Masters of the Shadowlands 7 - This is who I am (7 page)

She shook her head. Somehow he’d simply overwhelmed her until all she’d been able to see or hear was him. His voice. His touch. The pain. And he’d driven her right to where he wanted her. Then humiliated her by making her orgasm. Her stomach clenched as she remembered the sleazy buyers leering at her. The slave next to her had stared, her face turning hard with a “how could you?” expression.

And Sam—she hadn’t been able to read him at all. She sighed. She still couldn’t. Considering the way she’d reacted to him at the Shadowlands, he hadn’t lost his touch.

She wished she could say she responded sexually to any Dom, but that wouldn’t be true. Sam had said they had
chemistry
between them. Then again, maybe it was just his lean, muscular body, sharp blue eyes, and aura of power that sparked her synapses into overdrive.

Or the way he talked… She put her hand over the flutter in her stomach. The man should have a license to kill for that voice. So deep and rough, like a gravel truck churning at the bottom of a chasm, with a flintlike edge that indicated he didn’t take crap from anyone, especially a submissive.

She snorted. She’d normally have a fit if some guy called her “girl,” but when Sam said it, every molecule in her body turned liquid.
Damn him.

Wiping her hands on a towel, she tried to consider what her next task should be. Having her thoughts fall into a Sam rut couldn’t be permitted. She couldn’t afford anything…warped…in her life. In her children’s lives.

Brenna and Charles had told her about the horrible time they’d suffered after she’d been kidnapped. How they’d panicked when no one could find her. They’d been terrified for her. And then reporters had hounded them, playing on their fears, coming up with all the worst scenarios.

How much worse would it be if the newspeople—or her children—learned she’d gone to a kink club?

But everything was returning to normal. The trials for the slavers were almost over. Her coworkers would forget her past. Her children could relax. She’d never, ever do anything to cause a sensation again.

She’d been Miss Boring and Respectable all her life, and being different had really not gone well.

After tossing the soiled towel in the laundry basket, she walked out the front door into the fresh air. She did that a lot—just to prove she could go outside when she wanted to. Typical ex-prisoner behavior.

In her yard, she inhaled slowly. Nothing smelled as good as the breeze off the ocean. The sky was a deep blue with puffy clouds white enough for a bleach commercial. Spring was coming, but this was the prettiest time of the year. The St. Augustine grass was crisp and bright. In a garish flash of color, a flock of feral parakeets settled onto the next-door lawn. She grinned at them.

The counselor had said her emotions would go up and down, but duh—that wasn’t exactly news to anyone over twenty. One moment, a person celebrates a pregnancy, and the next, a father dies. A windfall of cash might be followed by a broken arm.
Learn to stand up. Learn to fall down
. Life’s lessons didn’t stop; they continued to the day of death.

And I’m alive
. That was the important thing. Alive and free and… She stared at her house. To the right of the door, black words had been spray-painted over the pale blue wall: BURN IN HELL WHORE OF SATAN.

No.
No no no
. Her stomach roiled. Hand over her mouth, she ran for the house.

* * * *

Almost two hours later, she had sung every war song she knew as she scrubbed off the graffiti. Once finished, she frowned at the areas of lighter blue. Why in the world would someone do something like that? Whore of Satan.
Excuse me?

Now that the words were gone, she could almost see the humor. It sounded like what her father—may he rest in peace—would roar during his pulpit-thumping sermons.
“And if you do not repent of your evil ways, then you will—”

He’d considered the road to salvation to be extremely narrow. A
good
person needed faith, to do charitable works, to wear modest clothing, use respectful language, and observe proper behavior. Her sister, Wendy, had been cynical enough to ignore their parents’ lectures, but Linda had never stopped trying to please them.

Her husband had been much like her father, but despite his conservative nature, at least Frederick had possessed a sense of humor.

A car door thudded, and as Linda turned, she heard, “Mom.”

Her daughter was early. She plastered on a smile and dropped the brush behind the bushes. Thank goodness she’d finished eradicating the words from the wall. “Brenna!”

In a denim skirt and white tank top, Brenna ran across the lawn to give Linda a long hug. “Oh, Mom, I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too, honey.” Needing to stay strong for her baby, Linda blinked away tears and curved an arm around the girl. “Let’s go have some tea. I made cookies for you and Charles.”

