Masters of the Shadowlands 8 - If only

by Cherise Sinclair

  Job hunting to do. She hadn’t lied to Master Z about relocating away from Tampa.

  She’d planned on trying to find a job in the area. Leaving might be smarter. The BDSM community was small enough that the local Doms would learn she’d faked orgasms. Or she’d run into Frank. How awkward would that be?

  She straightened her shoulders. Three easy steps. Graduate. Find a job. Move.

  But I like Florida. She shook her head. No whining. Miami might be fun. Or better yet, New Orleans.

  But she’d leave behind all her Shadowlands friends. When tears burned her eyes, she had to bite her lip to keep control.

  I can do this. She could do anything. She’d survived losing her mother. Survived her father’s anger. Put herself through college and grad school. Being lonely… Well, she’d make new friends.

  She was “fun.” No one had ever wanted more from her than silence and service or entertainment.

  Not until the stupid Feds.

  Chapter Six

  On Tuesday night, Kari was sitting on the living room floor facing her son, Zane. His little face scrunched up in a grin. And his eyes looked so much like Dan’s that she felt as if her body couldn’t possibly contain all the love.

  Her husband sprawled in his favorite chair behind her. On the sofa to the right, Dan’s FBI friend was idly petting her German shepherd. In total doggy heaven, Prince leaned against the man’s long legs to show his approval.

  As the men talked quietly, Kari dropped a napkin over a small black-and-white plastic animal. “Where is the cow, Zane? Where did it go?”

  Zane looked around, then with an almost audible click, he got it. With a squeal of glee, he pulled the napkin off the toy.

  “Oh, aren’t you smart? Aren’t you the smartest, most gorgeous boy in the whole world?” She lifted her black-haired baby and blew raspberries on his tummy. The cascade of baby laughter made her heart feel as if it had been tenderized.

  Vance grinned down at them.

  She didn’t smile back. The agent was definitely a handsome man. And charming, as well. But after hearing from Jessica that Sally had safeworded out of a scene and then quit the Shadowlands entirely, Kari wasn’t feeling very friendly toward him. Sally was an experienced submissive and as sweet as could be, even if she was—how had Master Marcus put it?—as full of mischief as a basket of kittens. So the two Federal agents must have done something awful.

  Holding a beer on his stomach, Vance stretched his legs out. “Now, loyalty forces me to say that my three nephews, naturally, take top prizes for smartest and most adorable, but Zane is right up there in fourth place.”

  Dan laughed, and as always, the sound of his voice stroked over Kari’s skin like a fuzzy blanket. He could always make her yearn for him. If only she had the same effect on him.

  She set Zane in her lap and kissed his baby-soft cheek, feeling clumsy and overweight and…ugly. She looked down at her clothes. Dumpy and boring. But after having Zane, she’d been so exhausted, emotional, and—face it—depressed, that it had been an effort to keep moving, to care for the baby. Being attractive had been low on the list. Having sex, even lower.

  Although her depression had finally wafted away like dark clouds after a storm, she still felt ugly. The weight she’d gained during her pregnancy hadn’t disappeared, her stomach was on the flabby side and had acquired a fine set of stretch marks.

  Dan spent his days in a life-altering, dangerous world with beautiful, intelligent women. She spent her days babbling at a baby.

  She knew he was tied up with work; she shouldn’t feel as if he was neglecting her. But…if she was more attractive or sexier, would he be home more?

  “He looks like a miniature of you, Dan,” Vance said. “Nice job.”

  “Kari did all the work,” Dan said. “I was just along for the ride.”

  She managed to summon a sweet smile for him before stacking blocks so Zane could push them over. “I’m going to take Zane upstairs once your game starts. I don’t want him corrupted by all the swearing if some poor player misses a pitch.”

  Dan snorted, then asked Vance, “Is Kouros joining us?”

  “In a bit. He was tiling the kitchen backsplash and wanted to finish.”

  “You two have your work cut out for you with that old house.”

  Kari agreed silently. After the two agents had bought the place last February, she and Dan had visited. Dan had come right out and said it: “What a dump.” But maybe that was what they deserved.

