Masters of the Shadowlands 7 - This is who I am

by Sinclair Cherise

  “When you were young, did you tell your girlfriend your concerns about school? Making ends meet?” Z waited for an answer.

  Sam frowned, trying to remember. In the military. Complaining about a hard-ass lieutenant—one who reminded him of his stepfather. As a civilian, attending college at night. Telling…Tammy—that was her name—about how he worried over his grades. “Guess I did.”

  “How about your daughter? Do you discuss your worries about the farm? Or tell her what she means to you?”

  Sam opened his mouth. Closed it. How long had it been since he’d said anything like that to her?

  Z straightened. “At one time, you were that kind of a person. Now you’re not. To me, that says you changed because of some experience.”

  Sam frowned, knowledge getting a good clamp on his guts. He’d experienced Nancy.

  “Think about it. Figure out if you want that experience to determine the rest of your life.” Z took a few steps away before glancing back with a slight smile. “Be nice to the trainees, please. There’s a new one tonight, and she’s nervous.”

  Goddammit.

  After stewing at the bar for far too long, Sam headed through the room to check on his trainees. He stopped near the back to watch old Gerald strapping his wife to a whipping post. At least seventy, Martha was what Sam would consider a lightweight masochist. But pain fulfilled something in her, both in her submission to Gerald and erotically.

  Once Martha was restrained, Gerald swatted her ass with a narrow paddle, watching her as if she were a Playboy bunny. After a few blows, he leaned down and tucked a stray lock of gray hair behind her ear. He was speaking softly.

  But Sam could hear him.

  “I love you, Martha mine. Love seeing you wiggle. Love seeing you pant. Love you, period.”

  The look in her eyes was…indescribable.

  Sam walked away. That’s what Linda wanted. That baring of the soul. Emotions. Z hit the nail right on the head. Damn Nancy for messing with his mind. Damn himself for letting her and retreating so far he couldn’t give Linda what she needed. So far that she compared him to a slaver.

  Near the end of the room, Sam saw a Dom considering some of the paddles hanging on the wall. Z didn’t bother with artwork—not when he had toys to display. Maybe Sam should decorate his walls that way too. He frowned, remembering the painting that used to hang over the mantel—one of the farmhouse when it was first built.

  Nancy had destroyed it in a tantrum. With the talent of a manipulator, she’d destroyed anything they loved. Sometimes just objects, other times nonphysical prizes—memories and emotions. Whatever she discovered about a person, she later used as a weapon. He’d learned to keep everything to himself.

  Sam’s throat tightened. How had that affected his little girl? After a minute, he realized Nicole had bottled up her emotions, but just with her mother. She still talked with others, laughed, showed how she felt. Nicole pushed away only Nancy.

  Sam had locked all the doors with himself inside. Nicole was stronger than he was.

  “Sam?” A light touch on his arm. “I mean, Master Sam?”

  He straightened and looked down. Linda.

  “Are you all right?” Concern filled her gentle eyes. For him. He’d been rude to her, had pulled away, and she still worried about him. The woman hadn’t a clue how special she was. Or what she meant to him. His fault.

  “Linda—”

  “I don’t know what you’re thinking about, but stop.” Her expression showed only sweetness as she put her arms around him. “I love you, Sam. It’s okay if you don’t feel the same, but honey, I do love you.”

  Warmth spread through him, dissolving the ice that had started to grow. He put his arms around her and pulled her closer. She didn’t know what she was offering. She shouldn’t love a person so messed up.

  “Figure out if you want that experience to determine the rest of your life.” Did he let Nancy win, or did he fight? He swallowed. “I told you that my ex-wife is a drug addict. She always needed drugs, and she’d use anything I told her as ammunition to get what she wanted. I stopped sharing.”

  Linda didn’t look up, just tightened her grip.

  His mouth flattened. “Nancy came to the farm last Sunday. That’s why—” Hell, how did people do this? He couldn’t. He pulled her closer, not wanting to let her go. But he must. “I’m sorry. I’m not good for you, girl.” He gently set her from him and walked—fled—toward the dungeon.

