Masters of the Shadowlands 8 - If only

by Cherise Sinclair

  “Sally—”

  She jumped off the table. “Thanks for the lesson. Sirs.”

  * * * *

  In his New York condo office, Drew Somerfeld frowned at the e-mail from one of his managers. What the hell? Two of the women chosen for his Harvest Association summer auction had disappeared before they could be abducted.

  Suddenly. Without any advance notice to their family or employers.

  Could they have been warned?

  He uncurled his fingers and forced them flat on the black desktop as he considered possible reasons. Complications. What his next step should be…

  Perhaps one of the contract agents had talked or been compromised. The overseers occasionally hired less than ideal individuals, after all. Kidnappers weren’t exactly at the top of the character charts.

  He’d have to play a wait-and-see game for now. Meantime, he’d put in an order with a different manager. He not only needed more women for the auction, but Ellis had used up his slave when he’d slaughtered that cop. His twin needed to be rewarded for his excellent work—and his favorite bonus was a new slut to play with.

  A shame Ellis went through them so fast.

  Chapter Four

  Sally parked at the side gate of the Shadowlands, turned off the car, and wearily leaned her head back against the seat. Maybe she shouldn’t have agreed to meet Jessica and a couple others for the afternoon. She was seriously short on sleep.

  Why the punishment demonstration would give her nightmares all week, she didn’t know. Or perhaps the cause was the poor police officer that the Harvest Association had killed? She’d been unable to keep from watching the funerals for him, his wife, and her mother. At least he hadn’t left little children behind—but his boy and girl were about Sally’s age.

  Damn the Association. According to their e-mails, they were still planning an auction. She’d sent a warning to the New York police about another woman targeted for kidnapping. Hopefully the cops weren’t blowing off her information.

  This Robin Hood business wasn’t for the faint of heart.

  Since she’d be working as a trainee tonight, she picked up her diet soda and finished off the last few sips. Come on, caffeine.

  Her cell phone rang, startling her. After a glance at the display, she accepted the call. “Hi, Father.”

  So stiff a word. Father. Back before she was ten, she’d called him Dad. But then her mom died and the world changed. Darkened.

  She shook her head at the maudlin thought. Gonna get all self-pitying now? But…it was true. That year, the sky over the cornfields had seemed to turn from an Iowa royal blue to a cold gray.

  “Sally.” Her father’s voice was as frozen as usual. “I received the message about your graduation. I will attend the ceremony.”

  Very dutiful. God, but it hurt to know he only came because his absence would look bad to the people in their small Iowa town. They’d undoubtedly told him: Take lots of pictures at her graduation.

  Everyone else in the town liked her. Just not her father. Because she wasn’t supposed to have been born. Because it was her fault Mom died. Sally closed her eyes and pulled in a slow breath. “Would you like directions to—”

  “No need. I can find my way to the ceremony.”

  They weren’t alike at all; she could lose herself walking around the block. Thank God for GPS and smartphones.

  “Then I’ll see you there.” She ended the call. With a gentle hand, she opened her car door and slid out. The Confederate jasmine covering the fence was in bloom, the white flowers scenting the air with sweetness, dispelling the bitterness of the conversation.

  Inside the gate, in Master Z’s private backyard, she hesitated. No one was on the veranda behind the mansion. Would the others be on the third story where Z and Jessica lived or…

  Laughter came from the other direction. Back somewhere in the extensive gardens. Sally turned and followed the sound.

  Under a huge umbrella, three women—all Shadowlands submissives—sat around a patio table. Jessica, blonde, short, and curvy. Kim, black-haired and slender with a day collar around her neck. Linda, probably in her forties, fair-skinned, with red hair. A slight silvering showed at her temples.

  “There she is!” Jessica held up a glass. “Finally!”

  “Sorry about being late.”

  “Girl, you look overheated and tired.” Jessica pointed to the pool. “Jump in before you join us.”

  Jessica knew her too well. Veering toward the pool, Sally shed shirt and shorts, leaving on her bra and thong. She dived in. Clear and cool—not the bathtub temperature it would reach later in the summer. Just right. The whoop she gave as she surfaced shattered the unhappiness that lingered every time she talked to her father. Put him out of your mind, girl. She swam a couple of laps to wash away all the nightmares and sadness and anger.