  “True enough,” Vance said. “But some days, I like having something to pound on.”

  “Yeah,” Dan said under his breath. He’d understand, she knew. He wasn’t assigned to the FBI agents’ slave-trafficking project, but he kept informed and helped where he could.

  Watching Kari restack the blocks, Dan frowned. “You look tired, sweetheart.”

  “I’m fine.” To shift Dan’s attention away—and because she couldn’t be openly rude to her husband’s guest—she said to Vance, “I don’t know if you’d be interested, but did you know Sally quit the trainees? And the Shadowlands as well?” And you’re one of the jerks who drove her away.

  “She quit?” Vance stared at her before turning to Dan. “Is she fucking kidding?”

  “Nope. Z called last night. Today, I caught up to Sally at work and—”

  “What work?”

  “She’s interning in the station’s computer department—concentrating on fraud. Good at it too.”

  Vance nodded. “She mentioned digital forensics. So what’d she say about quitting?”

  “Some bullshit about being too busy with graduation. That she wasn’t planning to stay in the area.”

  “Hell. We pushed her too far. Too fast.” Vance’s concerned expression softened Kari’s heart. Slightly. “We told Z afterward. Z should’ve been the one to work with her. Or someone who knew her better.”

  “Maybe. But you two were the ones who saw her clearly enough to notice all those defenses. Seemed logical you should continue.” Dan took a long, slow drink of his beer. “Your questions shouldn’t have provoked such an extreme reaction.”

  Kari frowned down at the blocks and guided Zane’s hand to stack a block of his own. She’d just sit here and see what explanations the Dom came up with.

  VANCE SILENTLY WATCHED Dan’s wife play with her son. Maybe what Dan said was true. The guilt didn’t decrease any. All they’d wanted to do was help; instead, they’d made her problem worse.

  He felt his jaw muscles grind his teeth together. The thought that they’d damaged that bright, spirited submissive so much that she’d fled the Shadowlands made him want to put his fist through the wall. True, he wanted only short-term relationships, but for the time during a scene, the submissive was his. And he—and Galen—had screwed up.

  “I talked to Z after I spoke to her,” Dan said. “He’s feeling fucking guilty himself. Says he’ll hold off until after her commencement, but then they’ll have a long chat whether she likes it or not.”

  Vance wasn’t sure he had that amount of patience. He and Galen had been the ones to screw up; he needed to make it right.

  Or would seeing him just make everything worse for her?

  Fuck.

  * * * *

  Sally took a long, very hot shower, scrubbing and shampooing to erase the stench of violent death. What an absolutely crummy day.

  First, Dan had shown up in her department and asked why she’d dropped her Shadowlands membership. Despite what she’d thought was a perfectly fine answer, his expression said he knew she was bullshitting. He’d never looked at her that way before, as if he didn’t trust her to tell the truth. Like he really was a cop and she was a criminal.

  But too bad. He didn’t have any right to question her; she wasn’t a trainee anymore.

  Next week after graduation, she’d still go see Kari. Their place was just a nice walk away, in the residential section. But she’d make really sure Dan wasn’t home.

  Right after he’d left,
the crime scene guys had asked for her help on scene at a homicide. The victim had an intricate computer setup that needed to be dismantled and taken back to the station. Honestly, when she’d first thought about getting into the field of digital forensics, she’d assumed the computers or drives or memory sticks would be delivered to her at the police station. Her plans hadn’t included working in a room where there were dead bodies. And blood. Everywhere.

  Just the memory had her stomach doing an I’m-going-to-puke dance. After a few deep breaths, she dried off and pulled on her favorite dark red silky pajamas, then her fluffy blue robe. The ankle-length, shabby garment was her comfort garment, and she needed it this evening. Her tiny apartment seemed far too empty.

  Then again, empty was better than sharing with a jerk. Kicking Frank out had been a most excellent decision.

  I wish I had someone, though. Even a pet.

  With an effort, she pushed away the memory of Vance’s arms around her, of Galen stroking her hair. Such assholes. They’d ruined the scene with stupid questions…and now they were ruining her evening by making her crave them. She scowled and tried to forget how they’d paid attention to…everything.

