To Command and Collar [Masters of the Shadowlands 6] (5 page)

? “What’s the other plan?” It must be better.
“We give up on having Sandoval attend the auction. Instead he’d refer someone else.”
“That sounds good,” Gabi said.
“It would be except for the Association’s fu—damned precautions. The only way to talk to the Overseer is at the follow-up visit.” Vance frowned at Kim. “The visit where he finds out if the customer is satisfied. Where he’ll expect to see you, Buchanan’s slave. A good slave, since otherwise you get returned.”
Kim felt the ground drop away.
Be a slave. Meet the Overseer again?
“God, no.” Gabi scowled. “She can’t handle that.”
All the feeling had receded from Kim’s fingers. How white they’d gotten. Did she have any blood left inside her? “How long is the visit? How long would I have to pretend?” She’d have to see the Overseer. Deep inside her body, her bones shook like a Halloween skeleton in a cold wind.
“I’m not sure. Probably a couple of hours at least, maybe an evening.” Vance shook his head. “But, Kim, the problem is this: the Overseer doesn’t make contact for a few weeks. At that point, he’d expect to see a fairly well-trained slave. One who knows Sandoval—his habits, his protocols.”
“She could fake it.”
Vance snorted. “Don’t play stupid, Gabi. This isn’t something a slave picks up in an hour. When Marcus nods at the floor, does he mean strip and prostrate yourself, suck his cock, or present yourself doggy-style, or maybe kneel with your hands on your thighs? Or does he prefer your hands behind your head?”
With a sinking feeling, Kim saw Gabi’s understanding nod.
“But maybe she could be…well, kept in a separate room. Like Raoul only uses her for sex or something?” Gabi asked.
Master R shook his head. “During my interview with the Overseer, he asked what functions my slave would perform. I said I wanted service as well as sex. I never imagined being caught in this kind of situation.”
“Who could?” Vance asked. “So Kim would be expected to serve and be present in the room. Having her cringe if her master’s displeased wouldn’t be unusual, but cringing whenever he touches her—or even looks at her? No. Not knowing what to do when he motions for something?” Vance’s gaze turned to Kim, pity softening his blue eyes. “You can’t fake this kind of slavery, sweetie. You’d have to live with Sandoval starting now and actually be his slave, in order to act like one in front of someone as experienced as the Overseer.”
“I already told you no. I won’t have anything to do with this,” Master R said in a hard voice. “She can’t do it.”
The tiny amount of pride left in Kim flickered at how easily he’d dismissed her. She could do whatever she put her mind to. But the rest of her agreed. Go back to being a slave?
No way.
But to have them tell her mother she was dead? Would Mom survive such a devastating blow?
No.
“I don’t see any other choice,” Vance said. “Not if—”
“I bought her to free her, not to torment her further.” Master R interrupted. “She has enough nightmares without me adding to them. What if she panics when he’s there?”
“Not a deal-breaker,” Vance said. At the deadly look Master R gave him, he shrugged. “To still be struggling with her problems would be normal enough. So would jumpiness. But she can’t fake training she never gets. Most masters do some instruction, even for a sex slave. The kicker is that you not only asked for a service slave, you’re also known in the lifestyle as being an excellent teacher. I’m sorry, Raoul. You’ll have to train her—and you’ll have to touch her as well.”
“Maybe I could go and be there with her? It would be easier with…company or something,” Gabi offered.
Kim looked up. Maybe that—
Vance shook his head. “They do an extensive background on the buyers, so they know Sandoval lives alone. They might do some monitoring after the sale. For him to bring in another woman right after he buys a slave would be downright unlikely and would probably send up a warning flag.” He scowled. “They’re paranoid bastards.”
Warning flag
. Ice water trickled into Kim’s core as she remembered… She closed her eyes, took a breath. She had to tell them, but her words stuck to her tongue. “Vance.”
Master R was still fighting to keep her out of it. “There’s always the demonstration. I could get into an auction that way.”
“Maybe,” Vance said. “But that only gets you on the waiting list for God knows when in the future. Besides, the Overseer would still expect to see Kim since your audition is during the follow-up visit.”
“Vance,” Kim said, raising her voice. Their attention shifted to her. “The gossip in… I heard from the other slaves that if a buyer kills a slave, they don’t contact him for quite a while in case he didn’t cover up well enough, or the body’s found or there’re witnesses. Repercussions.”
“Hell.” Vance scowled. “Then pretending you died won’t work. At least not for getting Sandoval into an auction in the near future, either as a buyer or doing a demo.” He cursed under his breath.
Silence. The number of eyes on her made her shake, and she stared at her hands.
Such white fingers, all twined together in knots.
Master R’s voice. “It doesn’t matter.” She looked up into compassion. Worry. “Go into the witness protection program anyway, Kimberly. Stay safe and out of sight.”
How incredible it felt to have someone on her side. In slavery, each woman stood alone, for if one tried to protect another, both were beaten. She winced as a lash cracked across her memory. But now… She wasn’t at their mercy, and the man beside her, like a massive tank, was so, so not helpless.
How could she find a plan that would work? At one time, she’d been good at solutions. Back…before. But now… Pretend to be dead and be safe, but her mother would suffer, and she’d have ruined any chance of getting the FBI to the auction. Be a slave and…oh God, she couldn’t.
“What about the other slaves still in their grasp, Raoul?” Vance asked, his voice edged with pain. With pity. “Can you abandon them so easily?”
The question was a blow straight to Kim’s chest. She watched as Master R turned his face away, the skin taut over his cheekbones. He’d planned the whole thing to rescue
all
the slaves and abandoned it to save her. Just her. While the rest—Holly and Linda and the others—were still there. They’d never get out.
Because of me. Because he rescued me.

