To Command and Collar-Masters 6

by Cherise Sinclair

  Maybe I should have talked to someone. She hadn’t told Linda about Lord Greville or about the fight. She’d fended Gabi off too, saying she wasn’t ready to discuss anything yet. There would be time later since as an FBI victim specialist, Gabi would be here every day until the kidnapped women went home.

  Kim wrapped her arms around her waist, feeling hollow. Empty. After this was over, would there be anything left of her? I need to move, to do something. She slid out of the bed, her hospital gown flapping, but at least the ER nurses had given her matching pajama bottoms. She wouldn’t forget their little kindnesses.

  Only slightly dizzy, she walked the halls, holding the railing along the walls. The scents varied as she moved past the doors: disinfectant, sickness, excrement. Her muscles tired; her feet started to drag. Go back to bed, she told herself.

  But the numbers were familiar, and then she knew. She’d thought she was wandering at random, but…somehow she ended up at Master R’s room.

  As she peeked in, her heart did a slow tumble. Not everything inside her was hollow.

  He was still awake, scowling at a small dish on the tray table. A middle-of-the-night snack?

  “Do you need help eating?” she asked, walking over.

  “What kind of a meal is Jell-O? And it’s green. Food shouldn’t be green.” He frowned at her, his eyes turning intent, although his voice stayed easy. “A beer would be more welcome. Come here, gatita.” He held his hand out.

  She put her fingers in his, feeling the calluses, the careful strength. But seeing him didn’t help. Nothing would help her, she realized, and tried to pull back. “You need sleep.”

  “And you should be in your bed as well.” He smiled at her. “Put the side rail down and sit beside me.”

  “No. It’ll hurt you.”

  “Now, sumisita.”

  God, when he used that tone, sometimes—rarely—she could disobey him. Not today.

  As she slid the rail down, he lowered the head of the bed, then took her forearm and pulled her to sit on the edge. She knew moving and being jostled must hurt him, but nothing showed on his face.

  “All right, I’m here. Are you happy?” Sitting stiffly upright, she scowled at him.

  “Not yet. Galen said you told him what had happened. Did you tell him how you felt as well?”

  She tried to rise, and his grip tightened. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “But you will.” The corner of his mouth tipped up. “As will I, and then we’ll hold each other.”

  “No.”

  His chin tilted up slightly, and she discovered she’d used up all the defiance in her soul. Her gaze dropped.

  “Bueno. I’ll begin. When you said the person in the room was Greville, I was angry. And scared that we’d been set up.”

  He’d never shown any of that. She looked up. “Really?”

  “I was very afraid, Kimberly.” His fingers curled around her hand, and his thumb stroked circles on the back. “And you? You didn’t seem angry,” he prompted after a second of silence.

  “I-I was so”—her eyes filled as the memory swamped her—“so scared. I knew I’d die.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You thought I’d leave you?”

  The trembling spread until she could feel the whole bed shake. “I knew he’d make you go. He wouldn’t give you a choice, and…” And she’d be alone and screaming as she died.

  He sighed and pulled her down onto him. She struggled. “No, I’ll hurt you.” He huffed a pained laugh. “If you fight me, yes. I feel stitches popping already.” She froze, staring at the white gauze dressings on his bare chest.

  “Lie beside me, gatita.” As she complied, he gave a grunt of satisfaction, settling her with her head in the hollow of his unhurt shoulder. Warmth streamed from him like sunlight, and her coldness receded. Her sigh shuddered her whole body.

  “Good.” His big hand stroked her hair; his other arm curled around her back, holding her securely against him. “Gatita, don’t you realize I need you in my arms as much as you need to be here.”

  She closed her eyes at the reassurance. “Thank you.”

  His low baritone laugh was as intimate as being held. “Now we must talk about what happened so our memories process correctly, no?” He’d had a fascination for her counseling sessions, studying PTSD as if he were a researcher. “My turn. I knew it was all going to hell. I wanted you to run—but you came back. I’ve never been so scared.” He inhaled and growled. “I am very proud of you, sumisita mía, but I intend to beat you for disobeying me.”

