As the slope increased, he saw Ben take Anne’s arm, as if the pregnant Domme couldn’t safely walk without his assistance. Holt grinned. The woman had served in the Marines and was an ex-bounty hunter.
Her low growl said what she thought of Ben’s over-protectiveness.
“Push her too far, Ben, and she’ll wrap your jewels in one of her favorite nutcrackers,” Holt warned.
The big guard snorted. “She can’t bend down far enough to reach my package these days.”
“I can if you’re on the bed, tiger,” Anne said in her throaty voice.
“Ah…right.” Being a smart man, Ben kissed her cheek…and released her arm.
Laughing, Holt opened the heavy front door and gestured them in.
Beside the security desk, Z was talking with Ghost.
“Hey, Ghost, Z,” Holt said as he followed Anne and Ben.
“Holt.” Ghost studied him with a frown. “You’re not moving like you’re fully recovered. Tell me you’re not planning to play.”
Holt blinked. “Jesus, you sound like Z.” Like Z at his most protective, actually. “Why’d I get the impression you weren’t in the lifestyle?”
“Indeed, that is my question as well,” Z said.
Ghost’s face turned unreadable. “I’m a security guard.”
“Oh, you’re more than that.” Anne gave him a thin smile. Upon getting pregnant, she’d abandoned bounty hunting for a job with another Shadowlands Master. She was a wizard at getting information about people.
Holt glanced at her. “What do you mean?”
“Ghost was considered one of the finest Doms on the West Coast before he disappeared.”
Now that was interesting. Holt eyed the guard.
Ghost’s face was wiped of any expression.
“Ghost.” Anne took a step forward. “If there’s anything we can—”
“You three are signed in.” Ghost made three checkmarks on the papers in front of him. “Have yourselves a nice night now.”
“You too, buddy.” Ben tugged Anne toward the door.
Holt smothered a smile. It took a brave man to cut the Domme off like that. As they entered the clubroom, he asked Anne, “How’d you find out about Ghost’s rep?”
“Z had a suspicion and asked me to see what I could find.”
“So, Ghost was a…” Holt caught sight of the bar, and his question evaporated. “Josie?”
In her black vest and white button-up shirt, his neighbor was serving drinks. Lights concealed in the low beams over the bar made glints in her short copper hair.
“Who’s behind the bar?” Anne asked.
“Z hired us a real bartender,” Ben said.
“What a lovely idea.” Anne smiled. “I think Cullen’s the only Master who truly enjoys mixing drinks.”
Ben frowned. “I don’t ever remember seeing you back there.”
“She exchanged bartending for dungeon monitoring every chance she could,” Holt said.
She gave her submissive an evil smile. “A choice between catering to idiots or terrorizing idiots—which do you think I chose?”
Ben snorted a laugh and told Holt, “Last week, she watched over a new Dom and made him so nervous, he dropped his flogger.”
Holt grinned. He’d been in the lifestyle well over a decade, and he could still remember the first few times he’d scened in public.
“Oh, sweet Jesus, look. Master Holt is back.” The high squeal was followed by happy sounds from the sitting area where unattached submissives congregated. The space was close to the bar where Doms could look them over and decide with whom to play.
“You’ve been missed, Master Holt,” Anne said in a dry voice.
“You have,” Ben seconded. “But remember, the colonel told you not to play.”
“A colonel?” Holt asked.
“Yeah.” Ben grinned. “We’ve traded a few war stories over beer.”
“What branch of service was—” Oh hell. As the flock of submissives started toward him, Holt froze, unsure if he was equal to this outing.
Anne’s strong hand closed halfway around his upper arm as the very pregnant Mistress lent her silent support.
“Thanks.” What the fuck had happened there? After a second, he figured it out and shook his head ruefully. “I hadn’t realized a minor knifing could turn a guy agoraphobic.”
With an understanding snort, Ben said, “Oh hell, yeah. Any trauma can. Why do you think Z forced me to take a job here?”
