Masters of the Shadowlands 7 - This is who I am (2 page)

Sam ran his hand through his hair. He was too damned old to play James Bond. He was a farmer, not a spy. He’d done his best by her, and she’d been the sweetest, most responsive submissive-masochist he’d ever met. The chemistry between them had been a bonfire. She’d trusted him, given him what he asked for, and in return, he’d transformed what might have been a nightmare of pain into something wonderful for her.

And then he’d made a mistake; to this day, he wasn’t sure exactly what. He had ideas, but hell, he could be totally off base.

Sam sighed. For the past few months, Linda’d lived out of state with a sister, and this morning, he’d had her in his arms again. She’d trusted him to hold her. The sound of her low voice, her citrus-lavender scent, her yielding body had been even better than his memories. Until she’d pushed him away.

As Sam approached the picnic table, Nolan looked up. From a small cooler, the hard-faced Dom removed a Mountain Dew and handed it over. “Figured you’d need something to wipe the taste out of your mouth. How’d the trial go?”

“The goddamned defense attorney took his questions into the gutter trying to shake her. Bad enough she gets raped by the slavers. To get raped again by a sleazy interrogation?” Sam popped the top as he sat. The icy drink washed the bitterness from his throat. “I wanted to shove a boot in his foul mouth.”

And then rip apart the balding slaver who’d killed the youngster. Holly had only been nineteen—the same age as his little girl.
“I’m an adult now, Daddy,”
his pretty Nicole often reminded him. He growled under his breath. No matter what the law said, his daughter’s life had barely begun. And because of the slavers, one young woman wouldn’t grow any older. The police had found Holly’s body in a ravine where the killer had dumped her like garbage.

But after Linda’s testimony, Sam had seen the bastard’s conviction in the jurors’ faces. And he wouldn’t live long—not once the other prisoners saw pictures of the sweet-faced college student. “Linda held up like a trouper.”

“May have less muscles, but women got more guts than most men.”

“True.” They’d endure where a man would give up and die.

As a light breeze swept the park with the scent of brine, Sam listened to the children on the swing set.

“Push me.”

“Look how high I can go.”

He relaxed. He’d needed the reminder of happiness. “Why the park?”

Nolan jerked his chin to the left. “Great scenery.”

Sam followed his gaze. Beth, Nolan’s submissive, knelt nearby, planting bright yellow flowers in a newly tilled garden. The glint of her red hair reminded him how Linda’s thick mane had brushed his fingers when he held her shoulders. Her hair had grown.

Nolan’s contented, possessive smile sent envy through Sam. He’d never had that kind of happiness with a woman. Probably never would since just the thought of his ex-wife drove ice shards into his gut. But he had a good life now. Wanting more would be stupid. “Beth ignoring you?”

“No. I brought her lunch and made her take a break. She just went back to work.” Nolan glanced at Sam. “You going to go after that submissive? Linda, right?”

“She’s not interested.” But dammit, the way she’d clung to him said otherwise.

“Want to tell me why not?”

Nolan’s sub had been abused. He might have advice. Didn’t matter. “No.”

“And they say I’m closemouthed.”

Sam shrugged. Nolan didn’t like to talk. Period. Sam just didn’t talk about personal shit. Too risky. Back in ’Nam, trails often held trip wires and mines. He’d seen friends blown to bits. Then when he married, he’d learned booby traps could be made of confidences. Could kill the spirit instead.

And wasn’t he a bitter fool on a sunny day? He nodded at the rolled-up sheaf of paper sitting on the table. “The plans?”

“Yep. If they suit you, I can have the concrete guys start in another week.” Nolan spread the paper out on the rough wood. “I think you’ll like the suggestions the architect made.”

Sam rose to take a better look. Good timing for this. Construction of a new stable would keep him busy for a while. Give Linda a chance to settle back into her life.

Then he’d see what was what.

* * * *

As the breeze off the Gulf toyed with her hair, Linda wiggled her toes in the sand and listened to the hissing of the waves on the shore. Compared to the energetic Pacific Ocean, the Gulf of Mexico was wonderfully peaceful. Yet she felt distant, as if she were watching life through a frosted window in a frigid alpine castle. “Nice place.”