  Maybe after she graduated and got a good job, she could afford a place with a pool. A small one would be okay. After climbing out, she squeezed the water from her hair and left it to hang in tangles down her back.

  A glass pitcher, beaded with moisture, sat on the table. She eyed the contents warily. Jessica often got pretty creative with beverages. “What are we drinking?”

  Jessica poured and handed the drink over. “This, my child, is a screaming orgasm. And Z says to be sure to sober up before the Shadowlands opens. I heard him leave a message for Ben to not let us in if—how did he put it?—‘if he doubts our sobriety.’”

  “Only Master Z could say that with a straight face.” Too thirsty to sip, Sally drank about half before slowing and savoring the flavors. Yum. “I’m tasting Kahlúa and amaretto and…?”

  “Baileys and vodka. Be warned—the drink packs a kick,” Linda said.

  “A kick is good.” Sally dropped into a chair and considered the older woman.

  Linda’s creamy sundress was the perfect backdrop for her thick, shoulder-length hair. Her toenails were painted a sparkling raspberry color that seemed to match the glow of happiness about her.

  “I think living with Sam agrees with you, although I’m not sure how. Sadists are just plain scary.” Sally shook her head.

  “I like his brand of scary.” Linda gave the others a slow smile. “Besides, I always wanted a cowboy, even if my rancher considers himself a farmer.”

  “Ugh. I grew up on a farm.” Sally leaned forward and refilled her drink. “Cornfields and beans and pigs.”

  Kim toasted her. “And now you’re a city girl getting a master’s.”

  “In what?” Linda asked.

  The alcohol buzz had hit already—maybe because she hadn’t had any lunch. Stupid, but she’d relish the feeling for a few minutes before digging into one of the deli sandwiches piled on a platter. “Computers. Digital forensics, actually. Does that sound sexy or what?”

  “What—like crime stuff?” Linda tilted her head.

  “Kinda. Like if someone’s dead, I do an autopsy on his hard drive instead of his body. So much more sanitary, right?” But she could still do good. Be a hero, even if a nerdy one.

  Jessica snickered. “God, yes. I’d rather deal with a pile of papers any day than a stinky corpse. But computers… Is that like legal hacking?”

  “It really is.” Sally tipped her head back, enjoying the balmy early evening. Enjoying the alcohol. She felt relaxed for the first time in ages. “I used to be a hacker, you know? Snoopy Sally, the nerd.”

  “Seriously?” Linda narrowed her eyes. “I never thought of you that way.”

  Woo-hoo, I’m good. “My sorority sisters taught me how not to look—or act—like a dork. Bless them.”

  “Huh. I figured you as smart, but a teenage hacker is a whole different level.” Kim swirled her drink and eyed Sally. “I’m trying to visualize that. Did you make viruses or something?”

  “Well…” Sally set her empty glass on the table. Maybe she should eat. Nah. She poured herself a refill. Screaming Orgasm. Awesome name. “Not exactly. Um, stuff like—a college jock figured he could
assault a girl because she was black.” Sally scowled, remembering how angry she’d been. “She wouldn’t press charges. So I copied and sent his racist, sexist—and porn-ridden—e-mails to the college faculty and dean. He was gone a week later.” The asshole. “I’ve improved the program a lot.”

  And it’s working just fine on some true douche bags. A bit of caution made it through the blurring in Sally’s head, and she kept the revelation from spilling out. “Don’t tell anybody, okay?”

  The other women nodded, and she gave them a happy smile.

  Linda patted her hand. “You, my dear, are already blitzed. Eat something or Z won’t let you into the Shadowlands tonight.”

  “But it feels good,” Sally grumbled. How long had it been since she’d felt so…open. Free. With a sigh, she obediently accepted the sandwich Jessica handed her. “Hey, as anyone talked to Kari recently?”

  Jessica shook her head. “Some teacher went out on maternity leave, and Kari is filling in more. Between extra work and the baby, she hasn’t had any free time.”