Holt blinked. He’d always wondered why the famous photographer worked a security desk. Come to think of it, Ben had served overseas. “Guess I should be glad I got my ass back here before Z assigned me homework or something.”
“No shit.” Ben grinned.
The submissives arrived and swarmed around Holt in a flurry of breathy voices.
“Master Holt, welcome back.”
“We missed you.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Would you like me to bring you something to drink?”
Every inhalation brought him a different perfume. The variety of clothing—from long skirts and corsets to entirely naked—was almost overwhelming. Which said it was past time for him to get out more and to take up his life again. “Thank you all. I appreciate the welcome,” he said gently and patted shoulders, squeezed hands, touched cheeks. Made contact.
After a minute, he took a step back. “Unfortunately, I’m not cleared by my doctor to play tonight.”
Ignoring their disappointment, he added, “I’m just here to touch bases with the other Masters…and make sure Mistress Anne doesn’t have her baby without supervision.”
As the subbies giggled, Anne frowned at him, then patted her stomach. “This baby’s getting born in a nice clean hospital with a nice female obstetrician, thank you very much.”
* * * * *
Spotting three new arrivals at her bar, Josie smiled at the young Dom she’d been talking with, patted his hand, and told him, “Next time, it’ll be better.”
His shoulders straightened with resolution, and he gave her a nod. “Yeah. It will.”
As she moved away, she shook her head. Her internet research hadn’t told her how much work being a Dom could be. Or how stuff like floggings could get messed up. That poor guy felt terrible that he’d left welts on the woman in his scene.
Sometimes a bar seemed much like a confessional…and she’d sure learned a lot in the last few hours.
Josie wandered in a circle around the bar, assessing who needed refills. Two men, one in black leathers, the other in a chain harness and leather collar had nearly full drinks.
Next were three women—Dommes. Their minions—slaves, submissives, or whatevers—knelt off to one side, also talking. Nothing needed there.
Ah, she had customers waiting—three women near the end of the bar.
As she headed that way, a redhead in a golden bustier scooted onto an empty barstool. A man in a well-tailored suit joined her.
“I’ll be right with you,” Josie said as she passed them.
Reaching the end of the bar, she smiled at the three women. A brunette, a redhead, and a blonde…sounded like the beginning of a joke. “What can I get you?”
The platinum blonde turned to her friends as if Josie hadn’t spoken. “Didn’t I tell you we had a new bartender?”
Josie smothered a sigh and patiently waited.
“I’d like a shot of Scotch. Make it the Balvenie 21. It’s over there.” The blonde waved toward the other side of the bar before grinning at her giggling friends.
The laughter sounded nervous, and in any other bar, Josie would have carded them. But Z’s background check and security guard ensured anyone in the place was over twenty-one.
“Coming right up.” Josie spotted the bottle of scotch and picked it up. Nice choice. Aged in port wine casks, the twenty-one-year-old single malt ran well over two hundred dollars a bottle. Pouring, Josie made a mental no
te so she’d keep track of how much the blonde had imbibed. She set the drink in front of the woman. “Here you go.”
The blonde scooped it up and moved away, followed by her friends.
“What the fuck?” a man said from behind Josie. Despite the soft voice, his irritation came through clearly.
Uh-oh. Josie turned and smiled. “Good evening. What can I get you?”
Stepping up to the bar, the man was tall and wiry, probably in his forties with short light brown hair. The coiled whip fastened to his belt sent a shiver down Josie’s spine. Did he seriously use that? On a person?
His gaze was cold. “That’s my bottle.”
Huh? She glanced down at the bottle still in her hand. “Oh. All right. Would you like a drink from it?”
His color darkened. “I don’t know who the fuck you are, but that bottle cost me a hefty penny, and I won’t have you pouring it out for your subbie friends. You—”
Her subbie friends? Josie saw the women were no longer at the bar. A sinking feeling made her take a step back. She’d messed up…somehow…but what had she done? “I don’t understand.”
