Masters of the Castle: Witness Protection Program

by Maren Smith

  “I’m Tasha.”

  “I don’t care,” he said harshly, any trace of gentleness or kindness gone now. “Carmen Massino is a dangerous piece of work, and you could have gotten yourself killed trying to follow him, let alone confronting him about your brother. This isn’t some Hollywood movie where a handsome man is gonna appear out of nowhere to rescue you. This is real life, and it’s serious.” He looked her up and down. “Little girls like you shouldn’t get mixed up in dangerous games. Now you go home and forget you ever saw me, okay?”

  “When will I… will he be able to contact me?” she asked, forcing herself to ignore his unkind comments. Maybe he was being cruel to be kind, maybe he was slipping back into his role as henchman.

  “Whenever Carmen is prosecuted and William is deemed safe,” Mario said. “Now, I meant what I said. Get the fuck out of here, okay?”

  Tasha nodded, still reeling with the knowledge that her little brother wasn’t being held hostage or hurt—or worse. He was simply in hiding. He was protected. He was safe. “Thank you, Mario,” she whispered, deciding she’d better not risk kissing his cheek. He looked like he’d slap her if she so much as tried. “Thank you so much.”

  His only response was a glare and a curt nod, so she turned and headed back down the way she had come. When she looked over her shoulder, he had vanished.

  As soon as she found a quiet corner, she leaned against the wall, trying to stop her knees from shaking with the combination of relief and adrenaline. William was safe. She no longer had to try and find Carmen to get answers. Technically, she could go up to the dorm, pack her things, and get on the noon bus to Granger.

  Even the mere thought was enough to make her want to crumple in a heap and cry. Master Eamon. She shouldn’t have run from him in the Café. She’d just dumped everything on him, admitted she’d been lying since the moment they met, and scarpered the minute he’d shown even the barest hint of anger—anger he was absolutely entitled to.

  She didn’t want that to be his last memory of her. Or hers of him, for that matter.

  She wanted to remember the way his entire face lit up when he gave her one of his rare smiles, the way his eyes darkened with desire, the sound of his voice when it hummed through her entire being, the feel of his strong hands scorching her skin.

  God, but she missed him already. Nobody had ever made her feel anything close to what Master Eamon made her feel, and even though she didn’t want to admit it, not even to herself, she just knew that nobody else ever would.

  Yet more tears welled in her eyes and she knuckled them away, suddenly furious with herself. Why hadn’t she been honest with him from the start? He’d said he would help her! Why hadn’t she simply trusted him? She’d trusted him enough to let him tie her up, spank her and fuck her, but not enough to help her?

  Unfortunately, now, it looked like it was too late.

  Chapter 14

  The bar was pretty much deserted, as was to be expected for a late Sunday morning, but that suited Eamon just fine. He was nursing a whiskey and trying to get up the nerve to go see Master Marshall. It wasn’t the thought of getting into trouble or having to admit he’d been duped that worried him, though. It was the thought of never seeing her again.

  Never having the chance to tell her how he felt about her.

  Every time he closed his eyes, he could see her tear-stained face, her huge, pleading brown eyes, her wobbling lower lip. I can’t bear to see that look on your face, she’d said, and he’d wondered what she saw when she looked at him. A monster? A callous prick? Or someone who was justifiably angry that he’d been lied to? Someone who was hurt because he’d come to care deeply for a woman who’d been dishonest from the very start?

  The irony of it all, though, was that he’d already forgiven her. As he’d suspected all along, she’d had—in her mind, at least—a good reason to lie. She hadn’t wanted to be forced to leave any more than he’d wanted to see her booted out.

  Only she’d wanted to stay to find her brother.

  He’d wanted her to stay because…

  He sighed and took another deep swallow of whiskey, relishing the burn as it spread down to his stomach. It might have made more sense for him to go up to his apartment and drink there, but he couldn’t face the sight of the bed where they’d lain so happily just a few hours ago, her spicy, feminine perfume probably still lingering on the pillows.

