Masters of the Castle: Witness Protection Program

by Maren Smith

  Tucking a hand behind her, the woman indulged in a remembered rub before disappearing into the conference room along with the rest of the submissives. Eden was left alone in the hallway, caught between a reluctance to put herself in any position where she might have to find out exactly how that felt and the most perplexing submissive curiosity to do just that.

  No. She recoiled, actually shaking her head at herself. No, the last thing she wanted was to rouse that man’s ire any further than she already had. She wasn’t a bad girl. She wasn’t a brat, and she got no pleasure out of getting in trouble for real. Fake trouble, that was something else. Fun ‘punishments’ that mimicked the real thing but with erotic undertones, those were far more her speed, and that was not this.

  That was not anything associated with Master Grimsley.

  Following the other woman’s directions, Eden made her way to the bathroom. She found the medical rooms first. Soft whimpering sounds let her know at least one of those offices was in use, but she managed to sneak into the bathroom without encountering anyone. They hadn’t got as far through the orientation process as picking up their uniforms in Wardrobe. Although that was probably coming up next, considering how Mrs. Hardwick had made a point of saying it was against Castle rules to be caught anywhere on the grounds in civilian clothes, and also considering how she was already in trouble, the last thing Eden wanted was to break any more rules.

  Fortunately, she didn’t spot anyone hanging out in or around the bathroom. Most importantly, nobody spotted her either, and soon she was hurrying right back to her point of indecision, caught between two doors—one of which took her back to her group, and the other sealing her out of that dead-end area where Grimsley and the other Masters were still talking to the two people who didn’t qualify either as dominants or submissives. Although she couldn’t hear what was being said, the low exchange of masculine voices could easily be heard. Her hand on the door latch, Eden was about to rejoin the other submissives when the errant thought popped into her head: If Grimsley was still with them, maybe she ought to wait for him to come out so she could apologize. It couldn’t hurt to try, right? She really, really wanted this job. If she could make him understand that, then at the very least a promise to do better might help her wriggle back into his good graces.

  Which might not happen if he caught her away from the rest of her group, but which absolutely would not happen if he wasn’t even still a part of Master Marshall’s private meeting.

  Tiptoeing to the door, not wanting to disturb whatever the Masters were doing on the other side, Eden very quietly cracked open the door and stole a quick peek.

  “You’ll need a master keycard,” Marshall was saying as he handed one to each of the new-hires. “With this, you’ll have access to every part of the Castle, including the guest rooms. Although, frankly, while I understand the importance, I still have a problem with that. We’ve got you in the Little Maids program, which gives you the best chance of slipping in and out with the rest of the cleaning staff without attracting too much attention, but badges must be kept hidden. I cannot emphasize enough how disruptive it would be if anyone found out I have police snooping through the Castle in search of a killer.”

  Eden’s whole body sparked, icy shock zipping up her spine and down the backs of her tensing legs. Killer? What killer?

  “What about the dog?” the man asked.

  “I have made allowances for service animals in the past,” Marshall said slowly. “We occasionally get guests suffering from PTSD, seizures, or a few other impairments.”

  The man and woman—police officers both—looked at one another, then back at Marshall.

  “Well,” the woman said wryly. “I can’t be blind, but I am wearing a hearing aid.”

  “For security and insurance purposes, I’ll need to provide you with an escort.”

  “Uh,” the male officer spoke up. “No offense to your Master Jackson—”

  “None taken,” the burly chief of security said from mere feet in front of Eden’s door. The fine hairs up her arms and across the back of her neck rose all over again.

  “—but we’re not going to be undercover for very long if we’re seen going in and out of rooms with someone with ‘security’ emblazoned across their chest.”

  “No, I realize that,” Master Marshall said. “It’ll have to be someone who won’t readily be identified by our regulars. And then, of course, there’s the problem of my being seen with you. Everyone who comes here, first time or not, knows my face. Plus, no offense, but I have a business to run. I have appointed Master Eric as the liaison between you and myself, not to mention the other officers who have been arriving all morning long.”