  LINDA SAGGED AGAINST the back of a couch, staring after Sam. She’d said she loved him—and he’d hugged her as if it meant something to him. And he’d apologized and shared. His ex sounded purely horrible.

  He’d held her before pushing her away. Her lips curved. He’d said one thing—his hug had said another.

  “Whoa, what was all that about?” Sally slipped an arm around her and leaned her hip on the couch. “He sure didn’t look happy with you.”

  Linda shook her head. “He told me something about his ex. She sounds like a real bitch.”

  “Seriously? He never talks about his wife. Or much of anything else, come to think of it.”

  But he’d opened up for her, cracked his wall of silence. I love you, Sam, and I see you’re trying. Don’t give up—we can do this. “He’s definitely confusing me.” She huffed a sigh. “But I can’t think about it now. Time to get to work.” She had a slaver to find.

  “I’m on the other side of the room,” Sally said, “but I’ll try to keep an eye on you.”

  Linda gave her a squeeze. “Thanks.” And Sam would watch over her. She never doubted that for a second.

  * * * *

  See who was now a trainee. The spotter pretended to watch a girl-on-girl scene as he studied the redheaded ex-slave. Quite interesting that she’d become one of Z’s trainees. He could see her getting involved with a Dom—after all, the Association “harvested” women in the lifestyle. But the trainee duties seemed rather beneath her.

  He wasn’t complaining though. Now he’d have a chance to enjoy her. A pale- redhead whose skin would mark up beautifully. He liked seeing the results of his efforts.

  He also preferred the older women, who were less brittle than the young ones, more adaptable, with a stronger core.

  And he loved breaking masochists. If they were terrified enough or the pain was the type they hated, he could keep them out of subspace. Hurt them in ways that made them scream.

  He was uncomfortably hard as the redhead walked past the bar. Unfortunately, since she was a new trainee, he’d get no chance at her tonight. But eventually? Most definitely.

  Maybe he could talk her into meeting him somewhere. He needed some relief. His kills had been discovered, and the reporters were having a field day announcing a serial killer who chopped off his victim’s hair. And that the women were all prostitutes. Last night in the red-light district, he’d spotted four plainclothes officers. Even worse, the whores weren’t getting into cars.

  As he watched her talk with people, he frowned. Her demeanor seemed…off. After greeting a Dom, she’d tilt her head as if listening intently and the man would get a careful study. Her attitude wasn’t that of a submissive looking for a master.

  Uneasiness made him stiffen as she walked past. Her gaze flickered over him. When her body language didn’t change, he relaxed. She didn’t recognize him.

  She would though.

  He’d enjoy reminding her of where they’d “met.” Right before he started on her with his knife.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Later that evening, Sam released the first shift of trainees and put the second shift to work as barmaids. After matching Dara and Sally with Doms who fit their interests, he saw Linda moving toward the bar.

  She walked past the two FBI agents who were—apparently—arguing the merits of a female president, and set her tray of empties in front of Cullen.

  “Thank you, pet,” the bartender said. As he tugged her hair, she gave that low, open laugh that always lifted Sam’s spirits.


  Damn, he’d missed her.

  A Dom seated at the bar chatted with her and ran his hand down her bare upper arm. Her back muscles tightened. She didn’t like the guy’s touch.

  Sam stalked over. “Trainee. Come with me.”

  She glanced over her shoulder, and her eyes widened. “Yes, Sir.” To Sam’s satisfaction, she obeyed instantly, pulling away from the Dom.

  Sam closed his hand around her nape, enjoying the shiver she gave at his touch, then guided her to a quieter place in the room. “You got any idea of what you want to do now, girl?”

  She frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s my job to see that you meet Doms and explore the areas you’re interested in.” Z, with typical thoroughness, had made Linda complete the trainee paperwork, including a limits list. Earlier, Sam had checked the file and noted activities they hadn’t tried.

  “But I’m not here to, uh, explore.”

  “I know.” He moved forward, past her personal boundary and into intimate space. Another inch and her gorgeous breasts would rub against his chest. Or his rapidly hardening cock would nudge her lower stomach.