Brenna grimaced. “Mo-om. As if I’m not fat enough.”

“You certainly are not. You’re lovely.”

“As if.” Hands waving in the air, Brenna led the way to the kitchen. “My ass is too big, my tits are like watermelons, and—”

Linda shook her head. Although an inch shorter than Linda’s five feet seven, Brenna was at least thirty pounds lighter and nowhere near Linda’s full figure. But over the years, Linda had learned to like having a curvy body. Brenna hadn’t yet. “Sweetie, you have a beautiful figure, but you’re never going to be tall and slender. It’s not in our genes.”

“Yeah, I know.” Shoving her light brown hair behind her ears, she scowled. “Why couldn’t I have inherited Dad’s tall and skinny genes like Charles did?”

“Sorry. I didn’t have a choice in that one.” Linda spoke lightly, ignoring the feeling of rejection. “Have you seen Charles lately?”

“Not since we came over to make sure the house was okay.”

“I appreciated you doing that.”

Brenna shrugged away her mother’s thanks. “You look good. Tan and like you’ve been living the high life at Aunt Wendy’s.”

Was that a hint of accusation in her words? Guilt tensed the muscles in Linda’s chest. “I spent a lot of time in Wendy’s garden.” Yanking out the stubborn quack grass ferociously as if to kill the monsters that’d destroyed her life. Crying when the scent of blooming roses reminded her of her mother. Shaking and vomiting. The oddest things had affected her, like when her shovel had cut a worm in half. She’d gone into hysterics for half the day. “But it wasn’t the high life.”

“I’m sorry, Mom.” Tears welled in her daughter’s eyes. “I’m so glad you’re back, but sometimes I just… I don’t know why I said that.”

“Oh, baby.” Linda hugged her girl, trying to work past the hurt. Brenna wasn’t cruel. “Do you remember when you ran away because I wouldn’t let you go to a sleepover? You took your wagon with all your dolls in it.”

Brenna choked on a laugh. “When I was in kindergarten?”

“Yes. For hours, we searched for you. You turned up at Myrtle’s, playing with her grandchildren. We were so relieved. We hugged you and kissed you. But then—”

Brenna pulled away. “Daddy yelled at me. So did you. You guys never yelled, but…”

“That’s right. But when you’ve been so scared, sometimes you react all over the person who scared you.”

“Oh.” After a moment’s silence, she nodded. “Okay. I get it. I’ll try not to take it out on you.” Brenna wiped the tears from her eyes and attempted a frown. “But if I see you packing your dolls in the car, I’m going to yell.”

“Fair enough.”
Heavens, how did we make such beautiful children, Frederick?
“Want to help me get food on for supper? Charles should be here in a couple of hours, and I have the makings for a pot roast.”

“Well, duh. Does a bear sh—” She caught her mother’s warning look and adroitly substituted, “Poop in the woods? Can we add those little potatoes?”

“Well, duh.”

Sitting in his friend’s great room, Sam took a long drink of beer. Raoul’s home was a warm mix of Mediterranean and beach house. The patio doors stood open to let the sea breezes enter. With luck, the crisp air would unmuddle his brain.

Over a week had passed since the night at the Shadowlands when Linda had melted against him, given him everything he’d asked for, and then pushed him away. She wanted nothing to do with him.

He understood…somewhat. Didn’t help his mood. He’d cleaned out the old stable, then started on the chicken house. Shoveling shit had suited his mood perfectly.

Yesterday the Internet alerts he’d set up on Linda’s name had rewarded him with a newspaper article. After reading it—and stewing—he paid Raoul and Kim a visit. Maybe Raoul would know how to handle the situation. Damn the redhead for being so stubborn, and damn Sam for being an idiot. Damn him again for wanting a woman who hated the sight of him.

Only she didn’t. Not from the way she’d responded at the Shadowlands.

“Sam?”

He looked up from his can of beer to see Raoul’s pretty slave smiling at him from where she knelt beside her Master. With her black hair and striking blue eyes, she was pretty enough, but her spiritedness and caring nature were what had caught his friend. How someone so sweet had survived the slavers… Well, he knew another sweet woman who’d also survived.

“Yes, Kim?” The two women were very different. Kim created sparks and light wherever she went—and she’d livened up Raoul’s life. Linda’s personality was a steady fire, she had a compelling core of strength to draw upon, and she was as stubborn as a stump.