  “Other officers?” The woman snapped a look to her partner.

  “Yes,” Marshall drawled, his tone clearly stating he wasn’t happy about it, either. “Master Grimsley heads the Little Maids program, so he will be your direct connection to the Castle. If there is anything you need, please do not hesitate to ask either him or Eric. If it is within our power to do so, I have made it clear they are to accommodate all requests.”

  Struggling to digest the shocking information she’d just overheard, Eden cracked the door a little further, but accidentally bumped into something solid. Shit. Jackson. But no, a Master she assumed to be Eric popped his head out from behind the door and looked at her through the crack. It was a toss-up which of them was more startled, but then the latch ripped out of her hand and regardless of what her intentions had been at the start of this, all hell broke loose.

  “Well, look what I just caught,” Master Eric announced.

  Eden tried to run but his heavy hand clamped onto the back of her neck, yanking her into the room and the uncomfortable spotlight of everyone now frowning at her—the police, Marshall, and of course, the Master Butler, who looked furious.

  She was done. There was no apologizing for this, especially after Grimsley caught her by the ear, hauling her onto her tiptoes as he took her away from Eric.

  “I’ll take care of this,” he said. Eden believed him now too; his expression thunderous, he looked even scarier than before.

  “Wait,” Marshall said, before even she could.

  Grimsley stopped, one hand on the door and the other tightening its grip on her ear. She could feel the tension in him. It was almost as sharp and painful as his twisting hold.

  “Ow, ow, ow,” she whispered, coming up as high as her tiptoes would allow. She caught his wrist, but his grip did not relax. Neither the one on her ear, nor the one holding fast to both the door latch and his lethal-looking switch. She saw it from the corner of her eye when his thumb stroked about an inch above the rim of the leather-wrapped handle, a caress of anticipation, but she wasn’t anywhere near as afraid of that as she was of being fired. Especially since she wasn’t a snoop. She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop; she’d meant to apologize!

  Fat chance anyone would believe her now, though. She wanted to cry.

  “We can’t fire her.” Marshall rubbed his eyes and sighed.

  “Watch me,” Grimsley returned, but the burly chief of security stopped him.

  “No, he’s right,” Jackson said.

  “The minute she steps foot off Castle grounds, we’ll have no way of keeping this quiet. Word of this will spread through Granger like a drought fire. Then the first incoming tour bus will bring it right back here. If Carmen is here, not only will he know we’ve got undercover cops in the Castle, but all our guests and future guests would too.”

  “There goes our billing as a safe place to explore BDSM,” Jackson agreed.

  “There goes our billing as a safe anything,” Marshall replied. “What do you want to bet the first review that gets posted will be a demand to know why we were open and operating with a potential assassin in our midst?”

  “We only just got here and already our investigation is shot to shit,” the frowning male officer muttered, folding his arms across his chest and glaring at her.

  “We could ar
rest her,” the female suggested. “We can’t hold her indefinitely, but it could give us a few days. Unless you want to press charges, but I don’t think there’s anything you can get her for that she won’t immediately bond out of. So, then you’re back to not keeping this quiet.”

  Eden was hurt. “I won’t say anything. I-I didn’t mean to—”

  Grimsley twisted her ear, bringing her dancing that much higher onto her toes. “I,” he growled, “have had enough of you.”

  “Wait,” Marshall said again. Frowning at her, he shot the two officers the same dark, considering glare, then looked at the floor, and finally, he looked back at her. “She’s been through Orientation.”

  With slow reluctance, Grimsley answered, “Yes.” His hold on her did not gentle.

  “So she’s signed the confidentiality clause. She can’t legally talk about anything she’s seen or heard anywhere on Castle grounds.” Marshall glanced at Eric.

  “That’s no guarantee,” Jackson scoffed.

  “No kidding,” Eric agreed. “She’s listening at keyholes. Her morals are already questionable. You really think the threat of legal action will be enough to hold her to what she signed?”

