Servicing the Target

by Cherise Sinclair

  The red-and-gold Oriental décor barely registered as she approached the far end. Ben sat at a round table with three women about Anne’s age and one black-haired man.

  Both men rose. Ben was a good six inches taller than his brother-in-law, and, as always, Anne’s heart lifted at the sight of him. His white, short-sleeved shirt set off his wide shoulders and dark tan, and his jeans cupped his ass delightfully. He’d worn his caramel-colored hair loose over his shoulders, tempting her to perform ill-mannered public displays of affection.

  When she stepped close and smiled in permission to touch, Ben put an arm around her waist. “Anne, here are my sisters and brother-in-law.” He motioned toward a tall honey-blonde in a pale green blouse and white capris. “Camille and her husband Leon manage a boutique tourist agency.”

  “Which is how we managed to score this trip.” Camille’s wide smile was totally Ben’s. “It’s wonderful to meet you.”

  “Pleased to meet you.” Leon had a faint lilting Cajun accent.

  “And you,” Anne said, meaning it. Ben had told her a few stories of this sister. He was very proud of her.

  “My sister, Deanna,” Ben said.

  The striking platinum blonde in an emerald tank top nodded with no warmth. “Anne.”

  Before Anne could respond, Ben nodded at the last woman seated to his left. “Sheena is a friend of Deanna’s.”

  “Oh, and surely yours as well, Ben,” the brunette said in a throaty voice and touched the back of his hand. Her hand lingered on his as she gave Anne an insincere smile. “Deanna had raved about her big brother for years, so I was delighted to finally spend time with him last Christmas.” The subtext was obvious. She and Ben had done more than “spend time.”

  “We had so much fun,” Deanna agreed. “Remember that day we went sledding?”

  “Oh, such a day.” Sheena caressed Ben’s hand and gazed up at him with big eyes. “I’d have broken my neck if you hadn’t caught me at the top of the hill.”

  The woman had probably flung herself into his arms. Charming. Anne glanced at her chair—the empty one to Ben’s right—and Ben moved to hold it for her.

  Deal with this, Sheena. Anne edged her chair to the right toward Deanna.

  After sitting, Ben scooted close enough to brush his leg against Anne’s. She’d expected his move. Her slave had very assertive behavior, yet she could hardly reprimand him for claiming gestures she enjoyed.

  Even better, he now was far enough away from Sheena-the-slut that her irritating, touchy-feely maneuvers would be blazingly obvious.

  Leon noted the distance between Sheena and her prey, and the corners of his mouth tipped up. “So, Anne, Ben tells us you’re a bounty hunter. What’s that like?”

  “I’m afraid what I do isn’t as exciting as what’s shown on television. Technically, in Florida, the job is called fugitive recovery, because an agent isn’t independent, but employed by a bail bond company. Mostly I do paperwork, computer searching, knocking on doors, and diplomacy. Occasionally, we see some action.”

  “Action. I can’t imagine why a woman would want to put herself in danger.” Although Sheena’s eyelashes held enough mascara to resemble hairy tarantula legs, she still managed to look up at Ben through them. “Men are so much stronger.”

  “They are?” Anne ran her hand over Ben’s biceps and gasped. “Oh, my. How strong you are! Who knew?”

  Ben, Leon, and Camille broke out laughing. Unfortunately, Deanna’s glare was a match for Sheena’s. Naughty Anne. Not good to piss off relatives.

  Time to defuse the situation. “Actually, Sheena, I like the action and the satisfaction of tossing the bad guys back in jail.” As Ben put his arm over the back of her chair, Anne turned to her right, put on her company smile, and asked Deanna, “What do you do for a living?”

  “I-I’m between jobs at the moment,” Deanna said.

  The arm behind Anne tensed. “Seriously? You lost the sales position at the clothing store?” Ben growled. “Then why are you here instead of searching for another?”

  “Ben.” Deanna snapped. A second later, she managed a pitiful-me expression, complete with teary eyes. “I should have stayed home. It’s just, I was s-so upset. I only wanted to get away.”

  Anne turned to check out Ben’s response.

  His expression was soft. “Now, Dee-dee, it’ll be all right,” he said gently.