  She giggled into his shoulder, knowing he’d do no such thing. “I’m very proud of you too, but I should smack you for not letting me fight beside you.”

  He grunted. “You did well with the Overseer and the guards. And Greville.”

  Her breath hitched. Swinging the heavy lamp, fury and terror filling her, feeling the shattering sensation. The indescribable sound he made, the thump of his body hitting the floor. Her eyes welled with tears, and she let them this time. “I killed him.”

  Master R’s hand stroked down her arm. “I know.” Another stroke. “The only choice was his death or ours. Galen says I killed several as well.”

  She sniffled, her tears dampening his chest. He was a man. He probably—

  “I have killed before, and it’s never grown easier to handle afterward. There will always be a part of you that feels guilty. Blackened.”

  “You too?”

  His bitter laugh teased her hair. “I’m not God, and killing another is wrong. We will both mourn the deaths we gave and be angry and want to yell at the bastards for forcing us to it.” He nuzzled the top of her head. “And since I am a man, I would appreciate it if you would cry for us both, gatita.”

  Wrong. Mourn. Anger. Grief. A sob choked her, and then it all spilled out, just tears after all, in safety with someone who could take comfort from her in return.

  * * * *

  Sunday afternoon, Kim sat beside the hospital bed and watched Master R’s face as he slept. His color had improved, and the frown had disappeared from his forehead. The nurse had given him a gown this morning, and again, he’d tossed it at the foot of the bed. But this way, Kim could see the bandages on his bare chest. The white gauze showed only a few red splotches rather than being blood-soaked.

  She grinned. He’d be growly when he woke and realized the pain meds had knocked him into sleeping again. And he’d blame her, since she’d gotten good at detecting when he was hurting, and cajoling him into using the button. A shame she didn’t have the nerve to push it herself like Master Z would.

  Earlier she’d sent Gabi and Marcus home since her so very polite master wouldn’t let himself fall asleep if he had visitors. Obviously he didn’t consider her company. The thought set up a glow inside her. And he slept better if he was holding her hand. She’d pulled away a few times, and he’d awoken within a minute. Some sort of dom radar, maybe.

  She slept better beside him too. After returning to the room full of women, she’d spent a sleepless night and sneaked back here before dawn. Master R had been reading. She’d pulled up a chair and rested her head beside his hand…just for a second…and had woken up a couple of hours later when Cullen and Andrea arrived. He’d been sleeping too, his fingers tangled in her hair.

  God, she loved him.

  He’d risked his life for hers. “Run,” he’d said and taken on everyone to let her get away. He could have let Lord Greville have her, but he wouldn’t. Not her master.

  Master . Dammit. Every time she thought about staying—if he even wanted her to stay— the word bubbled up inside her with its sweet, terrifying sound. Master. And she was a slave.

  Only he’d said she wasn’t. Submissive. She still didn’t want him to take her decisions away, to control her. Why didn’t I ever ask him what he wanted from a…person? A lover? Would he be happy with her love and what she would give him? How much of her, of her life and her soul, would he demand?

  They’d lived like Mas
ter/slave, but that was to get her ready for the slavers. And yeah, she’d begged for him to continue as her master. He had. She’d knelt at his feet. He’d fed her from his hand, even during the briefing.

  She scowled. Surely she’d just needed that extra week of security because of her kidnapping.

  He didn’t seem to think so.

  Could she be happy living the lifestyle? God, I don’t know. She stared at him. When he looked at her in a certain way, she’d do anything. His voice could take her anywhere.

  He had powerful hands, gentle and unyielding, the same as he was himself, compassionate with a solid core of…honor. Like her mother would say, “This man has character.” She could lean on him; he’d keep her safe. How could she leave?

  “Here, Mamá.” A female voice with a light Spanish accent.

  Kim turned as two women entered the room. One older and slightly stooped in a floral dress. Her face was wrinkled with age, hands gnarled with arthritis, and she possessed the dignity of someone who’d worked all her life.

  The other was around Kim’s age, an attractive woman with a sturdy, big-boned body in jeans and a loose top. She appeared familiar… Black hair, chocolate brown eyes, Hispanic coloring, and Master R’s strong jaw in feminine form.

