Masters of the Shadowlands 8 - If only (8 page)

“Huh. I figured you as smart, but a teenage hacker is a whole different level.” Kim swirled her drink and eyed Sally. “I’m trying to visualize that. Did you make viruses or something?”

“Well…” Sally set her empty glass on the table. Maybe she should eat.
Nah
. She poured herself a refill.
Screaming Orgasm. Awesome name
. “Not exactly. Um, stuff like—a college jock figured he could assault a girl because she was black.” Sally scowled, remembering how angry she’d been. “She wouldn’t press charges. So I copied and sent his racist, sexist—and porn-ridden—e-mails to the college faculty and dean. He was gone a week later.”
The asshole
. “I’ve improved the program a lot.”

And it’s working just fine on some true douche bags
. A bit of caution made it through the blurring in Sally’s head, and she kept the revelation from spilling out. “Don’t tell anybody, okay?”

The other women nodded, and she gave them a happy smile.

Linda patted her hand. “You, my dear, are already blitzed. Eat something or Z won’t let you into the Shadowlands tonight.”

“But it feels good,” Sally grumbled. How long had it been since she’d felt so…open. Free. With a sigh, she obediently accepted the sandwich Jessica handed her. “Hey, as anyone talked to Kari recently?”

Jessica shook her head. “Some teacher went out on maternity leave, and Kari is filling in more. Between extra work and the baby, she hasn’t had any free time.”

“Oh. No wonder she isn’t at the club these days.” Perhaps a visit should wait until the Hillsborough elementary schools started their summer break in June.

“Probably,” Jessica said. “But I miss seeing her and how content Dan looks when he plays with her.”

Sally smiled. “Yeah, he really does.” Working in the police station, she saw an awful lot of cynical cops. Master Dan had been headed in that direction until he’d met Kari. But no one could stay bitter around the sweet-hearted schoolteacher.

“Speaking of the club, what happened with the Feds last week?” Kim asked. “Jessica said you were punished.”

“Christ on a crutch, it was awful.” Sally giggled, pleased the pain of the memory seemed so distant. “I’d faked coming and got caught.”

* * * *

Galen walked down the outside steps from the third story to the veranda and leaned on the railing to pacify his aching leg.
Damn knee
. The gunshot wound from years past had healed, but the underlying damage had slowly surfaced. Getting older didn’t help. Soon, he needed to man up and get surgery. Maybe he’d have the time once the case was wrapped up, if that ever happened.

“Nice of Z to help out,” Vance said as they reached the bottom.

“Ayuh.” They’d asked the psychologist to counsel a recovered slave—a girl so young Galen couldn’t think of her kidnapping without getting enraged. She’d been so traumatized she’d stopped speaking, and Z specialized in nonverbal communication. God knew the Dom understood the psychology of slaves, voluntary or involuntary.

Galen and Vance had swung by to drop off the girl’s information, as well as a thank-you bottle of Aberfeldy 21 single malt, which Galen had picked up during a Scotland trip.

Near the gate, Vance halted. “Listen.”

Women were laughing somewhere in the gardens. One giggling voice was like water over a stony creek bed. “Is that Sally?”

“I’ve never heard her sound like that.” Vance headed toward the gaiety.

Galen noiselessly followed him down a path into the gardens, remembering his hunting days. Stalking the prey.

Words became distinct, and Vance stopped.

Galen leaned against a convenient tree and listened.
Not very gentlemanlike behavior, Kouros
. But how could a Dom resist? After a minute, he laughed silently and mimicked tipping up a bottle. The ladies were drinking and had been at it for a while.

Vance nodded. He crossed his arms over his chest and settled in.

“I was so mad,” Sally told the women. “I mean, yeah, I shouldn’t have, but sweet Jesus on a pogo stick, they announced to everyone I’d been faking getting off.”

Yes, he could see how that would bother her. But why had she needed to pretend? And it hadn’t been her first time. He and Vance had spoken with Z about that very matter.

“You and the Feds?” Galen recognized Kim’s voice. “What do you think of them?”

Interesting question
. He leaned forward as the pause continued.

“Well, one minute I think they’re nice, and the next I think they’re total dipwads. Manipulative bastards.”

Galen bit back a laugh.

Jessica snorted. “Sounds like the definition of a Dom?”