Down the bar, the man in the suit started to stand up. “Edward, might I—”
“Hey, Edward,” said a very familiar voice.
Holt? Josie’s jaw dropped as her neighbor strolled up to the bar. His thick, dark blond hair was loose, brushing his shoulders, and his short beard had been trimmed.
Seriously? Her biker neighbor was a member of this place?
Seeing Holt, the Dom wearing a suit silently resumed his place.
“You look riled up, Edward. What’s up?” Holt’s calm, resonant voice was like a flag of peace in a battle. As Josie pulled in a breath, his sea-gray eyes gaze turned to her with an appraising gaze.
“Um. Hi, Holt,” she said.
Edward scowled at her. “That’s Master Holt to you. Show some fucking respect.”
Master? Josie noted the gold band circling Holt’s hard biceps. Master Holt. From Edward’s irritation, apparently even the bartender should use that Master title when addressing them. Cullen had missed a few details during her orientation.
Holt gave Edward an amused look. “She’s not a member. Z hired us a professional bartender.” He glanced at her. “Is this your first night?”
She nodded.
“Thought so.” He grinned at Edward. “We should give the poor drink-slinger time to familiarize herself with the quirks here.”
“A professional bartender?” Annoyance sliding away, Edward studied her. “I’ve seen you before, haven’t I? At The Highlands?”
“You have a good memory.” She took a breath. “I’m very sorry if I messed up. Could you explain what I did wrong? When Cullen was showing me the ropes, he had a call from work and left without completing my orientation to the bar.”
“Nice. Left you to the wolves and”—Holt nodded at Edward—“sadists.”
She’d aggravated a whip-wielding sadist. Josie swallowed. “Um.”
Edward grinned and, thankfully, didn’t unsnap his whip. His mouth thinned again. “What you did wrong was to pour a drink for your girlfriend, Amber, from my private stock.”
That sounded bad. Josie bit her lip. “Cullen mentioned private stock but left before he had a chance to explain it.”
“Let me show you.” Holt lifted up the pass-through and stepped behind the bar. Taking the bottle from her hand, he pointed to the small label on one side that said “EDWARD.” “Although the bar is stocked with regularly priced alcohol”—he gestured toward the array of bottles in the speed well and on the shelves—“some members want seriously expensive shit.”
Edward snorted. “That bottle ain’t shit, you heathen.”
Ignoring him, Holt continued, “If a member brings in a bottle, it gets labeled and kept only for them in this section.”
Josie stared at the bottles in dismay. She’d given someone a drink from another member’s bottle. A very expensive bottle. But…wait a minute. Her jaw clenched. “Does this mean if a member specifically requests a drink from a bottle kept in the private section, I should only pour if their name is the name on the bottle?”
“You didn’t pick my bottle at random?” Edward’s brows drew together.
“No. The lady asked for the Balvenie 21, specifically.” Josie motioned toward the blonde who had taken a seat in the area for unattached submissives. “She directed me to the private stock shelves.”
Both Doms turned. In the nearby sitting area, the blonde and her two friends stiffened when they realized they were being watched.
“I’m getting the impression you’re not friends with Amber?” Edward asked.
“Aside from the owner, Master Holt is the only person I know here.”
“Fuck. I jumped before checking the lay of the land.” Edward scowled. “Sorry.”
Holt stepped out from behind the bar, eyed the women, and crooked his finger. Come here.
Considering the stern set of Holt’s jaw, Josie wasn’t surprised when the three hurried over.
Holt leveled a hard stare at the blonde. “I hear you asked the bartender for Edward’s Balvenie and pointed her toward his bottle.”
Amber gave a shocked gasp and glared at Josie. “I did not. You’re lying. You just grabbed—”
“Oh honestly, Amber.” Down the bar, the redhead in the golden bustier turned. “Sure looks like the hamster is running, but the wheel isn’t spinning.”
Amber scowled. “What do you mean?”
