The Effing List

by Cherise Sinclair

  “Do you have a copy?” Ben asked.

  “No, no, of course not.”

  “Mistress Olivia.” Ghost’s harsh voice broke in. “If the picture was so successful, I’m sure Chelsey kept it. Didn’t you, Chelsey?”

  Olivia turned on her bar stool.

  Chelsey stood there, shaking like a leaf.

  Ghost gripped the young woman’s shoulder with one hand—and held a garishly decorated phone in the other. He must have taken Chelsey into the loo to retrieve the phone from her locker.

  Olivia stared at Chelsey. “Show me the photo.”

  “It’s not… I’m sure it’s gone. I wouldn’t have…”

  With an annoyed sound, Ghost pressed Chelsey’s finger to the phone’s fingerprint scanner.

  Chelsey made a sound and tried to back out of Ghost’s grip. He growled at her. “Kneel.”

  The authority in his voice made Chelsey drop to her knees—and several other submissives struggled not to follow suit.

  He studied the phone and swiped the screen a few times, then handed the phone to Olivia.

  She winced. “Yes, that’s the one.”

  Ben plucked the phone from her hand and studied the display, then angled it so she could see. “Look at the shadows down their bodies. You can see the light came from the right. But…notice the shadows on Natalia’s face—like beside her nose? There the light comes from the left.”

  Olivia stiffened.

  Ben magnified the photo, magnified it again, and handed the cell back. He hovered his finger over Natalia’s neck. “See how the skin texture has disappeared. It’s too smooth, and the pigment doesn’t quite match. Someone tried to blur the line where Natalia’s head was substituted for someone else’s.”

  Olivia could see it now. “It’s not Natalia,” she whispered.

  “No,” Anne said firmly. “It’s not.”

  Olivia stared at the kneeling submissive.

  Chelsey had gone dead white. “I…Mistress, it’s only because… I’m sorry, I…”

  The anger filling Olivia was huge. Engulfing. Throttling it back, she asked Ghost, “Advice?”

  He considered a moment. “Work things out with Natalia, and afterward, the two of you decide together what Chelsey deserves. Then talk with me”—he winced—“I mean, talk with Z.”

  The pain in his expression broke through her anger.

  She’d heard the bloody stupid rumors about him and could guess the originator. Wrecker. The arsehole was out to ruin a good Dom who was perfect for the job of managing the Shadowlands.

  “Natalia and I will figure it out,” she growled at him, “and be back to talk with you. As for you, don’t be a plonker and quit on us.”

  “Olivia—”

  She held up her hand. “I have things to do.”

  The hardarse actually chuckled. “Yes, you do.”

  Turning her back on him, she pulled up “share” on the picture and sent herself a copy. Maybe it would keep Natalia from killing her dead.

  After deleting the photo, she handed the phone to Chelsey. “You hurt two people very badly. Think on that for a while.”

  As she stalked away, she heard Chelsey break into tears.

  In their staging area of a bunch of chairs close to the bar, Valerie stared as Mistress Olivia walked out of the Shadowlands. “Wow. What a mess.”

  As she’d known would happen, Ghost had stepped in. Of course he had. She’d heard the way he told Olivia to talk to Z—and oh, she’d wanted to go give him a hug. They had to make this right.

  “What a mess.” Gabi shook her head. “Natalia did good. When she goes in, she sure goes all in.”

  Rainie scowled. “Who else wants to knock the backstabbing, buttheaded bimbo named Chelsey into the next county?”

  Sally’s hand shot up.

  And they all followed suit.

  The Masters at the bar had returned to talking. Perfect. This was the time they’d been waiting for. Valerie pulled in a breath and rose. “All right, people. Let’s get our show on the road.”

  “Yes!” Sally bounced to her feet. “Bar team, with me.”

  Gabi, Beth, and Kim followed her.

  Valerie pointed at Rainie and Andrea. “Projector team, prepare for action.”

  Grinning, Rainie saluted. The two women opened the bag sitting on the bondage table and pulled out the projector and laptop.