  Rather than stepping back, she made an infinitesimal movement toward him.

  Oh, hell yeah, she still wanted him. “Part of the night is saved for a trainee to gain experience, and it will look odd if you don’t. Got anyone in mind you want to play with?”

  “Play with…someone?” She pulled in a breath. “Of course. I-I knew that.” He watched as she recovered. “I can do that. I did the first time I came here, didn’t I?”

  So damned brave. He might have called her bluff, but she wasn’t in a good place to be teased. His hand moved of its own accord and cupped her cheek. “Linda, it’s your choice. Would you rather play with me?”

  The answer showed so clearly in her beautiful brown eyes that he didn’t need her to speak. Although the hesitation before she said, “Yes. If you wouldn’t mind,” felt like an insult.

  For the insult, he answered, “No problem. Part of the job.”

  At the flicker of hurt in her face, he cursed himself and curved his hands on each side of her neck, letting his thumbs stroke her jawline. “More than that, girl.” He pushed past the bottleneck on his words and continued. “I’d like to play with you. I always have.” Always will.

  Tears gleamed in her eyes before she blinked them back. “Okay. Okay then. Now what?”

  Tough little woman. Too damn tough and brave for her own good. “Are you up for a full scene? Pain, bondage, sex?”

  She bit her lip, and he could read her too easily. Her head said no, but the rest of her wanted him. The relief that she hadn’t given up on them shook him.

  When she nodded, he couldn’t keep from moving closer. From kissing her. He’d missed the pleasure of taking her mouth. “It’s a good night for role-playing.”

  She looked intrigued. “Like what?”

  Like a scene he’d planned a while back. Her speech in the entry about being programmed had shoved it to the top of the list. “A reversal of the businessman-secretary role-play. A game within a game.”

  Her brows drew together.

  “I give you tasks and ask questions. You must answer honestly. But I also want you to act out. Be a brat. Be rude. Do the tasks badly. When you do, you’ll get rewarded by being punished in a way we’ll both like. However, if you’re quiet and well-behaved, I’ll make you do things you won’t find appealing.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “What’s the point of that?”

  “I’ll explain later. Maybe.” Would she figure it out? He rubbed her cheek with his knuckles, enjoying the softness. “Upstairs in the Purple Room, Z keeps fetish and costume wear. Put on secretarial clothing. No underwear. Hair up off your neck. Glasses. Bring me a suit coat when you come down. Extra-large. I’ll see you in the office-theme room in ten minutes.”

  She simply stood, staring at him.

  He put a low snap in his voice. “Move, girl.”

  * * * *

  Wow, she really felt like a secretary. As she crossed the club and walked down the theme-room hallway, a few members grinned, recognizing the stereotypical look. Her black skirt hugged her butt more closely than she liked, but the white silk blouse she might have bought for herself. Without a bra, her nipples made dark points under the thin material. But the black reading glasses—without lenses—were great.

  The hall contained people observing scenes through the large windows. The medical room was across from the office room, and she glanced in, then winced. A Domme was inserting needles in a straight line down one side of her submissive’s muscular back. The man flinched with each puncture, but from his expression, he was in a happy place.

  Linda felt envious. Not of the piercing—heavens, no. But the subspace. She felt as if centuries had passed since she’d played with Sam.

  As she opened the door, she saw him and felt that inexplicable bounce of her heart. He waited beside a fancy oak desk in a room fashioned to look like an office. A tall filing cabinet stood against one wall. A chair sat in front of the desk. A couch and coffee table were near the far wall.

  After donning the suit coat she’d fetched, he gave her an approving smile. “Miss Madison, I’m Sam Davies, the CEO of Pain International.” He held his hand out.

  “Ah.” Right. Get with the program. She shook his hand. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

  “Take a seat. We’ll get right to the interview.”

  Interview? She blinked, then shrugged and took the hardwood chair in front of the massive oak desk. At least she wouldn’t have to pretend to take notes in shorthand.

  After seating himself behind the desk, Sam opened a red folder and actually donned his reading glasses to peruse the contents. He was so, so sexy with glasses.