“I mean if you’re going to steal something, first check for witnesses. I heard you ask for the Balvenie 21. So did Master Marcus.”
The blonde turned red, and then she cast a timid look at the guy in the suit—Master Marcus—who wore a gold armband.
Another Master. How many of them were there?
Master Marcus’s slow Southern accent didn’t lessen the firmness of his voice as he said, “Gabrielle is correct, Amber. I do believe you’ve gotten yourself into a heap of trouble.”
He turned his attention to Holt. “You got yourself back here just in time to deal with this mess. I am most appreciative.”
Josie caught the subtext—the other Master was dumping everything in Holt’s lap.
Holt gave him a sour look. “Thanks, Marcus.”
“Welcome back.” Smiling, Master Marcus returned to talking with his redhead.
With an almost unheard sigh, Holt—Master Holt—turned back to the women. Ignoring Amber, he looked from the redhead to the brunette, his intense regard making them fidget uncomfortably.
After a long moment, he spoke. “You two didn’t stop your friend. You didn’t speak up when she lied to get the bartender in trouble. I’m displeased with such behavior from Shadowland submissives.”
Both women wilted.
The redhead whispered, “I’m sorry.”
“As am I. Many Doms enjoy a bit of brattiness; however, none condone dishonesty…or theft.” His smooth voice had acquired an edge that could cut.
The two women flinched.
His tone softened. “Do you remember your first night in the Shadowlands?”
They nodded.
“Pretty scary, wasn’t it?”
More nods.
“Put yourself in the bartender’s shoes for a moment. Imagine it’s your first night here on the job in this strange place.” As Holt talked, the women looked at Josie, comprehension growing in their expressions. “You’re nervous, trying to do your best.” He paused…then added in a slow, disapproving voice, “Then a customer scams you and lands you in so much trouble, you could get fired. And the customer’s friends think it’s funny.”
The redhead dissolved into tears.
“Oh, God, we did.” The brunette closed her eyes for a second. Then, looking Josie straight in the face, she said softly. “I’m very sorry, ma’am. I was wrong. Is there a way I can make this right?”
The redhead nodded desperately.
“Ah…” Josie glanced at Holt.
�
�That sounds more like submissives who belong here.” Holt gestured toward the bar. “Since it’s tough to keep up with the drink demands, you two can help her out. For the next half hour, you pour beer, water, sodas, and clean up. Do anything she asks you to do.”
More nods.
Holt added quietly, “If a Dominant asks why you’re behind the bar, explain…completely.”
The women winced at the thought of confessing, then ducked under the pass-through and waited for orders.
Oh…boy. Josie considered for a second before handing them bar rags. “Can you pick up the empties and wipe down the bar?” There wasn’t much to do, since she tidied as she worked, but this…awkward interlude…had put her behind.
“Yes, ma’am,” the redhead whispered.
“Right away, ma’am.” The brunette was younger, maybe twenty-three, and her hands trembled with her relief.
As Josie started to move away, Holt gave her a slight shake of his head. Stay.
When he turned to Amber, his eyes were the color of sleet and held as much warmth. “Conning the bartender, stealing, lying, and casting the blame on another person. Did I miss anything?”
Amber flushed beet red.
When the blonde’s expression turned remorseful, Josie wanted to roll her eyes. She’d seen better acting from Carson’s friends.
“I’m sorry, Master Holt.” Amber took a step closer…and stopped when Holt’s jaw tightened.
His control over his anger was impressive—and intimidating enough that Josie wanted to retreat to a safe distance. California sounded about far enough away.
“Am I the one who should get an apology?” Holt asked in a lethally soft voice.
After a second, Amber glanced at Edward and gritted out, “I’m sorry, Sir.”
The sadist’s expression didn’t change.
Amber shrugged and offered Holt a simperingly pretty smile. “May I go now, Master Holt?”
He crossed his arms over his chest and waited.
Sheesh, Josie wasn’t the one in trouble, but that silence stuff was deadly.
Beneath the Scars Page 5