  To her.

  She shook herself. Get over it.

  In the main room of her apartment, she hesitated. Normally, she’d jump into World of Warcraft and do some fighting. Vanquish evil. Assuming she didn’t get slaughtered, she’d return to real-time victorious. Having saved the town or whatever, she’d be a heroine, which was the best feeling in the world.

  But not today. No blood. No death today.

  Instead, she brewed a pot of chamomile tea and settled into a corner of the couch with her Kindle. On the screen saver was a boring picture of some author. Maybe she’d put a cute kitten there instead. And hack into the software and set up a routine so the kitten would meow at the device’s startup. A virtual pet would be better than no pet.

  Slowly, the sounds of her apartment settled around her. The hum of the old refrigerator in the opposite corner, the drip of the faucet in the bathroom. From the apartment above drifted classical music. Beethoven. Rather sedate, but easier on the ears than the acid metal the previous tenant had enjoyed. The thin walls meant she could hear Joanna’s cranky baby on one side and the chugging of Harvey’s dishwasher on the other. Wasn’t it strange how the sounds could be annoying one day and so very reassuring the next?

  She sighed. The last time she’d walked over to Dan’s house, she’d played with baby Zane while Kari cleaned up the kitchen. The rattle of dishes had reminded her so much of Mama that the surge of homesickness had almost laid her flat. After her mother had died, that feeling of…safety?…love?…had disappeared forever.

  Sipping her tea, she pulled up a nice historical romance to read. Tomorrow, she could worry about the two job offers she’d received and go through another set of the ugly Harvest Association e-mails. Tonight, she’d keep herself firmly in a fictional past. With a happy yawn, she settled in to read.

  “Sally.”

  The voice percolated through her dreams, and she blinked. Geez, she’d totally fallen asleep. Lifting her head, she saw her e-reader had fallen to the floor. Above the television, the wall clock read just before eleven at night. She pushed her hair out of her face as she sat up and froze.

  Frank stood at the other end of the couch, staring down at her.

  “What are you doing here?” Annoyance burned away her grogginess. She rose to her feet. “How did you get in?”

  “Made a spare.” He tauntingly waggled a key before shoving it in his jeans pocket. “I need to talk to you.”

  My life sucks. “It’s late, Frank. Give my key back and go home.” She stopped in front of him and held her hand out.

  He shoved her away and stomped toward the tiny kitchenette in the far corner. “You got anything to drink?”

  “Hey!” Had she really thought his pushy attitude was sexy? “There’s nothing we have to talk about. We’re over. And I’m tired.” She opened the apartment door and made a shooing motion.

  His face turned a dusky red. “Get your ass over here, bitch.”

  God, being infatuated had sure blinded her. How could she ever have let him talk to her like that? Let him treat her like dirt? Master Z would be so disappointed she couldn’t tell the difference between a caring Dom and a nasty control freak. Well, better late than never. “No. Just leave, dammit.”

  Moving faster than she expected, he grabbed her hair, yanked her out of the doorway, and kicked the door shut behind him.

  She scratched his face with her nails, pulled in a breath to scream, and he backhanded her across the face.

  As pain burst in her cheek, tears flooded her eyes, blurring the room. Shock held her immobile.

  “Now that I have your attention…” The sloppy smirk on his face gave him away. He’d been drinking. He shoved her toward the couch.

  Her insides tightened. Frank was a mean drunk. During their negotiations before he moved in, she’d made him agree that if he drank, he’d stay somewhere else for the night. She hadn’t thought alcohol would become a problem…but then he’d lost his job.

  She touched her burning cheek and felt liquid. Blood. The skin had been torn by his ring.

  Her heart started to hammer. Okay, smarty, how do you get out of this? Gritting her teeth, she shoved her emotions down, a talent she’d mastered as a child and never lost. Men didn’t want an emotional woman, no matter what those stupid Feebs said. “What did you want to say to me?” she asked politely.