“Well, maybe. And their two-to-one stuff is…”

Galen sighed and jerked his head at his partner. Not fair to be listening to private conversation, no matter how interesting. But the draw of Sally’s open laughter had been irresistible.

Vance gave him an annoyed, then rueful expression, and they retreated quietly.

“You ethical bastard. She’d just gotten to the good stuff,” Vance said, holding open the gate to the parking lot.

“True.” Galen smiled. “But I like to think we’re honorable—even if we are dipwads.”

“Pretty sure she only meant you.” Vance frowned. “She sounded different.”

“Yeah, she did.” Galen limped across the concrete, as always, annoyed to see his partner shorten his stride and slow. “Notice she talked about how she felt?”

“Because she was intoxicated.”

“Exactly. She certainly doesn’t share if not under the influence.” Galen frowned. “Why would a lovely woman close herself down?” And why did the vulnerable expression he’d seen on her face last week pull at him?

“Good question.” Vance slid into the driver’s seat. “Let’s find out.”

* * * *

Oh boy, she should’ve stopped drinking a lot earlier. After a quick shower and change in Jessica and Z’s guest room, she took their private stairway into the Shadowlands. Carefully. Screaming orgasm—the drink that kept on giving, cuz she sure wasn’t sober. Ben would probably turn her away if she went in the front door.

A long gauze skirt and a makeshift scarf tied around her breasts served as her outfit. Thank God Z preferred the trainees barefoot; she’d have busted an ankle in heels.

She’d missed the trainee lineup and inspection. Master Cullen would be displeased. But since she didn’t barmaid until the second shift, her lateness wouldn’t upset service.

Members packed the room. To her fuzzy brain, the music and conversations sounded awfully loud, and people moved too fast.

At the bar, she waited for Cullen to see her. On her left, a Domme in a motorcycle jacket, black latex pants, and boots was chatting with a couple of newer submissive women. On her right, a group of older Doms discussed service protocols.

“’Bout time you arrived.” Master Cullen in his brown leathers gave her a long look. “You’ve still got an hour to play before your shift starts. Do you have a Dom lined up or someone in mind?”

Sally winced. How many of the Doms would think—or know—that she’d faked getting off? “I—”

“She’s been drinking and can’t even walk in a straight line, Cullen.” The word
drinking
somehow had changed to
drinkin’
;
can’t
had been transformed into
cahn’t.

At the sound of Galen’s down-east accent, Sally stiffened and turned.

As usual, he wore black slacks and shirt—similar to Master Z—but Galen’s dress shirt was broadcloth rather than silk. Kouros wasn’t a silk kind of guy.

He continued, “Perhaps she can wait tables now and have the second shift off.”

Vance’s big hand came down on her shoulder. “Galen and I would like to play with her. But not until she’s sober.”

“I’m not—” Sally knocked Vance’s arm away and turned back to Cullen. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“Fuck, I hate when she lies,” Vance growled. He gripped her hair, tilting her face up. His eyes were cold. “Are you seriously telling Cullen you’re sober?”

“I…” She couldn’t lie. “No. I’m not completely sober.”

“No one does a scene if under the influence.” Frowning, Cullen rested his thickly muscled forearm on the bar. He said to Galen, “Thanks for the heads-up. Sally, you’re assigned to cleaning tables. Check back with me in an hour.”

Stupid, interfering, know-it-all Feds
. When she glared at Galen, a line in his right cheek deepened, showing his amusement. She realized he had more than a five-o’clock shadow, as if he hadn’t shaved earlier.

Andrea, Cullen’s submissive, who’d been listening, set a big mug of coffee in front of Sally and winked.

“As for later,” Master Cullen said, “Sally, I’ve heard what the members think of a trainee playing them for fools. There won’t be more punishment, pet, but I can’t do anything about your reputation with the Doms.”

Master Cullen usually had a smile, but not now. He was serious and…unhappy with her. Everyone was unhappy with her. Like in the beginning of the Wizard of Oz, when Dorothy realized she couldn’t do anything right.

Sally stared at the bar.
Why didn’t I just stay home?
“I understand.”

“Tonight, you’re assigned to Master Galen and Master Vance. They can work with you on honesty.” Master Cullen’s expression was troubled. “I know you didn’t fake an orgasm with any of the Masters, love, but we also never pushed you for more than light submission. We don’t usually. Emotional vulnerability is given to a long-term Dom, but we should’ve caught on to how much you were hiding from us.”