  “Oh. No wonder she isn’t at the club these days.” Perhaps a visit should wait until the Hillsborough elementary schools started their summer break in June.

  “Probably,” Jessica said. “But I miss seeing her and how content Dan looks when he plays with her.”

  Sally smiled. “Yeah, he really does.” Working in the police station, she saw an awful lot of cynical cops. Master Dan had been headed in that direction until he’d met Kari. But no one could stay bitter around the sweet-hearted schoolteacher.

  “Speaking of the club, what happened with the Feds last week?” Kim asked. “Jessica said you were punished.”

  “Christ on a crutch, it was awful.” Sally giggled, pleased the pain of the memory seemed so distant. “I’d faked coming and got caught.”

  * * * *

  Galen walked down the outside steps from the third story to the veranda and leaned on the railing to pacify his aching leg. Damn knee. The gunshot wound from years past had healed, but the underlying damage had slowly surfaced. Getting older didn’t help. Soon, he needed to man up and get surgery. Maybe he’d have the time once the case was wrapped up, if that ever happened.

  “Nice of Z to help out,” Vance said as they reached the bottom.

  “Ayuh.” They’d asked the psychologist to counsel a recovered slave—a girl so young Galen couldn’t think of her kidnapping without getting enraged. She’d been so traumatized she’d stopped speaking, and Z specialized in nonverbal communication. God knew the Dom understood the psychology of slaves, voluntary or involuntary.

  Galen and Vance had swung by to drop off the girl’s information, as well as a thank-you bottle of Aberfeldy 21 single malt, which Galen had picked up during a Scotland trip.

  Near the gate, Vance halted. “Listen.”

  Women were laughing somewhere in the gardens. One giggling voice was like water over a stony creek bed. “Is that Sally?”

  “I’ve never heard her sound like that.” Vance headed toward the gaiety.

  Galen noiselessly followed him down a path into the gardens, remembering his hunting days. Stalking the prey.

  Words became distinct, and Vance stopped.

  Galen leaned against a convenient tree and listened. Not very gentlemanlike behavior, Kouros. But how could a Dom resist? After a minute, he laughed silently and mimicked tipping up a bottle. The ladies were drinking and had been at it for a while.

  Vance nodded. He crossed his arms over his chest and settled in.

  “I was so mad,” Sally told the women. “I mean, yeah, I shouldn’t have, but sweet Jesus on a pogo stick, they announced to everyone I’d been faking getting off.”

  Yes, he could see how that would bother her. But why had she needed to pretend? And it hadn’t been her first time. He and Vance had spoken with Z about that very matter.

  “You and the Feds?” Galen recognized Kim’s voice. “What do you think of them?”

  Interesting question. He leaned forward as the pause continued.

  “Well, one minute I think they’re nice, and the next I think they’re total dipwads. Manipulative bastards.”

  Galen bit back a laugh.

  Jessica snorted. “Sounds like the definition of a Dom?”

  “Well, maybe. And their two-to-one stuff is…”

  Galen sighed and jerked his head at his partner. Not fair to be listening to private conversation, no matter how interesting. But the draw of Sally’s open laughter had been irresistible.

  Vance gave him an annoyed, then rueful expression, and they retreated quietly.

  “You ethical bastard. She’d just gotten to the good stuff,” Vance said, holding open the gate to the parking lot.

  “True.” Galen smiled. “But I like to think we’re honorable—even if we are dipwads.”

  “Pretty sure she only meant you.” Vance frowned. “She sounded different.”

  “Yeah, she did.” Galen limped across the concrete, as always, annoyed to see his partner shorten his stride and slow. “Notice she talked about how she felt?”

  “Because she was intoxicated.”

  “Exactly. She certainly doesn’t share if not under the influence.” Galen frowned. “Why would a lovely woman close herself down?” And why did the vulnerable expression he’d seen on her face last week pull at him?

  “Good question.” Vance slid into the driver’s seat. “Let’s find out.”

  * * * *

  Oh boy, she should’ve stopped drinking a lot earlier. After a quick shower and change in Jessica and Z’s guest room, she took their private stairway into the Shadowlands. Carefully. Screaming orgasm—the drink that kept on giving, cuz she sure wasn’t sober. Ben would probably turn her away if she went in the front door.

