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

* * * *

An hour later, Raoul pushed his keyboard to one side and rested his forearms on the massive oak desk. The design for a new waterfront area in Belize couldn’t keep his attention.
Could Kimberly tolerate being a slave? He wasn’t a harsh master, but he wasn’t a pushover either, and since he’d acted like a cold bastard for the Overseer, turning into a hearts-and-flowers master wouldn’t cut it. Honesty would serve both him and Kimberly best. After all the upheavals in her life, she’d need the stability—the reassurance—of consistency.
He looked up at a sound from the door.
She stood there, her face pale, but chin up and standing straight. Brave little subbie. Satisfaction welled in him as he noted her cheeks had started to round out. Gabi’s cooking and pampering had put some weight on her.
“I’m ready to talk,” she said. “Is this a bad time?”
“This is fine.” He rose and saw her force herself to stand still.
In the doorway, he put his hand on her back, touching her as he’d avoided doing before. He felt her tremble. His brows drew together as he realized he was seeing her in two ways: as a hurt woman and as a willing sub. How had his mind ever received the impression she was willing? Yet there had been times in the slaver’s dungeon, when their rhythms had come together, and she’d unconsciously accepted him as dominant.
He paused, then turned toward the stairs, steering her up past the second floor to the third and into the tower room. Their discussion should be in a private place. Intimate. Not his office. And the great room was for guests.
Here, the steeply angled roof formed two sides of the square room, but the front and back walls were all glass, giving a breathtaking view of the sea to the west and his gardens to the east. The floor was a rich brown pile, the off-white sectional soft and welcoming. The toys for bondage and play stayed hidden inside the sturdy ottoman and bombé chest by the wall.
“This is beautiful,” she said, walking to the window with the ocean view.
So are you, little submissive
. The light of the afternoon sun glinted off her straight black hair, bringing out brown tints, and silhouetted her slim figure. Under the loose-fitting clothing, she had a pretty body, he recalled. So thin, yet still graceful with nicely curved hips. He pointed to the sofa, saw her hesitation, and patiently waited for her to take a seat.
What should have been eagerness to obey—and probably had been once—was fear instead. His heart ached that anyone could treat a woman so harshly. He sat on the sturdy square ottoman, knee to knee with her, the sofa back keeping her from retreating farther. “We’re going to talk about what I expect and what you will do. And we’ll get to know each other, gatita.”
“What’s gatita mean?”
“Little cat. Kitten.” He tugged on her black hair. “Baby cats often have blue eyes, and when I was young, I had a black kitten with big blue eyes.”
She smiled. “You called me chiquita.”
“Little girl.”
She didn’t like that. “You said pobre-something means poor little baby.”
“Yes.”
Her eyes narrowed. “That’s an awful lot of
littles
, don’t you think?”
“Perhaps.” He displayed his hand. “Big.” He set hers next to his, so small and delicate contrasted with his thick, blunt fingers. Why did holding her fragile hand raise every protective instinct he had? “Little.”
When she huffed in exasperation, he captured her other hand and leaned forward. “Now, tell me what happened when you were a slave.”
His unexpected question felt like a kick to the stomach.
Talk about it? No way
. Kim attempted to withdraw, and his fingers tightened. “Excuse me?” Her mind shifted, trying to detach from her body.
“You heard me, Kimberly. Until this is over, I will be your dom—your master. I will expect you to follow orders. Your body will be available to me—”
She froze.
“No, not for sex,” he added with a sigh. “But my hands will be on you at times. You need to become accustomed to my touch so you’re not jumping.”
She managed a nod.
I knew this. I did
. Why did it seem much more intimidating when she was looking at those powerful hands?
“I expect you to tell me when something bothers you—and things will. I need to know what to avoid, and I can’t help you if you can’t share what happened.”
Go into it? Talk about it? With him
? His fingers were hot against her skin as the ice crept into her hands.
“Share with me, Kimberly.” His voice was a grave baritone, the slight Spanish accent softening it. “When did they kidnap you?”
“A-about maybe seven weeks ago.” The pain, horrible pain from the Taser, then a sting. The world going fuzzy, then she awoke to terror. A nasty kick when she threw up, a slap when she cried too loudly.
“I’d forgotten it was so long. Did they hold you for a while before they auctioned you off? What happened during that period?”