  Anne barely refrained from rolling her eyes. As a Domme, she’d seen far more skillful performances, but Deanna’s wasn’t bad. She definitely had her big brother fooled.

  To top it off, Deanna added the tried-and-true lip quiver. “No, it won’t be all right. I can’t pay my rent and”—she half-sobbed—“Sheena was wonderful and lent me money for food, but I can’t ask her for more.”

  “Of course not,” Ben said.

  Anne had to smother a growl. During their time together, Ben had already received a couple of phone calls from this sister, hitting him up for money.

  But…to pull this crap in front of other people and put Ben on the spot? That was purely manipulative. He obviously had no clue he was being played. Not surprising. Family could do that to a person.

  Anne bit her lip. It wasn’t her money, wasn’t her family. As Sam would say, she didn’t have a dog in this fight.

  Yet…she did. When Ben had given her his submission, he’d become hers to protect, even from his own family if needed. So be it.

  “Asking for and giving money between family members is tricky, isn’t it?” Anne said brightly to the table at large. “Last week, my friend Linda cried after she said no to her grown son. She was heartbroken to have to refuse him, especially when a little money would help. But she says her parental goal is for her son to be independent, and if she constantly rescues him, he won’t exert the effort—or learn enough diplomacy—to keep a job.”

  Ben looked down at Anne, his brows together. “Did Sam agree?”

  The gray-haired sadist had certainly had an opinion. “He thinks enabling a person like that is as detrimental as abuse.” Anne half-smiled. “He told Linda to envision the future. If she died in a car wreck tomorrow, would her adult son survive without her?”

  Ben was silent.

  Anne carefully didn’t look at Deanna, but the waves of fury coming from that direction were almost palpable. “Leon, have you run into such situations in your family?”

  “Mais, yeah. Cajuns have big families. An’ whoever has money gets hit on by them that don’t.” He eyed Ben. “You ever watched a mama dog when she decides the pups are old enough? They try to suckle, an’ she just walks away. Sometimes she’ll have to nip the ones that won’t take a hint, otherwise some puppies’d be happy to suck the tit forever, yeah?”

  “Jesus Christ.” Deanne glared at Anne. “Who the hell do you think you are? This is between me and my brother. You—you just want to get your claws into his money and—”

  “I don’t need Ben’s money, but it is my job to shield him.” She heard his startled grunt. After his time in the Shadowlands, had he missed learning that Mistresses as well as Masters protected their slaves? “How old are you, anyway?”

  “She’s thirty-one.” Camille turned angry eyes on her sister. “Mimi said you told your manager to fuck off because he instructed you to work with middle-class customers as well as the rich ones. God, Dee. Mimi stuck her neck out to get you that job. Now, she’s in trouble with her boss for recommending you.”

  Deanna slumped. Her expression indicated she blamed everyone except herself.

  To Anne’s relief, Ben slid his arm across her shoulders and pulled her close. “Thank you, Ma’am,” he whispered into her ear. Then he looked around her at his sister. “It hurts to think I’ve helped you turn into a fuck-up, Dee-dee, but I guess I have. Camille and I already know that if we lose our jobs, we don’t eat. Or we end up homeless. So we behave accordingly. Time for you to learn the nasty facts of life, sis.”

  “But, Ben.” Sheena scooted her chair near enough to lay her hand on Be
n’s forearm. “She’s your sister. She loves you because you have a big heart.” And then the woman actually leaned against him and stroked him.

  Fury crackled across Anne’s nerves. So much for being tolerant. She didn’t share her slaves. She certainly didn’t share Ben. Never.

  Anne picked up an unopened chopstick packet, slapped it on her palm to check the sting factor—very nice—then sharply smacked the back of Sheena’s trespassing hand.

  Sheena jerked her hand away. “Hey!”

  Anne gave her the stare that kept men on their knees and silent.

  Sheena’s face paled, but she still…stupidly…tried to speak. “Listen, you—”

  “Maybe your wimpy friends put up with you touching and hanging on their men, but I don’t. Hands off.” She twisted to put her hand on Ben’s stomach in her own claiming gesture. Why be subtle? “Mine.”

  Across the table, she heard muffled laughter from Leon and Camille. But Deanna was scowling. Way to make friends, Anne.