  Valerie picked up the microphone and tried to relax. This wasn’t any different than lecturing at the university, right?

  Wrong. Students didn’t carry whips and floggers hooked to their belts.

  Outside Z’s office, she punched in the code for the sound system—thank you, Jessica—killed the music, and selected the button marked Announcement chimes.

  The three melodic notes sounded once, then again, alerting the members to gather at the bar. People around the room started to move. Scenes that could be ended easily would stop.

  On the left end of the bar, Linda slid off her barstool so Kim could use it to climb onto the bar top. At the other end, Kari rose to give Sally the same access.

  Even as Sally and Kim pulled down the chains that dangled from a rafter above the bar, Josie set the long white sheet on the bar top. The two grabbed the sheet, secured each end to chains, and pulled the chains so the sheet rose into the air.

  Still on the ground, Gabi and Beth fastened the bottom corners of the sheet to the embedded anchors in the bar top.

  Valerie grinned. There was their display screen, nice and tight, hanging above the center of the oval bar.

  Around the bar, the Masters watched, eyes narrowed. But neither Master Z nor the Colonel had moved. The conspirators had counted on the Doms being too curious to put a halt to everything.

  Microphone in hand, she moved toward the bar so she could see it better.

  Rainie gave her a thumbs-up. The projector was ready.

  Her turn.

  “Members of the Shadowlands.” She decreased the mic volume slightly to keep the sound contained to the area around the bar and not disturb the scenes. “Many of you have heard the rumors about the Colonel. Before we start… Did you realize the people who started the rumors are good buddies with the previous manager?”

  Even as the crowd near the bar grew, people reacted to what she said with either frowns or swearing.

  Seeing movement, she froze.

  Dogget and Knuckles, a muscled brutish friend of Barry’s had spotted her with the mic and were heading straight for her.

  Spit, now what?

  Ghost noticed and—Master Z put his hand on Ghost’s arm, obviously keeping him there.

  “Relax, pet.” On her left, Saxon patted her shoulder.

  Ben took up a position on her right and grinned down at her. “Anne wanted to see where you’re going with this.”

  In an uncanny choreography, the two men crossed their arms over their muscular chests.

  She had guards.

  Knuckles and Dogget stopped, then faded into the still-growing crowd.

  Okay then. One calming breath later, she spoke into the mic. “Usually rumors should simply be ignored, but since this kind of slander was deliberately set up to affect your trust in the Shadowlands manager as well as in the owner, a response seemed appropriate. The ones peddling their lies say Ghost ignored a submissive’s hard limits and drove her to attempt suicide.”

  There were some shocked sounds. Perhaps not everyone had heard the gossip. Far too many heads nodded.

  “We went straight to the source to get the truth for you. The submissive’s name is Faylee—and this is what she has to say.”

  Valerie pointed to Andrea and Rainie.

  The projector lit up, and on the white sheet over the bar, the video played.

  Faylee stood in front of a wall of bookcases in what appeared to be an office. She was probably in her thirties, brown hair cut in a bob, wearing a lacey blue blouse and dark pants. She was slightly underweight but appeared healthy.

  Her voice was a bit harsh and hi
gh-pitched. “I have no idea how to do this, but here goes. I’d always planned to apologize to Ghost if the opportunity arose, but this sure isn’t how I planned to do it. Jesus Christ, don’t you idiots realize what kind of a fantastic Dom you scored for your club?”

  A low voice said something, the words undecipherable, and Faylee sighed. “Right, right. Sorry.”

  Aside from a few scene noises, the entire club had gone quiet.

  “So, Valerie asked me to tell you what happened on—how do the mysteries call it?—the night in question. Here’s the background, something I’m finally able to talk about.” Hands clasped in front of her waist, Faylee pulled in a visible breath. “I was abused as a child. Raped, beaten, messed up. By my father. And most of my life since has been trying to cope with that in one way or another. I’m also a masochist. Pain gets me out of my head and lets me know I’m alive.”

  Valerie had heard this recording several times now—and it didn’t seem to matter. When Faylee’s voice wobbled on the last few words, on “I’m alive”, Valerie’s heart broke all over again. She swallowed back the tears.