“They…didn’t do much. I was penned up with the others for…I think almost two weeks?” The time was blurry, crying women, leering men, nothing to do. The days ran together. “Our ‘rebelliousness’ was a selling point, so we got no training.” She swallowed, remembering how scared she’d been. If she’d known what would come after, she’d have jumped overboard right then. “I didn’t go to the big auction though. Lord Greville bought me a while before.”
“The owner who sent you back to the Overseer?”
She nodded, blinking furiously.
I won’t cry.
Master R’s hands squeezed her fingers. “Tell it all.”
He needed the information. But it was hard. “He took me to his house.” Cold with white walls and furniture, no comfort anywhere. “He had his servants hold me down, and h-he raped me.” She forced the word out. After a week of talking with Gabi and Faith, she could say it now—say it without vomiting. “I fought them. He beat me until I passed out. And raped me again.” And again and again.
“Was he the one who used a whip on you?” Master R asked, his voice even.
She nodded, looking at their entwined hands. “Each time, each day. The pain—” So much pain that every breath had hurt, until it billowed in her head, made her vision waver. Until all she could think was, Make it stop. “I couldn’t quit fighting, even…even though…” Blood in her mouth, on the floor, the stink of sweat and sex.
“It’s why the bastard wanted you—because you’d fight back.” His fingers massaged hers. “So you’ve had both physical and sexual abuse. How about mental? Did he call you names?”
“Yeah.”
Slut, cunt, dirty whore
. Did the filth inside her show? Could Master R see the darkness? She tried to laugh. “Even some words I’d never heard of before. He said I deserved everything I got because I was a slut. Bad. Filthy. He locked me in a cage during the day—put my water and food in bowls because I was an animal.” She dared to look up, had to, and saw his black frown. “That’s why he gave me to his friends.” Her throat clogged as her stomach turned over.
He cursed under his breath and gripped her chin with those strong fingers, pulling her head up. “Look at me, chiquita.”
Her gaze came up to meet his dark brown eyes, patient. Firm.
“Good. Now take a breath. Yes. Let it out slowly. That’s a good girl.”
The memories retreated, pushed away by his anger…for her. Her nausea eased.
After she’d managed a few breaths, he sat back, taking her hand again. “Others used you. And?”
“I stabbed him afterwards.”
He stared at her, then burst out laughing, and with the sound of his hearty laughter, open and pleased, the darkness in her head shrank. He kissed her fingers. “Good for you. But…I think this is why you were hurt so badly?”
Badly
. She couldn’t answer, just started to shake.
A growl came from him. He plucked her up like a dandelion and sat down with her in his arms. Warmth and strength enfolded her, not frightening her. Somehow. How did being ordered to talk make her blurt things out like that?
He waited, simply holding her, one hand running up and down her arm. As her trembling slowed, he said, “I know something of trauma. I have friends who were in war. Others survived the gangs. You will continue with the counselor—she and Gabi can come here—but even so, things will set you off. Panic you or make you cry. I expect that.”
Gabi? And Faith? Not alone, not abandoned. “Thank you.”
“But if simply talking does this to you, then I need to know the rest, so I can help you through it. Or avoid it. Do you understand?”
She felt dirty. Weak and useless and ruined. But he was right. She bit her lip and nodded.
“How did you manage to stab Lord Greville, and what did he do afterward?”
“As the…men…were leaving, I hid a knife in my dancing scarves.”
Crawling to the veils, pulling them around her, knotting one over the blade. Her blood staining the delicate fabric. Trying to stand. Falling. Pushing to her feet. Blood trickling down her legs like warm water
. “When he returned for me, I stabbed him.” She swallowed.
The blade punching through his shirt, then his skin, his flesh resisting
. “He jerked away as I did. Enough that I got his shoulder and not his heart. He hit me.” Knocked her across the room.
“I’m sorry you were not more accurate,” Master R said mildly. “And then?”
“He yelled, and his staff came. He was crazy mad.” Blood everywhere, yelling, insanity in his eyes. “He whipped me and then got the knife I’d used.”
“I’ll cut you into pieces. Scream, slut.”
She touched her ribs where the long slash had opened her to the bone. The pain had bloomed and grown and grown. “But he’d lost enough blood that he passed out.” She’d hurt so much, too much to glory in it. “They tied a bandage around my ribs and put me back in the cage. The little one.” Not the kennel. Made for a medium-sized dog and so small she couldn’t straighten her legs, couldn’t stand up. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t… Her lungs spasmed like a fish on dry land, suffocating with air all around.