  Plus, if he stayed at the bar, there was no risk of his going overboard and having more than one. The Castle rule was one drink every twenty-four hours. As much as he wanted to drown his sorrows and dull the ache deep in his chest, he needed a fairly clear head when he went to see the Master of Masters. Not least to tell him that—

  Eamon sat bolt upright, almost falling off his stool. He’d been so wrapped up in his own misery that he hadn’t even considered the dangers. How could he have been so stupid? Tasha had told him that the guy she suspected of murdering her brother was right here, in the Castle, masquerading as a guest! Who knew what he had planned, or why he was there? An icy finger of dread tickled his spine as he considered the implications of that and remembered what else she’d said. That she planned to confront the guy. With no back-up, no support, no nothing.

  “Fuck,” he muttered, sliding off the barstool, his drink forgotten. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

  For a moment he was torn, wondering where to go first. To find Tasha, make sure she was safe? Or to Marshall, to tell him that there was a potentially extremely dangerous man in the Castle? Oh, Christ. What if that guy had something to do with Marshall’s cousin and whatever was going on there?

  Deciding he’d warn Marshall first and then go find Tasha, he set off toward the staircase in the lobby. He was halfway up the first flight when there was a tremendous boom, the entire building shook, and an ear-splitting alarm started to blare incessantly.

  It was pandemonium. People started streaming past him down the steps, in various states of undress, the naked panic evident in their eyes.

  “Go slowly,” he snapped, immediately reverting to his role as a Master of the Castle. “You don’t want to fall. Just stay calm and exit the building quietly.”

  Looking down, he saw the lobby filled with people all pushing and shoving to get to the door. Damnit. He was about to go back down and restore order when he noticed two tall, blond men elbowing their way through the crowd and barking directions. Travis and Trevor. Good. They could handle it. In the meantime, he needed to find out what the hell was going on.

  It sounded like the fire alarm, but that wouldn’t explain the loud noise and the way the entire Castle had trembled. In fact, he could have sworn that sounded more like a…

  Bomb.

  Eamon went cold, his hand clenching the bannister almost hard enough to splinter it. More people were streaming past him and in the foggy haze of his panic, he could make out snatches of their hushed, urgent conversations.

  “… on the third floor, apparently…”

  “… no, I’m serious! It was an explosion!”

  “… completely taken out part of the third floor. I hope nobody got hurt…”

  The third floor was where his apartment was located, along with all the other Masters’ residences and several other rooms. The Little Maids’ dorm was on the second, thank goodness, but Tasha had said she’d come to speak to him later. Oh, God, what if she’d been waiting for him there? What if she was hurt—or worse?

  With dread churning in his gut, he took the rest of the stairs to the second floor two at a time, his long legs eating up the distance, barreling through all the people going down.

  Just the thought that she might be hurt was enough to make him want to heave. Please, he thought, frantically scanning every face he passed, hoping to see her dazed but unhurt, please be okay. I’m not angry anymore. I get why you lied. I couldn’t handle it if something happened to you, not now that I’ve just found you. We can sort it all out. Damnit, I—

  “Sorry, man, you can’t come up here.”


  Eamon stared in disbelief at the big guy blocking his access to the second-floor hall, wearing the trademark black and white Castle Security t-shirt. “I live here,” he snapped. “And I have reason to believe someone was in my apartment when the explosion happened.”

  “Everybody is under orders to evacuate the premises immediately,” the man said, his arms folded across his vast chest.

  Eamon wanted to punch him. “I get that,” he said, trying to rein in his anger, “but, like I said, my apartment is up that way. My home.” He pointed over the guard’s shoulder toward Marshall’s office and the locked double-doors that denied guest trespassers access to the third-floor staircase and stopped. Rubble and debris coated every available surface. It was a complete, gut-churning mess. “Who the fuck decided to blow up the fucking Castle?” he said to no one in particular.

  “We’re going to find that out. Rescue teams are searching the rooms. If there’s anyone there, they will be found and cared for. But you need to get outside or, if you prefer, make yourself useful by helping the guests evacuate safely.”

  “I don’t fucking believe this,” Eamon snarled, his shock at the ruined state of the third floor swiftly overtaken by renewed anger. “Where’s Marshall?”