Guilt settled in her belly, cold and leaden, and with every breath she could hear Holly’s terrified screams, as if the dungeon were only a few feet away.
I can’t. Can’t be a slave
. Her throat felt as if a rope bound it, contracting to keep the words from escaping.

But to leave them there? Linda had changed the bandages on Kim’s stomach, her hands gentle and careful. She’d told jokes to make Kim laugh, diverting her from memories of how Lord Greville had…
I can’t do this
. But then Linda would be never get free. She’d live in pain. She had two children in college. Talked about being a grandmother someday. Held Kim when she cried. She’d been so strong, but eventually everybody would break, even Linda.

Is it worth it to live if I betray…everyone
? She looked at her wrists. The bruises from the cuffs had faded to a faint yellow.
I endured before. I can endure again
. No, she probably couldn’t. She’d die if she was a slave again.
No no no
. She looked at Master R, who still stared out the window. He’d tried to soothe her fears. He’d held her, not hurting her, but—she shivered—not letting her go either. He did as he thought best. He was a dom.

I can’t do it, can’t even pretend to be a slave. No.
Holly had cried herself to sleep every night. Every night.

I have to do this
. The nausea came fast, choking her, and she inhaled through her nose, forcing it back.
I’m me. Not a slave, even if I choose to pretend. And I will do this. Because I’m me. Not broken.

A warm hand closed on her upper arm. “Chiquita…Kimberly…look at me.”

She heard him sometimes in her dreams, his voice breaking through the storm of screaming, and everything would calm, the slow smooth baritone as comforting as the ocean rocking a boat. She looked up at him. “I’ll be your s-slave.”

* * * *

Had he ever seen anyone look so terrified and still manage to move? Raoul leaned against the door frame and watched Kimberly enter his home. Her dusky complexion was a grayish pale, her cheekbones standing out above a clenched jaw. She walked as if the tile floor was covered with sharp spikes.

He sighed. She was incredibly brave, but he had doubts she could maintain her courage. Gabi might get a call this evening begging for rescue.

Kim saw him watching and took a step back. “What would you like me to do now, Mmaster R?”
Stop looking at me as if I plan to slice you into inch-sized chunks of flesh
. He glanced at his watch. “It’s almost suppertime. Why don’t we sit on the patio”—
where you won’t feel as cornered
—“and talk? Then we can figure out what to do for supper.”
She gave him a jerky nod.
He led the way through the great room and out the French doors. Sun sparkled off the wide expanse of water. On the shore, waves lapped quietly on the sand. Behind him—silence. He turned.
She was on her knees, hugging herself, staring at the beach, at the waves rolling in. The breeze ruffled her hair back, and the setting sun glinted off the tears on her cheeks. She cried as silently as anyone he’d ever known.
Very slowly, he dropped to one knee and touched her cheek with his fingertips to get her attention. He could feel tiny shudders running through her. “Kimberly, can you tell me why you’re crying?” Should he call Gabi now?
To his complete shock, she rubbed her cheek against his hand like an overwhelmed kitten, and her blue, blue eyes looked up at him. “I forgot. I didn’t even remember…”
He cupped her cheek and rubbed her shoulder, feeling the fragile bones. “What did you forget,
gatita
?”
“You live on the beach. On the gulf.” Her eyes were wide—not with fear, but with joy. “I can breathe again. Thank you.”
He laughed and rubbed his knuckles over her curving cheek. Perhaps this was not such a forlorn hope after all. If she could share happiness with him, then the rest would come.