“Would you like some dessert?” Kim asked. “I made chocolate cake.”

“In a bit. Have you spoken to Linda recently?”

“Not since she left. Her choice. She didn’t want to be reminded of the past, at least as she settled in.”

Yeah, that’s what he’d been afraid of. He glanced at Raoul, who was stroking Kim’s hair. “I’d like a favor.”

“Of course,” Raoul answered instantly. Although the man had the cynical practicality of an engineer who’d built an international company from scratch, his loyalty came with no strings attached.

“The Foggy Shores newspaper reported that Linda’s house was spray-painted with something ugly.” Although the tone of the article was pseudosweet, it had played up the gossip. Pissed Sam off thoroughly, and if the reporter had been in reach, the bastard would be spitting out teeth. Maybe his readers would enjoy that write-up as well.

Raoul’s dark brown eyes filled with anger. “Has she not been through enough?” When Kim leaned against his thigh, he wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer. “All of them suffered.”

“Apparently someone doesn’t think so.” Sam rubbed his chin, a bad feeling growing inside him. He knew how bad homecomings could be. No, she wasn’t a Vietnam vet, fresh from an unwinnable war, but death and cruelty weren’t confined to battlegrounds. “Made me think, though. Kim had problems when she returned home, even with her mother to help. I don’t think Linda has much support at all.”

“Perhaps not.” Raoul ran his fingers along the leather collar that Kim wore. “Would you call her now, gatita? So Sam might know whether to worry. Hopefully, we’ll discover she is fine.”

Sam met his gaze. Any Dom would be concerned about a submissive who’d been in his care. However, he didn’t give a damn if Raoul figured out that Sam worried extra about Linda. “Appreciate it.”

Kim brought a phone from the other room and punched in the number. A few seconds later, she said, “Linda, it’s Kim. I called to see how you’re doing.”

The answer she got put a line between her brows. “You’re fine? Honey, you don’t sound all that good.”

Sam scowled. Obviously Linda was damn well not
fine.

“So what’s it like to be home?”

All Sam could hear was a faint buzz.

Kim’s mouth tightened. “That’s bull. You don’t have anything to do right now, and you’re not getting off the phone so easy. You’ve been crying, haven’t you? What’s wrong?”

Sam growled, and Raoul sat forward.

The little slave rolled her eyes at them, but her frown was real. “Yes, I’ve been around Doms too long, and yes, I’m stubborn. So tell me what’s going on.”

Sam forced himself to sit back and not grab the phone. At least Kim was thoughtfully repeating bits of what Linda said.

Kim listened for a minute. “Spray-painted your house? What did it say?”

The answer made her eyes flash. “Sunday, Tuesday, and last night too? Linda, that’s a little past persistent. Are the police doing anything?”

Anger surged through Sam so fiercely that he crushed the can in his hand. The bastard had struck three times in a week. What if he decided to escalate?

Raoul looked worried. He undoubtedly wanted to help. But his engineering company was swamped with work, and he was still behind from last fall when Kim had taken all his time.

“I don’t care what you say. I’m sending you some help, one way or another.” Kim’s mouth flattened into a straight line.

As she wound up the phone call, Sam considered. Foggy Shores wasn’t far from his house. He’d have to be home in the mornings to open the security gate when Nolan’s crew arrived, but the neighbor’s kid could handle the evening chores and reset the alarm. Everything else could wait. Didn’t sound as if Linda could. “I’ll go tomorrow,” he told Raoul.

* * * *

A tapping noise wakened Linda. She tensed, expecting the Overseer’s boot to slam into her ribs.

Nothing touched her.

Heart pounding, she cautiously opened her eyes and saw her own living room.
Home. I’m home
. Right. Worked all morning in the store. Indulged in a late-afternoon nap.

She jumped as the sound came again. Someone was knocking on the front door.
Someone
had scared her to death. She pursed her lips to slow her breathing. Where was a nice pistol when she needed one?

But when she cocked her thumb and aimed her finger at the door, her gun hand shook uncontrollably. Guess obtaining a real gun wouldn’t work. Besides, her elderly postman would have a heart attack if bullets peppered the front stoop. It was probably him at the door now.

The knocking reverberated through her room, sounding a bit annoyed. The old guy had quite a fist on him.