  “Sir, I need to ask you to go downstairs now,” the guard said again.

  “Fine,” Eamon ground out, realizing that arguing was getting him nowhere. Besides, maybe he’d got lucky. Maybe she hadn’t even been up here when it happened. Fuck, there was a lot of damage though. “Has anyone been hurt?”

  “Too early to tell.”

  Eamon peered at him. He was young, maybe in his early twenties. “You’re new, aren’t you? Because if you’d been here for more than five minutes, you’d actually give a fuck that this is not only my home, it’s where many of my friends live, and work, and sleep, and that a fucking bomb just went off in it! You wouldn’t stand there like a fucking robot and you’d show me some fucking respect, or at least compassion!”

  The young man visibly paled, wilting under the full brunt of Master Eamon’s withering Dom glare. “Sorry, sir,” he mumbled. “I’m not allowed to let anyone up here. It’s not safe—structure hasn’t yet been declared sound and someone said something about there being more than one bomb.”

  “Great. That’s exactly what I want to hear,” Eamon said sarcastically, turning on his heel and heading back down the stairs. He could have shouldered the guy aside and forced his way past, but then he’d have Jackson on his case, and he was in enough crap as it was. No need to make things worse for himself. Besides, there was still a very good chance Tasha had made it outside. He had to find her, make sure she was okay, and deal with everything else later. He could handle Marshall, Dominick, Jackson—anything, as long as his girl was all right.

  Because, at some point over the last couple of days, somehow, that’s what she had become.

  His.

  Tasha had gone up to the dorm, found her locker, packed her few belongings and exchanged the Little Maid’s uniform for the clothes she’d been wearing when she’d first arrived at the Castle. She’d laid the costume on her cot, surprised that, instead of feeling more comfortable without the tightly cinched corset and too-short skirt, she felt wistful. She wouldn’t miss the shoes, though, she thought as she slipped back into her own ballet flats.

  A few moments later, she was outside in the vast courtyard, breathing in the fresh air. The portcullis loomed over the drawbridge, and she knew she had only to walk through it and the bus would be there, waiting to take her back to Granger.

  Back to normality.

  Back to her dingy little apartment and a renewed job search.

  Back to a life without Master Eamon, who had only to look at her and her tummy flipped, who had only to say, “Now,” in that sexy voice and she came apart…

  William is safe and that’s all that matters, she told herself for the umpteenth time, straightening the bag strap on her shoulder and wishing she had a cigarette. After all, even if she wanted to, there was no way she could stay. She had lied on every form she’d filled out and taken a job she had no business taking. She was an imposter. And if not even Master Eamon could forgive her, after all the time they’d spent together, there was no way anyone else would.

  No, staying and fessing up would cause nothing but trouble—and it wouldn’t change anything. She’d still be out on her ear.

  She stood out there for what felt like hours, conscious of the time ticking away, knowing she had to go, to make her feet take her over that damn bridge and to the bus but somehow unable to move.

  And then, behind her, there was a tremendous booming noise and the entire Castle trembled. Moments later, a siren began to wail and people began pouring out of the main entrance and down the steps.

  It was chaos.

  Clutching her bag, Tasha stood, frozen, unable to do anything but watch as the vast, wide open Castle doors regurgitated bodies; some almost naked, some fully clothed, all of them in some kind of costume. Everyone looked stunned, shocked, worried. Most were looking around, frantically.

  “Excuse me.” She finally found her feet and her voice and hurried over to a woman who was coughing, her hair covered in a thin layer of what looked like dust. “What happened?”

  “Explosion,” the woman said, “third floor.”

  “Yeah, it sounded a lot like a bomb to me,” said the guy with her, “although I can’t imagine that’s true.”

  Tasha felt the bottom of her stomach drop away and everything began to spin. She stumbled and the man automatically reached out and steadied her. A bomb? On the third floor? Where all the Masters stayed? Where Eamon stayed?

  “It’s okay, honey,” the stranger was saying reassuringly. “Take deep breaths. Maybe you should sit down.”