Kim was settled in a weathered Adirondack chair with her German shepherd sprawled at her feet. “It is. I love Raoul’s house, but his beach here is what saved my sanity.” Her black hair spilled down her back as she tipped her face up to the sun. “Sooo, was Sam at the courthouse?”

Odd how even her anger felt bottled up. “I should wallop you for telling him.” But how could she be mad? She and Kim had been slaves together, and then Kim had risked her life to free Linda. “Yes, he was at the courthouse.”

And he’d been more overwhelming than she remembered. Heavens, if she had to see him again, couldn’t he have been…less? Less strong, less commanding. In the last few months, couldn’t he have picked up a potbelly and sagging chest?

Or at least been a jerk? Instead, he’d simply held her. He’d shown up just to be there for her, and how was she supposed to deal with that?

“I’m surprised he made it. Over the winter, he got grumpy.” Kim dug her toes into the sand and flicked some at Linda. “Okay, more grumpy than normal. Raoul says he hardly leaves his place except for business.”

“Place?”

“Bunch of acres. A ranch or farm or something.”

A rancher. She might have guessed. When several gulls started bickering in loud screeches over a washed-up fish, the dog raised his head, ears pricked, his whole body tensing. He gave Kim an entreating look.

“Oh, fine. Go chase the birds.” As the dog launched into action, Kim smiled at Linda. “We don’t let Ari chase the other shorebirds, but gulls are fair game.”

As the dog ran up the beach, gulls flapped into the air with annoyed squawks, and Linda relaxed.
Thank you, Ari, for changing the subject
. Even with someone as understanding as Kim, she didn’t want to discuss Sam. She sighed. If he’d simply whipped her at the slave auction, she’d have no problems sharing with Kim, but the damage he’d caused hadn’t been from his whipping her. It hadn’t been physical.

That night, when Sam had stepped up to her, she’d trusted Kim’s approving nod. He’d told Linda she could have him or another buyer. If she chose him, he would hurt her, and he’d known she was a masochist. He’d driven everything out of her mind except him, the sensations he gave her, and the sound of his growling voice.

The Overseer had called her a slut and whore. Sam had made her feel like one in an emotional rape far worse than the physical ones.

Earlier today—although months had passed—her body had still reacted to his voice, craving the safety he offered. The rest of her had wanted to hide in a cave.

With a happy bark, Ari ran back and shook, sending water and sand over them both. Kim gave a token grumble. “Stupid dog.”

Panting, Ari dropped down over her feet. His wagging tail thumped on Linda’s ankle like a metronome.

After ruffling the dog’s fur, Kim gave Linda an irrepressible grin. “So about Master Sam. Do you suppose he got so good at a whip because he’s a rancher, or did the sadist come first?”

Linda choked. She remembered all too well how competent the man had been. “You know, a few months ago, you’d never have made a joke about a whip.”

“I’m better. Not all fixed, but better. Raoul made a huge difference.” She tugged at her shepherd’s ear. “Ari helped too.”

“Nice to have a four-footed counselor.” Kim had been kidnapped off the street, and afterward she’d panic if outside alone. Raoul had bought her a doggy escort.

Kim gave her a worried frown. “I figured you’d come back all tan and happy after being at your sister’s in California, but you look exhausted. Not sleeping?”

“Not much, no.” Linda managed to smile. “Maybe I should buy a dog. At least I’d have something to keep the bed warm.” But no pet would solve her problems.

“Well, maybe that guy you were dating last fall will want to heat up your sheets.”

The thought made her skin crawl. “Not going to happen.”

“Yeah, I’m not surprised. I felt like that too. Did you get counseling in California?”

“Um-hmm. It helped.” At least at first. But now the ice encased her more each day, no matter what she did. Over the past few weeks, she’d tried journaling, talking. Screaming.

Needing something to do with her hands, she pulled some grasses up, weaving them together in patterns she’d learned as a teen. Basketry had given her an escape from rigid, fanatical parents, given her a world she could control and a way to make beauty. Later, in college, she’d discovered running and how the throbbing of exhausted muscles could break through her stress and help her reconnect with her own feelings.

She’d needed that help then. Occasionally since.

Because I’m a masochist
. What an ugly label, though, with its implication of perversion. Last fall, when she’d realized she needed something more in her life, she’d wanted to experiment. Why not? She was a widow. Her children grown. No real partner.