“Shhh, shhh.” A big hand stroked her hair. “You’re here, gatita. No one will hurt you.”
Here
. She blinked away the darkness at the edge of her vision. “They left me… I don’t know how long.” In the dark. Never let out. Bleeding. Hurting. Peeing on herself, her legs wet and stinking. The cage stinking. Her voice had broken from screaming. “Eventually they came and got me.” When the door opened, she knew she’d die and felt only relief.
He shook her gently, breaking her from the nightmarish thoughts. “Breathe for me, Kimberly.”
Slow breath. She stared out at the waves. The small windows lining the huge ones were cracked open, and the ocean’s shushing sounds rolled over her, drawing her memories away, grain by grain.
“Look at me.” He drew her back to the present. “They took you out and…?”
“The Overseer was there. They made him take me back.”
“Pobrecita,” Master R murmured.
Too tired to be afraid, she laid her cheek against his soft shirt. Beneath the thick muscles of his chest, his heart beat slowly, evenly, his breathing pulling hers into a matching rhythm. Under the influence of the even pace, she found her voice again. “The Overseer was furious because he said I was damaged, but he gave them a refund since Lord Greville’d brought in a lot of referrals. One of the Overseer’s slaves sewed me up, and I didn’t do anything for a while. After the stitches came out, I helped out in the kitchen for another week. And learned to dance.”
“No hospital?”
She managed a laugh. “Hardly. Although I got antibiotics. I think they were for dogs from a feed store.”
I’m an animal.
“Well, I see why you were a bargain,” he said, breaking up her thoughts. “Almost killing your owner would definitely lower your value.” He tapped a finger on her nose. “Good job.”
She blinked, startled. A trickle of warmth crept into her at the open approval in his voice.
“Aside from being kidnapped, which would leave you insecure, most of what terrifies you happened at this Greville’s house? Rape, cage, beating. The way they treated you, being called names—you feel as if they’re right? That you’re what they called you?”
Why did it help when he…listed…things? Because it sounded like a set of problems she could deal with instead of an overwhelming chasm she’d fall into? “I… Yes.”
“Mmmmh. You get counseling already. I’ll add in some self-defense, so if you have to stab someone, you’ll do a better job.” He waited for her nod. “Getting over being raped will take time, but since you’re here in my arms, it might not be the worst of your problems. But you suffered enough that things will set you off. Unless your counselor says otherwise, we’ll stop, go through your fear so you handle it, and if possible repeat the trigger until it doesn’t work any longer.”
Maybe she could survive. Except… “Not the cage.”
He shook his head. “No, that one is for your counselor to deal with. You and I will stick with what causes you problems in your slave training.”
Slave. The word made her want to retch. “I’ll do my best.”
“I know you will, chiquita.”
As his arms tightened around her, she felt fear and safety mingle inside her as she was comforted…by her
master
. God had the oddest sense of humor.

* * * *

With a low groan, Raoul pushed the weight slowly upward, his arms shaking with the strain. At the top, he dropped the bar into the rack, the clank loud in his empty weight room.
As he sat up on the bench and shook out his arms, sweat plastered his tank top to his skin, and his pecs and triceps burned. His body made the shadows on the wall dance. He’d deliberately left off most of the lights, the darkness suiting his mood.
He’d managed to keep from showing his fury when Kimberly talked about her kidnapping, but,
Dios
, it had been difficult to hear her voice tremble, feel her scarred body tremble.
An hour of lifting weights, of pushing himself to exhaustion and beyond, had restored his control. Leaning forward, he set his elbows on his knees and stared at his forearms. His skin was taut over the pumped muscles. His veins bulged. Yes, he was fucking strong.
Uselessly strong. He’d been too late to save his brother from dying in a filthy alley, too late to rescue this little slave before her abuse. Even worse, next time he saw the Overseer, he couldn’t beat him into the ground. Not yet. His jaw tightened until his teeth ground together. Hopefully later.
For now, his task was to heal the damage to Kimberly’s soul…and train her as his slave. He dropped his head into his hands, despair edging through his defenses. A slave. Here, in his house, the one he’d built after his divorce, not wanting to live with any memories of Alicia and their failed Master/slave relationship.
Now he would bring it back into his life.