  And why the hell didn’t she have something useful like a baseball bat or stun gun in her living room. Definitely shortsighted.

  “There. That’s my sunny girl.” He smiled at her, proud he’d made her do what he wanted.

  And he had. Could she hit him with the lamp? No, the cord would slow her down. Her cell phone was in her purse.

  “Stay there.” As he headed for the kitchenette, he bumped into the armchair—and that set him off again.

  Sally winced as he kicked the chair across the room. “Stop it!”

  He didn’t even seem to hear her. The coffee table followed and hit the wall with a crunch. One leg broke. Beside the couch, her cup lay on the carpet next to her Kindle. Frank glared at the e-reader. “That thing. Always more important than me.” He lifted his foot to stomp on it.

  Not my books! “No!” She shoved him away.

  Losing his balance, he staggered sideways and tripped over the overturned coffee table. His landing shook the floor.

  Oh shit.

  With her foot, she slid her Kindle under the couch. “Frank, you need to leave before you get in all sorts of trouble. Remember where I work?”

  He sat up. “You hit your Master.”

  Her father had turned that purple color when enraged, but he’d never hurt her. Much. Frank, however… Fear slid cold ice into her belly, but living with her father and brother had also taught her—never show fear. Her voice came out level. “I’m sorry, but you’re not my Master any more. Remember?”

  Ominously silent, he pushed to his feet. He stood between her and the door, blocking her escape. “You need to learn. Need to learn…”

  She retreated. Not much choice. He was a foot taller and outweighed her by a hundred pounds. Why the hell hadn’t she picked self-defense for one of her electives?

  A grizzly bear in a black T-shirt, he lumbered toward her, leaving destruction in his wake. The pictures on the television stand, candlesticks…each item that she’d saved up to buy, carefully chosen.

  He’d break her next.

  Not enough space to get past him to the door. No chance to get to her phone. Her heart pounded wildly, trying to escape the cage of her ribs. She’d misjudged—he wouldn’t stop until he hurt her. She had neighbors. Maybe…

  She yelled with all her might, “Get away from me! Help!” And then she screamed, high and long.

  He lunged for her, and she dodged. Then dodged again. Stall.

  “Frank. Listen, we need
to talk about this.” She sounded hoarse. Terrified.

  Stopping, he panted and glared. “Don’t think so.”

  Maybe she could circle around toward the door. The blood seemed to be pounding in her head as she backpedaled toward the back where her bed was.

  He lunged, sweeping his arms before him. The crash of her television made her pause. A second too long.

  She ducked a punch aimed at her face. Stepping forward, she punched, trying to hit his throat. Arms too short. He grabbed her hand and nailed her right in the stomach. The shock hit first—she couldn’t inhale—and then the pain exploded.

  As she staggered back, he grabbed her. No. Blinded by tears, she punched. Got his shoulder. Tried to knee him.

  Rather than hitting his balls, her knee thumped his thigh. With a roar, he threw her across the room. She tried to catch herself. Her ankle twisted with a horrible stab of pain. As she fell, her back smacked into the side of her desk.

  Half sitting, she shook her head. No birds tweeted like in the cartoons; she heard only a roaring in her ears.

  He stalked toward her, his hands opening and closing into fists. “Cops won’t get here in time for—”

  The pounding on her door halted his advance.

  “Sally? Sally! You okay?” Harvey’s voice came from the hall.

  “Get the manager. He’s got a key.” Joanna’s voice was high and terrified.

  The old lady across the way quavered, “I called the police. They said—”

  “Fuck!” Frank kicked.

  She twisted so his boot smashed into her left hip rather than her ribs. Sobbing with pain, she rolled blindly. Escape. Get away.

  Voices spilled into the room. Grabbing the lamp from the end table as a weapon, Frank shouted at her neighbors, keeping them from entering the apartment. No one was big enough to take on the brute.

  Yelling and yelling. A standoff. Frank sounded more and more out of control.

  She needed to do something before her friends were hurt. “Don’t—” She tried to push to her feet. A knife seemed to stab into her ankle, and her leg gave out. She landed on her right side so hard that her head went all blurry.