both forearms on his thigh as he waited for her. “That’s a good girl.” His smile was faint, his gaze dark gray. Someone else she’d worried.

“I’m sorry.” Her throat felt as if it had rusted from years of disuse. “It’s your coming-home celebration. I didn’t mean—”

Sam made a gruff sound of disbelief, but his arms didn’t loosen.

As long as he held her, she didn’t care how many noises he made. Her body was waking, starting to feel everything he’d done. The burgeoning fear made her skin feel as if a scrub brush had scraped her raw.

“You’re more important.” Z’s voice was low, patient. He didn’t move. She’d lured a kitten from under her porch in just that way. Fuzzy, soft kitten. “You had a panic attack,” Z said. “Can you tell me what happened?”

Did he think Sam had done something wrong? “Not Sam. He didn’t do—”

“Not Samuel,” he agreed. “Or you wouldn’t cling to him like that.” His gaze dropped to where her fingers were clenched around Sam’s arm.

She must be hurting him. She couldn’t make her fingers loosen. A whimper slid out of her.

“Shhh.” Sam’s whisper ruffled her hair. “Hang on all you want, girl.”

“Did you see something that frightened you?” Master Z asked.

“My eyes were closed,” she said as Sam muttered, “Her eyes were closed.”

“Feel something that brought back memories?”

She pulled in a breath. Right before she’d panicked, she’d felt the tiny flickers of the crop, like a light touch after an orgasm, just enough to keep it going. He was good at giving pain. Giving orgasms too. The corners of her lips tilted up as she brought her attention back to Z.

“You’re feeling better.” He was smiling slightly. “So not anything Sam did.”

“Did you smell something?” Sam’s voice was as soft as a gravel truck could get.

Think, Linda. She tilted her head, remembering the feel of the whip, then the smells of the dungeon. A mineral scent along with the fragrance of leather and a hint of the cleanser. “No.”

“That leaves sound,” Z said. “Tell me what you heard, Linda.”

The whip flicking. “Music. Gregorian chants. People talking. They were watching.” She moved her shoulders. “But that didn’t bother me.” Nice voices. Talking. A tenor, a baritone, a woman’s contralto. A higher tenor with an…odd scratchy sound. Her breath caught as if someone had stomped on her chest.

Sam’s arms squeezed the last of the air from her. “Got you, Linda. You’re safe.”

Her eyes had scrunched closed again. I’ve heard that tenor before. She forced her eyes open.

Master Z held her gaze. “Tell us.”

“He was here. Someone…someone from…” She forced the word past her lips. “A slaver. I know his laugh. His voice.”

Sam growled under his breath.

Master Z’s eyes turned almost black. “What does he look like?”

Over and over, she tried to put a face with the voice. Nothing. She was disappointing Sam. Tears stung her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Sam’s arm moved, even with her holding it, as he tilted her face up to look at her. “Sorry for what, baby?”

“I don’t know his face,” she whispered. “I never…”

They stayed silent.

“In the cages. We were in cages for a while. And when people came, I kept my eyes closed. Trying to make them go away.” Make everything all go away.

“Closed your eyes, huh?” Sam huffed an actual laugh. “Bet you hid under the covers as a little girl like Nicole did.” He wasn’t mad. Wasn’t blaming her. In fact, his hand slid from her chin to cup her cheek as he tucked her back against his chest.

She let out a sigh, feeling her body melt into him. Warm. Safe.

“Linda,” Z asked, “are you sure you heard someone from when you were imprisoned? Could the voice just be similar?”

“I’m sure.”

Silence. She felt the owner of the Shadowlands study her and realized her eyes were shut again.

“Talk later, Z,” Sam said. “I took her deep. She’s going to drop hard.”

The rustle of clothes. She didn’t want to open her eyes. Maybe the bad ones would all go away. Only they never had before. Closing her eyes hadn’t worked. Hadn’t saved her. Nothing had. She felt tears spill from her eyes to roll down her cheeks.

“Linda. Look at me.” When she opened her eyes, Z was looking down at her with a gentle expression. “Samuel and I are proud of you, little one. You did well.” He squeezed her shoulder and left, his gait smooth and silent.

A knot loosened inside her but didn’t halt the sadness, a thick ocean fog through the streets of her mind, covering her world in gray. Sad, sad gray. Is that where Holly is? Buried in gray?

A sob made her breathing stumble. Then another.

Sam rumbled something, and after a second she realized what he’d said. “Cry, girl. I won’t let go. Cry.”

Burying her head in his shoulder, she did.

To see the redheaded ex-slave have a panic attack had been quite diverting. As the spotter strolled toward the unattached submissives’ area, he smiled.

Even more satisfying was seeing the Dom’s scene crash and burn. Such a pity, Master Sam. The asshole. Although Davies could wield a whip well, he always stopped too soon. Didn’t break the submissives, didn’t force them to grovel. And afterward, he treated the sluts like pampered babies.

Disgusting. Aaron’s jaw clenched. Stupid slaves would kneel and beg Davies for a flogging. Some of them were ones who’d turned Aaron down when he’d invited them to play. I’m far more of a Master than he’ll ever be. I’ve fucked more women, hurt more women.

Killed more women.

He smoothed his hair down as satisfaction filled him. Yes, he’d had a fine time recently. He’d been smart to continue using prostitutes. They were sleazy, but…nicely simple. Flash some money, pick one up, deal with her how he pleased. Leave the body in a ditch and take his money back. Yes, he had to be cautious about leaving evidence, but at least he had no Harvest Association Overseer to placate over damaged—or dead—merchandise.

And for a pleasant treat between kills, he used the Shadowlands.

As he neared the bar, he noticed the side door was ajar. Z must have opened the Capture Gardens. Now that promised to be fun. Perhaps a bit risky, since Z and the Masters kept a close eye on the proceedings. But there were ways around that.

As he approached the unattached submissives, he surveyed the offerings. Two of them he’d played with before. No. Not in a mood to exert himself unduly, he also rejected the most athletic-looking women. He’d save his energy for roughing up his prey. And fucking her. Up the ass would suit his mood tonight.

A tattooed one caught his eye. Nice. But then he saw the trainee cuffs on her wrists. Not a good choice. Z kept a close eye on the trainees. All the Masters did.

Ah, perhaps that brunette. She couldn’t be more than midtwenties. He preferred older slaves, but for what he had in mind in the Gardens, an inexperienced submissive would be best. He stalked into the sitting area, gave them all an impersonal, cold stare, and watched them react to his dominance. “I’m looking for some sport in the Capture Gardens,” he said.

Three of the submissives, including his choice, showed interest. He held his hand out to her. “Would you care to play the game?”

She jumped to her feet. “Sure.”

Noticing a slut he’d used before shaking her head no toward the girl, he smoothly moved the girl away. “Do you have a safe word?”

“I use red.” The girl tried to look confident.

He almost laughed. “Red will be fine.” Wasn’t it a shame she wouldn’t be able to yell with his hand over her mouth? And he could tell that when he broke the insecure sub down and scared her enough, she wouldn’t return to the Shadowlands. Wouldn’t tell a soul.