  Faylee was saying, “So, back then—fuck, it’s like two years ago—I wanted to try something new, not just a good flogging, but being restrained…to get past what my father had done to me. I picked a Dom I’d never played with but who was awesome. So careful and controlled I knew I’d be safe. I’d watched him play before, almost always with a woman his age, but he hadn’t been in the club for maybe a year, so when he showed up, I jumped at the chance.”

  Valerie moved closer to the crowd, thinking to watch their reactions. Inevitably, her gaze shot straight to Ghost.

  Master Z still held his arm, although they’d moved away from the bar, probably to see the screen better. Jessica stood on Z’s other side.

  Ghost’s expression was unreadable in the dim light of the club, but the very stillness, the way he held himself conveyed…anger.

  Valerie’s stomach felt as if she had rocks in it. She knew he’d be mad…and she couldn’t let it stop her. Even if they weren’t friends any longer, this needed to be done. Jessica had called earlier to report Ghost had tried to resign.

  Not going to happen. The club needed him…and he needed the club.

  On the screen, Faylee shook her head. “When I…okay, I’ll confess that when I totally begged, Ghost agreed to a pick-up scene. I didn’t know where his usual submissive was and didn’t care. I was…” She bit her lip. “It’s hard to admit, but at the time, the only person I cared about was me. We went through the negotiations, and it was all good. But when he asked about my past, about emotional problems and potential triggers, I lied to him—and then spilled my drink to fuck with my body language so he couldn’t tell.”

  Someone muttered, “That’s messed up.”

  “I fucking hate liars,” gritted out a Top with a whip on his belt.

  Faylee laughed suddenly and pointed at someone in the room. “You should see Master Drake’s face. He’s furious with me.”

  She shook her head. “Ghost talked about aftercare, and I told him no aftercare. I said I didn’t like it and didn’t tell him I couldn’t tolerate someone trying to hold me. He said he liked to call his bottoms a day or so later to check on them, but sometimes his job took him out of town, and did I have someone else if I needed help. I assured him I did.”

  “Yes, people, I lied again. I did have friends, but I would never let anyone know I was vulnerable. Or ask for help. Just…no.”

  Faylee started walking back and forth in the room. “So, Ghost restrained me, and it was fine until he used a whip, and I couldn’t move—and you guessed it right? I had a panic attack. Screaming and crying and—hell, I don’t think I even used a safeword, but he had me out of the restraints and got me calmed down. He’s really good at that. Then he ignored what I thought I’d wanted and did aftercare. Wrapped me in a blanket, helped me drink a Gatorade, and, since I wouldn’t let him touch me, he just sat next to me. And talked. About nothing special. Letting me know I wasn’t alone. That I was safe. God, it was nice. But, being an idiot, as soon as I spotted one of my friends, I had her take me home.”

  “What a mess,” Saxon said under his breath.

  Ben grunted his agreement.

  On the screen, Faylee walked across the room again. Her face was pale, and she was blinking back tears.

  Master Drake said something, and she shook her head. “No, I want to do this. It’s…harder to talk about than I thought it would be.”

  She faced the camera again. “See, it was my own fault the scene went bad and cracked open all the shit I’d buried. For years, I’d been depressed and not really living, only this time, I went into a total meltdown. I really wanted the pain to end, and I was so angry and confused.” She snorted. “Alcohol and drugs—really not a good choice.”

  Valerie sighed, wanting nothing more than to give the young woman a hug.

  “Okay, right about then, I realized Ghost never called to check on me, and suddenly, everything was his fault. My meltdown and the drugs and all the shit wrong in my life. I was higher than a kite when I called my friends to rant about Ghost and blame everything on him. And then I tried to die.”

  She showed the scars on her forearms. “Cutting deep felt so good, like I could feel something, only then I realized maybe I wasn’t ready to die, and I called 911. The doctors admitted me into a facility, and that’s when I got help.”

  She was back to pacing back and forth.