  “Ben, she hit me.” Sheena looked up at him with wide eyes. “Are you going to let her do that?”

  Ben laughed. “Gotta say, I find it really hot when a woman says, ‘Mine.’ What do you think, Leon?”

  Leon smiled at his wife. “My Camille destroys poachers verbally. But that physical stuff? Whoa, that’s hot. I’m gonna buy you some chopsticks, bebe.”

  “Sheena should be glad you didn’t have a whip at hand,” Ben murmured to Anne.

  As his gaze held hers, heat sizzled through her blood stream. And just south of her fingertips, his jeans bulged. The man really had enjoyed seeing her go all Domme on Sheena’s ass.

  After that interlude, both Sheena and Deanna concentrated on their food, while the rest of them talked.

  “It seems that all of you have moved out of the city. Didn’t you like growing up in the Bronx?” Anne asked Camille.

  “The South Bronx isn’t the best neighborhood. But after our father died, Mom couldn’t make enough to support all four of us. She tried—God, she really tried.” Camille exchanged a sorrowful look with Ben.

  The way his shoulders tensed, as if he blamed himself, hurt Anne’s heart.

  When she took his hand, his big fingers closed tightly around hers. “Considering the children she raised, I’d say your mom did a fine job, even if money was tight.”

  Camille gave her a grateful look. “She did, against all odds. Ben, especially, had a rough time since he was under pressure to join a gang. He was working part time, going to school, and trying to protect Deanna and me. And we were so broke, he…”

  Camille stopped suddenly and gave her brother a repentant look.

  Anne frowned. Something had happened. She’d have to ask Ben later.

  Being Ben, he let it all spill out. “We were short on money, and I got talked into a scheme to rob a liquor store. But…Mom’s morals held up. I couldn’t do it and backed out two days before. Pissed off the guys involved, and they jumped me after school. I got messed up pretty good.” He gave her a half-grin and rubbed his nose.

  The nose that had been broken.

  He hadn’t been an adult—had been in high school. She wondered how many other broken bones he’d suffered.

  He continued, “In the hospital, a cop took my report and then came back the next day just to talk. To help me figure out a better path. So I enlisted and skipped the last of my senior year. With my pay, Mom and the girls moved into a safer neighborhood.”

  He’d ended up helping them after all.

  Anne hoped his mother had known how wonderfully she’d succeeded in her task—she’d raised an exceptional man.

  At the end of the meal, Anne rose. “Excuse me, please. I need to visit the ladies’ room before I head home.”

  Ben turned, located the restrooms, studied the intervening tables, and apparently decided no zombies or madmen would leap up and attack her. “All right.”

  She shook her head in amusement. Her father and brothers possessed that same instinct to protect. So did she. It was difficult to be offended.

  Still…

  With her fingernails, she pinched his neck in warning and murmured, “So good of you to give me permission.”

  He met her gaze and grinned unrepentantly.

  Oh honestly. He wasn’t a brat. Exactly. In the bedroom, he was superbly obedient. But the rest of the time? Not so much.

  Unsettled, she walked to the restroom.

  In all reality, he wasn’t deliberately defiant. He simply didn’t look to her for instruction or permission. While her other slaves had wanted her oversight, her direction, she was beginning to see that Ben…didn’t.

  But if that were true… Her chest felt as if she’d strapped on her body armor too tightly, restricting her lungs. With an effort, she pushed away her growing anxiety. Not the time. Not the place.

  A few minutes later, while Anne was combing her hair, Camille entered. Instead of using the facilities, she leaned a hip on the wall. “I’m glad I caught you alone. I wanted to apologize for Sheena and Deanna. And to thank you.”

  “Thank me for what?”

  “Growing up in the South Bronx wasn’t easy. Ben tried to take care of us all, but he had no one watching out for him. Not since he was nine. Not until now.” Camille scowled. “I just wish you hadn’t had to protect him from his own sister.”

  “Deanna might have blundered onto a wrong path, but Ben won’t be misled again,” Anne said. “I can see she has a lot going for her, and once she realizes her future is up to her, I think she’ll do fine. And probably be happier for it.”