  “But I won’t—” she protested.

  “Silence,” Grimsley hushed, glaring at her.

  “But—”

  He turned on her with such warning in his dark stare that Eden promptly shut her mouth. “I am not going to tell you again,” he said, dangerously soft.

  As if she wasn’t there at all, Marshall turned to Eric. “Did you or did you not just get done telling me you wanted no part of babysitting the bomb-sniffers?”

  Eden startled all over again. “Bomb?” It had to be the only word in the whole of the English language capable of making her forget Grimsley’s warning. At least until he shifted his grip from her ear to the back of her neck. Spinning her bodily around, he put her nose to the wall.

  The back of her neck crawled when he stepped right up into her bubble of personal space. Her back, shoulders, hips… bottom, all the pertinent parts of her were suddenly bumped right up against him as he growled, “Did I tell you to hush?”

  Eden swallowed hard. She’d been caught doing something she hadn’t really meant to do. It wasn’t fun or funny, and yet from the moment he stepped right up to her body and the hard press of him bumped into her back, a hum of awareness began to tickle through her insides. Her nipples tightened. A single, languid thump pulsed all the way down through her womb and into the crease between her thighs. The heat of his exhaling breath steamed the side of her neck and Eden shivered all over.

  “The Daddies are talking, pumpkin,” Master Eric added, and then to Marshall, said, “Yes, I definitely told you that.”

  “We don’t need babysitters,” the female officer snapped. “It’s not the first time we’ve been undercover, either.”

  “It’s your first time here,” Marshall dryly replied, before turning his attention back to Eric. “Rather than recruit yet another person we’ll have to tell, why not take advantage of the volunteer who already knows? If she violates the confidentiality clause—”

  “I won’t viol—” Eden jolted back onto her toes when Grimsley swatted her. Her face burned, her bottom stung in a perfect duplication everywhere his open hand had touched her, and Marshall continued as if he’d never been interrupted.

  “If she violates the clause while she’s working here, we’ll have a far easier chance of tracing it back to her. Whereas, we haven’t a prayer if she’s out wandering around Granger. A guest is far more likely to help us prosecute her than anyone in that town.”

  It was painful how little they thought of her. Even knowing she’d given them no reason to think any better, it still stung. She couldn’t even contradict them because the second her mouth opened, Grimsley pushed her so close to the wall that the tip of her nose touched the stone. How mortifying. How humbling. How weirdly arousing, too, especially where her bottom still stung. He didn’t let go once she was in place, either. Instead, Grimsley held her like a recalcitrant, unrepentant toddler, who had to be forced to accept the consequences of her misbehavior.

  And that was after he’d swatted her, which instantly threw this whole situation into the realm of the surreal. Not only was this the worst first day of any job she’d ever had, but she could also now check getting spanked by the boss off her fantasy bucket list.

  “All right, then,” Marshall decided. “You’ll need to get to Wardrobe and pick up a few extra uniforms. That should make this easier for you. You’ve got your room assignments, yes?”

  “Yes,” the male officer said.

  “Splendid. Then from now on, consider Eden your own personal escort. Do what you feel you need to, search anywhere and everywhere, but I ask that she be with you if you enter any employee’s or guest’s private rooms. If you fail to honor my request, then I will have you both removed from the premises.”

  The female officer opened her mouth, but the male silenced her with a motion of his hand. “You’re the boss,” he acknowledged. Taking his partner’s arm, he escorted her from the room, with Eric following not far behind.

  Grimsley kept his hand on the back of Eden’s neck until she heard the door bump softly closed again. She was now alone in a room with three Masters and no other witnesses. Eventually, the Master Butler released her and stepped back. The fine hairs prickling across the nape of her neck, she made herself turn and face them.

  “I don’t like not being able to trust the people around me,” Marshall told her.

  Frustration exploding, Eden almost threw her hands up. “But I wasn’t trying to spy,” leapt right to the tip of her tongue, only to die there without being spoken. Because it didn’t matter what she’d meant to do; meant or not, spying was what had happened, and now they all thought she was horrible. In their place, she’d have thought so too. Her shoulders slumped.