  A long gauze skirt and a makeshift scarf tied around her breasts served as her outfit. Thank God Z preferred the trainees barefoot; she’d have busted an ankle in heels.

  She’d missed the trainee lineup and inspection. Master Cullen would be displeased. But since she didn’t barmaid until the second shift, her lateness wouldn’t upset service.

  Members packed the room. To her fuzzy brain, the music and conversations sounded awfully loud, and people moved too fast.

  At the bar, she waited for Cullen to see her. On her left, a Domme in a motorcycle jacket, black latex pants, and boots was chatting with a couple of newer submissive women. On her right, a group of older Doms discussed service protocols.

  “’Bout time you arrived.” Master Cullen in his brown leathers gave her a long look. “You’ve still got an hour to play before your shift starts. Do you have a Dom lined up or someone in mind?”

  Sally winced. How many of the Doms would think—or know—that she’d faked getting off? “I—”

  “She’s been drinking and can’t even walk in a straight line, Cullen.” The word drinking somehow had changed to drinkin’; can’t had been transformed into cahn’t.

  At the sound of Galen’s down-east accent, Sally stiffened and turned.

  As usual, he wore black slacks and shirt—similar to Master Z—but Galen’s dress shirt was broadcloth rather than silk. Kouros wasn’t a silk kind of guy.

  He continued, “Perhaps she can wait tables now and have the second shift off.”

  Vance’s big hand came down on her shoulder. “Galen and I would like to play with her. But not until she’s sober.”

  “I’m not—” Sally knocked Vance’s arm away and turned back to Cullen. “I’m perfectly fine.”

  “Fuck, I hate when she lies,” Vance growled. He gripped her hair, tilting her face up. His eyes were cold. “Are you seriously telling Cullen you’re sober?”

  “I…” She couldn’t lie. “No. I’m not completely sober.”

  “No one does a scene if under the influence.” Frowning, Cullen rested his thickly muscled forearm on the bar. He said to Galen, “Thanks for the heads-up. Sally, you’re assigned to cleaning tables. Check back with me in an hour.”

  Stupid, in
terfering, know-it-all Feds. When she glared at Galen, a line in his right cheek deepened, showing his amusement. She realized he had more than a five-o’clock shadow, as if he hadn’t shaved earlier.

  Andrea, Cullen’s submissive, who’d been listening, set a big mug of coffee in front of Sally and winked.

  “As for later,” Master Cullen said, “Sally, I’ve heard what the members think of a trainee playing them for fools. There won’t be more punishment, pet, but I can’t do anything about your reputation with the Doms.”

  Master Cullen usually had a smile, but not now. He was serious and…unhappy with her. Everyone was unhappy with her. Like in the beginning of the Wizard of Oz, when Dorothy realized she couldn’t do anything right.

  Sally stared at the bar. Why didn’t I just stay home? “I understand.”

  “Tonight, you’re assigned to Master Galen and Master Vance. They can work with you on honesty.” Master Cullen’s expression was troubled. “I know you didn’t fake an orgasm with any of the Masters, love, but we also never pushed you for more than light submission. We don’t usually. Emotional vulnerability is given to a long-term Dom, but we should’ve caught on to how much you were hiding from us.”

  The sting of tears had her dropping her gaze again. She’d disappointed everyone.

  Cullen set a tray on the bar next to her mug. “Finish the coffee; then get to work.”

  Vance ran his knuckles over her cheek. “It’s not that bad, sweetheart. This will pass.” Sympathy warmed his eyes. “We’ll find you in a couple of hours. Here at the bar.”

  Even as a thrill ran through her at his touch, she couldn’t suppress her glance at the door.

  His hand curved under her chin, and he tilted her face up. “Sally, don’t try to leave early.”

  Bossy Dom. “No, Sir. Wouldn’t think of it, Sir.”

  When Galen raised an eyebrow, she flushed. Dammit, he’d probably gag her again.

  * * * *

  Seated near the middle of the club room, Galen smiled as the little black trainee handed him a bottle of water. “Thank you, Uzuri.”