  Her watery knees gave way as if they had been waiting for permission and she sank onto the cool stone of the courtyard.

  The blood was rushing in her ears, a deafening roar that surely couldn’t be coming from within her own body?

  She stared at the trembling hands in her lap and noticed she was still wearing the yellow bracelet which declared to all and sundry that she was a member of staff, a submissive in the Little Maids program. A tear sploshed onto the lemon-colored plastic and she felt herself wishing with all her heart that she could turn back time, go back to that morning in the Café where he was looking at her with such anger and disappointment in his amazing eyes, and tell him the one thing she’d omitted.

  That she—

  “Tasha?”

  Before she could even register that it was Master Eamon’s voice, that he was okay, he had yanked her off the ground and into his arms, crushing her so tightly against his chest that she couldn’t breathe.

  “I love you,” he said into her hair, his voice breaking. “Fuck, I was so worried, I’m so glad you’re all right.”

  She sobbed against his t-shirt, his warmth and scent surrounding her, cocooning her. “I’m so s-sorry,” she managed, “p-please f-forgive me.”

  His arms tightened around her. “Of course,” he said hoarsely, “it’s okay. We’ll work it out. We’ll find your brother. Everything’s going to be all right.”

  She could barely think straight, the relief was so intense. Slowly, ever so slowly, she regained control of her breathing and allowed his words to penetrate the fog of panic. Did he just say he loves me?

  “I found Mario,” she said, her heart pounding, “and William’s safe. He’s in witness protection. Can you believe it?”

  “Wait, what?” Eamon took a step back, still gripping her shoulders as if she’d disappear the moment he let go. “What did you just say?”

  “The guy who came here with Carmen Massino. He’s an undercover cop or something. He told me William has agreed to testify in their case and he’s been put in witness protection for the time being. He’s not hurt. The authorities are keeping him safe.”

  “Oh, that’s fantastic,” Eamon said, pulling her close once again. “Oh, baby, I�
�m so glad.”

  Summoning all her courage, she took a deep breath, tilted her head up and searched his eyes. “Did you just say you love me? Or am I hearing things? My ears are ringing…”

  There was an interminably long pause. Then, just when she was about to backtrack, feeling like an absolute fool, he said, “Yes, I said that. Because I do.”

  Her heart damn near bursting out of her chest, she managed to reply, “I love you too, Sir,” before his lips were on hers, kissing her on and on.

  There, in the Castle courtyard, the pandemonium surrounding them and the wail of approaching ambulances faded into the background as Eamon pressed her entire body against his, showing her with more than words how he felt about her. And Tasha allowed herself, for the first time in a long time, to hope that maybe everything would work out after all.

  Epilogue

  In a townhouse on the back half of the Castle property, their new temporary home, Master Eamon looked down at the naked girl kneeling at his feet, the familiar bolt of love and pride surging through his chest. Her streaked hair had fallen forward to cover her face but he knew exactly what he’d see if he swept it back. Those gorgeous, dark velvet eyes downcast, her plump lips curved into a small smile of satisfaction.

  Leaning forward in his chair, he ran his fingers lightly over her creamy shoulder and she gave a small shiver of apprehensive desire.

  As new and naïve as she’d been when she’d first stepped off the bus and donned a Little Maid’s uniform, Tasha Lewis had taken to the BDSM lifestyle like the proverbial duck to water. And he was the one who got to mold her into exactly the kind of submissive painslut he’d always wanted.

  The last few weeks had been a veritable rollercoaster. Once the initial chaos after the explosion which had rocked the Castle to its very foundations had died down, Eamon had taken Tasha to see Marshall and they had told the Master of Masters everything. They left nothing out.

  His steely, ice-blue gaze had narrowed more and more as Tasha tremulously confessed how she’d followed Carmen and Mario to the Castle and pretended to be a genuine new hire, how she’d lied about her experience in the lifestyle, how badly she’d wanted to ask for help but how afraid she’d been. Eamon had taken her hand, squeezing it gently, interjecting where necessary and then, when she’d been too afraid to continue, outright asking Marshall whether he would hire her for real and allow her to remain there. With him.