The sting of tears had her dropping her gaze again. She’d disappointed everyone.

Cullen set a tray on the bar next to her mug. “Finish the coffee; then get to work.”

Vance ran his knuckles over her cheek. “It’s not that bad, sweetheart. This will pass.” Sympathy warmed his eyes. “We’ll find you in a couple of hours. Here at the bar.”

Even as a thrill ran through her at his touch, she couldn’t suppress her glance at the door.

His hand curved under her chin, and he tilted her face up. “Sally, don’t try to leave early.”

Bossy Dom. “No, Sir. Wouldn’t think of it, Sir.”

When Galen raised an eyebrow, she flushed. Dammit, he’d probably gag her again.

* * * *

Seated near the middle of the club room, Galen smiled as the little black trainee handed him a bottle of water. “Thank you, Uzuri.”

“You’re welcome, Sir.” Watching her trot away, he shook his head. Her smile had been one of the sweetest he’d ever seen, but her dark eyes said watch out for pranks.

He looked forward to the upcoming scene with her fellow mischief maker, the imp named Sally. Propping his feet on the coffee table, he watched Vance work with a newer Dom, showing the knots best for rope bondage. For the past couple of hours, they’d wandered through the main room, helping out, answering questions, even demonstrating. Part of Z’s purpose in establishing the Shadowlands had been to provide education to the BDSM community, and the Masters were expected to put in their time. He and Vance would start as dungeon monitors next month.

He checked the clock. Sally should be getting off duty about now. Galen caught Vance’s attention and tilted his head toward the bar.

Smoothly, his partner finished his instruction and walked over. “Time to pick on a sassy brunette?”

“That’s the idea. If you run down the girl, I’ll get my toy bag from the locker room and meet you in the back.” Anticipation was a swift stream in Galen’s veins.

“Good enough.” Vance grinned.

A few minutes later, Galen walked across the main room to the far side. Murmurs of low conversations, sounds of sex, the slap of a hand on flesh were louder than the music coming from the front. Tall containers of plants divided the sitting areas into secluded niches for aftercare and quiet talks.

It was like wandering through a maze.

At the sound of Vance’s rough voice, Galen headed in that direction.

His partner had found an unoccupied area with a leather couch and two comfortable chairs. On her knees, Sally waited, her hands on her thighs, her back straight, gaze down. Vance sat on one of the chairs.

“Very nice,” Galen said.

After her initial start of surprise, she relaxed. Her lips softened in a submissive’s deep-rooted pleasure at receiving approval.

By God, she was pretty. He bent, tilted her chin up, and took her lips—not demanding, but wanting a taste of the sweetness that was Sally.

And she gave it to him.

Moving away, Galen set the bag down. They didn’t expect to use any toys, but the bag held water and chocolate and a blanket.

“Time to start,” Vance said. “Remove your clothes, Sally.”

“Um.” She glanced around as if expecting to see bondage equipment magically appear. “This isn’t a scene area.”

“No. It’s not,” Galen said agreeably. He took a seat on the couch.

She rose, taking a step back so she could face them both. Confrontational—or defensive?

“I prefer to play in the regular areas,” she said.

Galen exchanged a glance with Vance. Wasn’t it a pleasure to keep this one off balance, little Miss Sassy who’d ruled over less experienced Doms.

“This spot is better for what we have in mind,” Vance told her.

Her eyes narrowed. She was obviously considering how far she could push them. Damned if he’d figured her out. Despite her impertinent behavior, she was submissive. Given no choice, she’d relax into giving up control.

“Clothes off now, Sally. Not next week.” Galen leaned back and extended his legs.

After a long hesitation, she stripped off her almost see-through skirt and the scarf she’d wound around her pretty breasts. She wasn’t a big woman but was solidly built. Amply padded with a curvy ass, heavy thighs showing she had some muscle underneath. He smiled as she bent to pick up her clothes. Jiggly, lush ass—Vance’s favorite kind.

As for Galen, he simply liked women’s bodies. Skinny or lush, muscular or soft. Full breasts or thimble-sized.

Naked—beautifully naked—Sally set her hands on her hips and frowned at Galen.

“Is that posture one Master Z teaches the trainees?” Galen asked levelly.

Her face flushed, and her arms dropped. “No, Sir.”