  “I think you’re right. And as for Sheena”—Camille rolled her eyes—“honestly, who does stuff like that? But Ben sure does attract some winners. Either money-grubbers latch onto him or he finds himself these obnoxious women who act as if they’re too good for him.”

  Not unusual. Submissives searching for dominant partners could easily end up with control freaks. In Ben’s case, he wound up with bitches.

  Camille moved away and paused at the door to say, “I’m really glad he found you.”

  “Me, too.”

  At least I’m not a bitch. Hopefully. And she loved him with all her heart.

  But was she good for him?

  Sometimes he seemed totally content with what they had together. But sometimes she wasn’t sure he really was happy, even though he said he was. Even though he insisted being her slave was what he wanted.

  Was she not meeting some of his needs in return? Was he sharing everything with her?

  She bit her lip. If she had to, she’d go the intrusive route and plan a scene that would have him spilling every little secret he had. Or she could make him write a journal.

  But, this was Ben… She didn’t want to trespass all over his privacy.

  So, maybe next weekend, after their scene, during the aftercare and the warm glow, she’d press him to share. It was their special time. Surely then, she’d find out what was wrong.

  Chapter Twenty

  Anne slowly drove down a street of squalid apartment buildings.

  The Tomorrow Is Mine manager hadn’t wanted Anne to go after the woman, but when told the police would provide an escort to the shelter, Sue Ellen had panicked.

  The thought of the police sometimes had that effect. Involving law enforcement meant the abuser would probably be arrested. Some women couldn’t face that—they just wanted to run.

  If Sue Ellen became too frightened, she might abandon her escape. So Anne would go get her. Unfortunately, the woman sounded pretty injured. Carrying her infant son, she wouldn’t be able to walk very far.

  Damn men.

  Anne spotted the small 24-hour market chosen for the meeting place. Had Sue Ellen made it?

  Yes, there was a woman leaning against a wall as if she’d fall if she didn’t have the support. A baby was in her arms.

  Any threats? Anne did a quick, but thorough, scan of the sidewalk and street. Two women chatted by a car. A teenager rolled by on a skateboard.
r />   Good enough.

  Anne parked and left the Escape running as she approached the woman slowly. “Are you Sue Ellen?”

  The woman’s eyes went wide as a startled rabbit. “I—” Her mouth closed as her paranoia bloomed.

  “My name is Anne and I’m from Tomorrow Is Mine. You spoke with the shelter manager, Amy, and she sent me.”

  The terrified woman took a minute to process the information before saying in a hoarse, Southern-accented voice, “Ah’m Sue Ellen. And thank you for coming for me.”

  Dark bruises marked her throat. Her bastard husband must have choked her.

  Anne throttled her anger and motioned to the SUV. “You’re very welcome. Now, let’s get you off the street.” Because, damn, this was a small neighborhood. Everyone probably knew everyone.

  “Yes’m.” Sue Ellen followed and put her child into the car seat in the back. When she reached for the straps, a groan escaped her.

  “Let me, honey.” When Sue Ellen stepped back, Anne strapped the little boy in, crooning to him. He watched her warily. Not much older than Sophia, he had soft brown hair and pale skin. A bruise mottled one cheek.

  As Sue Ellen slid into the front seat, a huge man walked out of the market and spotted them.

  “Sue Ellen. What are you doing here?”

  Oh, damn. Anne slammed the door and ran around the vehicle to jump in the driver’s side. Before her door had even shut, she stomped the gas. Not enough to squeal the tires…but damned fast.

  As adrenaline danced in her veins, she checked the rearview mirror. Thick build, brutish features, the man resembled an ogre…and he was staring after them. “Is that your husband?”

  “My husband’s brother.” Sue Ellen tried to turn and flinched at the movement. “He’s exactly like Billy. His wife divorced him last year and moved out of state. I should’ve gone with her.” She stared down at her hands. Bruises mottled the back of one in the shape of a heel. “I was too pregnant and too scared.”

  “But you’re here now, and you’ll have help,” Anne said in a soothing voice. She’d misjudged Sue Ellen on the phone. This woman wasn’t about to go back to her husband. Probably the bruise on the baby’s face had strengthened her resolve. It was amazing how many women would finally act when their children were in danger.