  “I was in the facility for quite a while. Once out, I avoided my friends—because that’s what addicts are supposed to do. I didn’t return to the club for a long time. But when I did, I found out the damage I’d done.”

  Pulling on her hair, she stared into the camera. “The reason Ghost hadn’t been in the club for so long was because his wife died. Lucky him, his first night back after a year, he was saddled with a lying, crazy person.”

  There was a soft murmur going around the club.

  * * *

  Z still had a hard grip on Ghost’s arm. Ghost knew he could get free by punching the bastard—and he’d seriously considered it—but flattening his friend seemed excessive.

  Still, watching a submissive essentially flog herself over something she couldn’t have helped pissed him the hell off.

  In the process, she was sharing more about Ghost’s past than he was pleased with. Dammit.

  Faylee wiped her eyes. “I mentioned he didn’t call me a day or two after the scene. Sure, he’d warned me that might happen because of his job, but in my deluded self-centeredness, I just knew it was because he’d simply blown me off. Well, it turned out he was a colonel in the Special Forces and sent overseas, and when carrying one of his soldiers to a helicopter, he got his leg shot up. And amputated. God! After all the hospital stuff, he finally gets back to Chains and finds out I’d totally destroyed his reputation.”

  She shook her head. “If you’re listening to this, Ghost, I’m so sorry. When I talked about this with my counselor, she asked me… Well, I realized I not only lied to you, but I was so fucking self-involved I never asked you anything about you. It was my fault I didn’t know you were military. Or knew your wife had died. In my mind, you were only there to give me what I wanted. And that’s not right.”

  Pulling in a breath, she motioned toward the other side of the room. “When I eventually talked with Master Drake, he’d already pretty much figured out what happened, and I offered to visit the club and put things straight, but Ghost had already left. The club. The city. Even the state. What I did to him was probably the last straw on two years of misery. In spite of that, he’d left a note with Master Drake to hand over to me, one full of encouragement. Cheering me on to get better.”

  When Faylee’s eyes welled with tears again, Ghost’s chest ached in sympathy.

  “Now, apparently some dumb asswipes in your club are trying to start it all back up for him. Well, you bastards, don’t you dare use me as part of your smear campaign. Ghost is one of th
e best Doms you’ll ever find, and you should be damned grateful to have him there.” She set her hands on her hips and glared at the camera.

  Ghost shook his head. He’d only spent a brief period of time with her, yet…he was damned proud of her. Her own strength had brought her out of the darkness. She was no longer huddled around herself but had grown enough to think of others.

  Near where he stood, the members were talking quietly—and angrily.

  “Those rumors were bullshit, total bullshit.”

  “She’s right—talk about a fucking smear campaign.”

  “Barry was the one who told me that shit. He was totally lying.”

  Ghost blinked. Well, damn.

  On the screen, Master Drake walked forward, very European in a black silk suit. He had black eyes and black hair and a neatly trimmed, gray-flecked mustache. After setting a supportive hand on Faylee’s shoulder, he turned to the camera. “I’m Drake—and I own Chains, the club in Seattle where this happened. Ghost, if the Shadowlands doesn’t suit, I’d be more than pleased to have you back and even more pleased to acquire a manager. You club members, if you have questions, you may call me. If any of you bother Faylee, I will have the skin flogged from your body.”

  The smile he gave was a grim promise.

  And the screen went blank.

  Beside Ghost, Z chuckled. “I see Drake hasn’t changed. He’s always had a rather stringent attitude toward discipline.”

  “All too true.”

  Z gave Jessica a squeeze and moved her to stand beside Ghost. “Please watch over her for me, Ghost.” He strolled toward the bar.

  When Jessica curled her arm around his, Ghost realized Z had effectively pinned him in place. “Your Master is a sneaky bastard.”

  She grinned up. “Isn’t he though? I’m not sure whether he went into psychology because he has a conniving personality or if it’s what he learned from being a shrink.”

  Ghost snorted.

  At the front of the crowd, Z was saying, “In case any of you are wondering, that was, indeed, Drake, who owns Chains. We’ve been friends for many years. In fact, we’d already discussed this incident before Ghost became a member here.”