  “I’m giving you a second chance.” Marshall caught her shoulder, giving it a squeeze that was at once both reassuring and re-enforcing for the warning he added when he said, “Don’t make me regret this decision.” He looked to Grimsley. “She’s all yours.”

  Security Chief Jackson followed Marshall as far as the door. Pausing at the threshold, he glanced back long enough to ask, “I suppose I could take care of this if you’d really rather not. I know you’re busy.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  Fizzling cold sank through Eden’s chest, squeezing in around her lungs and making it very hard to breathe as she looked up into the Master Butler’s face. His dark eyes were unforgiving; his expression closed.

  “I’m very busy,” he said, the edges tight with anger. And yet, very little of that anger made it into his voice when he said, “Thank you for the offer, but I have every intention of handling this matter myself. And trust me when I say, little Eden and I are about to have a thorough conversation.”

  Oh—her fluttering heart actually skipped a beat—crap.

  Chapter 2

  Wade “Grimsley” Anderson was furious. Hands behind his back, he clasped the switch that had over the years become damn near as iconic with his station as a scepter was to a king. Deal with it, Jackson had said, and oh, did he intend to. He had a problem though. Were Eden a guest, he knew exactly what he would have done. Six of the best, an hour spent wearing herself out among the other Masters and guests in the Rainbow Room, and perhaps an added penalty in his office later that night. Guests were expected to misbehave. It was part of the fantasy, and one they had paid a lot of money to experience. Eden, however, was not a guest. She was a fellow employee and that single swat he’d given her was already one swat more than he preferred to give any of the submissives who worked under him.

  Deal with it, Jackson had said. All Grimsley needed to do now was figure out how.

  In long steps, he stormed the length of several grey-stone Castle corridors, taking a maze of twists and turns with Eden following at his heels, half-jogging just to keep up. He hated dealing with new-hires. Ev
ery single time his turn came around to supervise the recruits through their three-month probationary period, his dislike of it grew that much more. There were enough Masters and Mistresses on the payroll that the chore only rolled around once every two years, but this was his third time suffering through it and thus far, the only benefit he’d gained from the exhausting ordeal was the deeply ingrained personal belief that the younger generation of BDSM enthusiasts all—without exception—were selfish pricks.

  To a man, every Dom came into this place thinking he knew everything and that his cock was the end-all, be-all of every submissive’s dreams. Likewise, every mistress thought the Castle submissives existed only to do their bidding, rub their feet, give them orgasms and bring them drinks. The submissives were the worst. The males and females both, all they wanted was to see who could brat the hardest and so earn the most spankings.

  Some Dominants here actually indulged that behavior, but Grimsley never did. This was a job. If they couldn’t bother to treat it as such, frankly, he didn’t see why they should have remained employed. The last time he’d been tasked as the Probationary Master, he’d fired everybody before the end of the third day and cheerfully retired himself once more to being the Master Butler, tasked only with keeping a firm rein on the Little Maid program.

  He liked his Maids. From the ‘dours,’ dressed head to toe in drab grey and who ached only to serve without the complication of either sex or (for the most part) discipline, to the Little Maids in their scanty French costumes, he liked them. And yes, he still got brats upon occasion, but he dealt with it. And yes, he often got troublemakers. It was a rare day when he and his switch were not called upon to administer at least one sound thrashing. But those were guests, and guests on their worst behavior were nothing compared to Millennial new-hires.

  God help him, and here he was again: the Probationary Master. Placed in charge of twenty new recruits, and yes, he had managed to get rid of one of them, but this time Marshall had restricted his ability to terminate anyone without Miranda Hardwick’s presence and approval. Once a no-nonsense woman in her own right, Mrs. Hardwick had become damned near motherly since her marriage to Ana. She would never agree to let him fire everybody in three months, much less three days. He was pretty much stuck with the job this time, and he knew it.