* * * *

The next day, Kim stepped out of the guest room onto the long balcony overlooking the gulf. Master R had an interesting place in a beach-house-meets-hacienda way. It was two-story stucco except for a small third story, like a tower, and curved in a C shape around the patio up from the sandy shore. With huge arched windows and balconies everywhere, the inside seemed to merge into the outdoors.

She squinted against the bright sunlight that reflected on the water. Almost noon. She’d hidden in the bedroom since breakfast.

With a sigh, she dropped onto the dark red cushioned chair. Bare feet on the iron railing, she leaned her head back, immersing herself in the feeling of the moisture forming on her skin, the ocean breeze, the heat of the sun. Waves lapped quietly on the sand, the gentle gulf surf nothing like that of her energetic Atlantic. A gull circled, screeching.

Oh, she’d missed the ocean. The rhythm of her life had been marked by the tides, starting on her father’s fishing trawler to her work as a marine biologist. But slaves were shut inside, never to see the sun or hear the surf. Worse than any drug addict, she’d craved the sound and smell of the shore.

She’d probably scared Master R with her reaction last night, but apparently he’d understood. He’d laughed.

He can laugh
. He had a great laugh. Braced by the knowledge, she’d made it through yesterday evening without panicking. She’d been quite proud of herself.
A noise came from the room behind her, and she glanced over her shoulder. Sitting with her back to a door felt as if she asked to be attacked, but she forced herself to stay. To try to relax. To ignore the certainty a stranger would come out of nowhere and grab her. Knowing Master R was in the house helped…at least with the
stranger-abduction
fear.
It sucked to have so many fears she had to name them.
Would Master R create more terror than he eased? A tremor ran through her.
I don’t know him at all
. Aside from insisting she eat supper with him, he’d left her alone last evening, letting her get used to his house, to losing Gabi’s support…although Gabi had called about every half hour to check on her. Kim smiled. Sweet Gabi.
But Master R apparently realized how terrifying his presence was—not for anything he’d done, but because he was male. A dom.
He was even more careful with her than Marcus had been. Like last night when she’d had a nightmare. Nothing new. Usually Gabi would hear her screams and wake her up. This time it had been Master R.
“Kimberly.”
His voice had entered her dream, where she was pinned down, unspeakable things…pain… “
Kimberly!”
Such a smooth voice. The horrors reverberated through her in the slaps, the burning.
“Wake up, chica!”
A sharp command. A master’s voice. Her eyes had snapped open. A man in the doorway. Another scream, awake now, but the lights were on, and she saw—after a minute—the man who had bought her. Freed her. Master R.
He’d waited until she said his name before entering, then fetched her a glass of water from the bathroom. Pulled up a chair. Let her drink and shake. He hadn’t touched her once, and his presence had turned comforting. Did he know if he’d loomed over her, she’d have gone into hysterics? That she couldn’t stand being touched right then, not after the nightmare of so many men?
He’d watched her, patient and quiet, then picked up the book she had on the bedside table and simply read to her in that voice, dark with a twist of accent. No nightmare could compete with Raoul Sandoval reading
Huckleberry Finn.
So she really was better. Maybe the spark of her very self hadn’t gone out. Maybe she wasn’t filthy inside, deserving of everything done to her and more. Only she felt dirty. Ugly and ruined. She blinked against the welling tears. Would
“filthy slut”
echo in her mind forever?
The psychologist hadn’t made much progress with her feelings of self-loathing. Or with helping her to figure out what came next, after this was over. How could she go back to her job, knowing someone might grab her again? That—
She heard a footstep and jerked around, heart jackhammering against her ribs.
“Easy, gatita.” Master R stopped. Waited, his eyes steady on hers.
“Sorry.”
“You have the right to be jumpy.” He squatted beside her chair, tilting her chin up to wipe her cheeks with his fingers. “And to cry. No matter how strong you are, I think you will be in tears often for a while.”
“Are we going to start…?” She couldn’t finish, hated how pitiful she sounded.
“When you are ready, Kimberly, come downstairs and we’ll talk.”
“Kim. Everyone calls me Kim.”
He smiled, and for a second, she saw the dom he was. Self-confident. Powerful. He would do what he wanted.
A shiver ran through her. “You really are a dom, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am.” He released her chin and brushed his knuckles down her cheek. “But you’re safe, chiquita. The only slave I want is one whose dearest wish is to be mine.”
He wanted to own a slave? A chill settled deep in her bones.