  He nodded to himself as he read. When he frowned at another paper, her hands turned clammy as if she were really applying for a job. Finally he looked up and pinned her with a keen gaze over the top of his glasses. “A widow. Children in college. How much trouble do they give you?”

  Huh. He really meant to keep this interviewlike. “Not much. They’re quite good children, aside from being at that rebellious age.”

  His gaze chilled. “How nice to meet an honest and polite applicant.” The compliment was at definite odds with his annoyed look. Why? He knocked the pencil holder off the desk. “Oops. Pick those up while I read the rest of this report.”

  Pushing her glasses up, she obediently knelt on the gleaming hardwood floor, righted the holder, and put the first pencil in.

  He sighed. “So goddamned well behaved. Use your teeth then.”

  She stared at him and caught his direct look. Realized why. He’d told her to be rude. Honest, but rude. If she were “quiet or well-behaved,” he’d choose things she didn’t like. Well, he was sure on target with picking up pencils with her teeth. Ew.

  Must be rude. “You’re pretty clumsy, Davies. You should pick them up yourself.” She felt…odd…saying that. “Don’t be impertinent, honey. It’s important that you’re always polite.” Her mama’s voice distorted and slid into the Overseer’s. “Sluts don’t speak.”

  “Miss Madison, are you applying for a job or taking a nap down there?”

  “Yes, Sir. I’m so sorry.” As she reached for a pencil, his frown stopped her. Rude. Be rude. Not knowing what to say, she picked up a pencil and threw it onto the desk. Everything inside her cringed at the action. “There’s one.”

  She caught the glint of approval and threw two more. “Almost done, Mr. Dumb Davies.”

  His lips quirked. “Enough of that. Come here.”

  She rose, took a step forward, and realized she was doing it again. Blind passive obedience. “No.” She dropped into her chair. “Get on with the interview before I get bored.”

  His eyebrows went up. “Bored?” He flipped a page. “Small-town girl. Your father was pastor of a church? Pretty straitlaced, I bet.”

  “That’s right.” Why is it so hard to be rude?
“What’s it to you?” She sprawled out, her legs extended.

  “You’re just racking up punishments, Miss Madison. Behave yourself.”

  Before she could stop, she sat upright, knees together, hands in lap. “My daughter is a good girl. Did you see how well she sat and listened to the sermon?”

  “Nicely obedient.” Sam sounded disgusted. “Bend over and let me see your ass.”

  Her face flushed. “That isn’t fair. I…” Obeyed you. I was good. He didn’t want her to be good. To be polite. Her brain felt as if it were playing a song with dissonant chords.

  “Now. Not next week.”

  She rose and turned and—dummy. She spun back around. “What kind of a CEO are you? That’s just disgusting.”

  He snorted. “Gabi should give you some pointers on how to be insulting.” He rose and walked around the desk. “Come here.”

  The look in his eyes had her backing toward the door. “Uh-uh.”

  Taking a step forward, he caught her shirt by the front and yanked her to the desk, then bent her facedown over it. Still holding her shirt, keeping her bent over, Sam lifted her skirt and ran his hand over her bottom. “I like the way you just give in. An excellent robot.”

  Robot? “Let me go, you bastard!” She was learning. She started to struggle.

  “Nope.” His hand slapped her bottom with a brief sting; then he gave her three more that transformed into lovely sharp pleasure. “Those were for the sassy talk, and so is this.” When he ran his finger between her folds, she squirmed uncontrollably as need sizzled through her. He made a hum of approval at her wetness. His big finger circled her clit in a burst of sensation as he teased her.

  She was just letting him. She tried to push herself up, but he held her mercilessly in place. And his touch grew more insistent. Her clit swelled as he pressed harder.

  When he finally let her up, she was flushed and panting and so, so turned on. With a final hard slap of her bare bottom, he nudged her toward her chair. “I have some more questions, Miss Madison.”

  She sat in the chair, knees together, back straight. At his raised eyebrows, she flushed. She really was an idiot. “So far your questions haven’t shown any intelligence on your part.”