But she should never have taken that first step, never have visited a downtown kink club to learn if her fantasies and needs had any basis in reality.
They did; they did
. She stared down at her hands, remembering the wonder of that discovery. Even as part of her was horrified that she’d actually asked to be flogged, she’d embraced the pain. Had flown with it, and for a brief period she’d felt…whole. Alive.

Her throat tightened. Then she’d walked out of the club.
Night air, so clean and salty, so quiet after the sounds of the club. In the parking lot, a low cry. Racing over. A woman, unconscious, being tossed into a van
. Linda had run, screaming, and everything had gone black.

She’d been kidnapped herself. Right into slavery, rape, and abuse.

Now she wanted to feel whole again. To feel alive. She knew one way to accomplish that, but no matter how wonderful that brief experience of pain had been in the BDSM club, how could she let anyone hurt her again? She’d panic…wouldn’t she?

Yet how could she go home like this? So different from who she really was, with as much emotion in her as a wooden post. Her children would be horrified. And Lee, the man she’d dated off and on? What would he think?

Every day was growing worse. Recently, she had trouble even laughing. She couldn’t continue like this. With a shuddering breath, she rubbed her hands over her face. She knew what she had to do.

That night at the slave auction, she’d been more closed off than now, yet Sam had blown her walls wide open, as if his cruel whip had cut fissures to relieve the pressure.

Maybe if I…if I could get help one more time, then I’d be all right. Back home, with life returned to normal, I’d never need it again.

She couldn’t allow herself to need it again. When she returned to Foggy Shores, she would need to go back to being normal. To pick up her life and habits and keep everything quiet. Sane.

But she wasn’t home yet.

If she could just find someone to…hurt her. Just one time. If she could endure it. Her stomach turned over as she thought of returning to the Tampa club, the one where she’d been kidnapped.

She realized her hands had clenched into tight balls. Finger by finger, she opened them. Earlier, Kim had mentioned that she and Raoul belonged to a BDSM club. A private one.

No one would know her there. And she wouldn’t be alone. If Kim was there—and Raoul—maybe she’d feel secure enough to…do something.

Slowly she turned to face Kim. To meet her compassionate eyes. To force out the request. “Would you and Raoul take me to the Shadowlands?”

Flanked by Raoul and Kim, Linda walked into the exclusive BDSM club known as the Shadowlands. Light from wrought-iron sconces flickered ominously over the dungeon equipment lining the walls. The overwhelming scents of leather, sweat, and sex slapped into her and stole her breath. The sounds of pain were like a kick to her stomach. Even the music held a savage bite.

At least no one would see her reactions—or who she was. The black mask she wore concealed her face, leaving only her lips and eyes revealed. Now, if she could only get her feet to move. The little voice inside her screaming
get me out of here
grew louder.

When Raoul put his hand on her shoulder, she jumped. “
Chiquita
.” His dark brown eyes were worried. “You would be safe in the Shadowlands, no matter what. But you’re also with me.”

“Thank you.” Considering the man had more muscles than the beach had sand, he was a reassuring presence.

“Linda, let’s go home,” Kim said. “We don’t have to stay.” Her blue corset matched her eyes, and her black collar held a silver engraving:
Master Raoul’s gatita
. Of all the women in captivity, Kim had seemed the least likely to want to be a slave. But the love between her and Raoul was so strong it almost shimmered. Somehow, Kim had moved on and found happiness.

Linda hadn’t. Even worse, she was unraveling as emotions ripped through her. She cringed at the sound of a paddle against flesh. A woman’s screams made her hands turn cold and numb. As the trembling in her belly worked outward, her knees started to shake. She couldn’t escape the memories of horrors. This was the stupidest thing she’d ever done.

“Raoul.” A gray-eyed man blocked their way, and his gaze swept over her face, her shoulders, her hands. “What are you doing? She’s terrified.”

Well, sheesh. She could have sworn she’d hidden her fear fairly well.

“She wanted to come,” Kim protested, then closed her mouth when Raoul tugged her collar.

The stranger was lean and graceful, wearing all black as a Dom would—only he had no need to wear black to establish his authority. Power surrounded him like the scent of aftershave. “You must be Linda. Little one, you should go home.”