  “Are you Mas—Raoul’s family?” Kim asked, flushing at her wayward tongue.

  The older woman hadn’t seen her, her gaze only on Master R, and she jumped. As the two women turned toward Kim, horror filled their faces.

  What? Then she remembered her banged-up face. “Sorry about the—”

  “We shouldn’t have come,” the younger one interrupted and walked out of the room.

  What the heck was that about? “Wait,” Kim said. The older one hesitated, and Master R awoke.

  “Mamá,” he said, his voice more of a rasp than smooth. “What are you doing here?”

  The old woman took a step forward, wringing her hands. “The hospital called. I am listed as your family.”

  How could a mother be so stiff with her son? With Master R, who was never cold with his friends?

  “Ah. I’m sorry, Mamá. I didn’t realize you were—” He broke off, his jaw tightening. “Mamá, this is Kim. Kimberly, my mother, Anna Sandoval.”

  “Are you all right?” Mrs. Sandoval asked Kim.

  “I’m fine, thank you.” Why didn’t she ask Master R how he was? No one could miss the bulky bandages taped to his ribs. This was too awkward. Kim squeezed Master R’s hand. “I’m going to get some coffee. I’ll be back in a bit.”

  She stepped out of the room and came face-to-face with the other woman.

  “Uh, hi.” God, no two strangers looked that much alike. “Are you his sister?” Kim asked.

  When the woman’s mouth tightened, she looked so much like Master R that Kim almost laughed.

  “Yes, I’m Lucia. Are you his slave?”

  What the—Kim felt the flush run up into her face. “Ah, not really. I’m Kim.”

  “He is my brother, but I cannot let him…” The woman straightened her shoulders. “Maybe you think it’s all fun, but it’s not. It isn’t safe to be with him. He’ll hurt you, beat you so badly you cannot walk. Don’t stay with him.”

  “What?”

  His sister nodded, her mouth tight. “He likes to hurt women. To make them scream. To keep them as slaves and not let them leave.”

  His mother walked out of the room, closing the door behind her. She’d obviously heard the last part of the sentence. Tears filled her eyes. She nodded.

  Kim stared. The two women believed that garbage. A shiver ran through her as her own nagging fears stepped into the light. Not Master R. “Why would you say such a thing?”

  “It’s true,” his mother said. She looked at her daughter helplessly.

  “His wife,” Lucia said. “They broke up so suddenly. Got a divorce.”

  The mother touched her lips. “Raoul would not talk about it.”

  “Alicia told me”—Lucia nodded at her mother—“showed us both what he had done to her. She had welts and bruises and bleeding places all over her body. Her wrists were ripped from being chained to a wall.” Her gaze fell on Kim’s wrists, which bore the light abrasions from the rope Master R had used on the sailboat.

  “What they did, was…something they both wanted,” Kim said, trying to think of Master R hurting someone so badly. His wife. “It’s called consensual.”

  “No,” his mother said sharply. “No consent. Alicia said she screamed and begged, and he wouldn’t let her go. He made her his slave, and she didn’t want that. She hated him.”

  “When she got free, she ran away. Divorced him,” Lucia said. “She lives somewhere else now.”

  His mother turned her face toward the wall and whispered, “Alicia said he let others…have her. Abuse her. I love him, but I cannot act as if he is my son.”

  “No—”

  “He admitted it. Leave him while he’s here in the hospital,” Lucia urged.

  His mother touched the bruise on Kim’s cheek and shook her head. The two women walked away, the younger supporting the older.

  “No,” Kim whispered. “He didn’t. He couldn’t.”

  * * * *

  Raoul closed his eyes, grief filling him faster than the returning pain. Mamá. He hadn’t seen her in almost three years. She’d come because he was hurt, but had taken one look at Kimberly and known he was still in the lifestyle.

  Raoul tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling, the taste of bitterness familiar.

  Why hadn’t Alicia settled for being unfaithful? That had been enough of a blow. A horrible one—coming home early to find his wife tied to a sawhorse bench, covered in welts and stripes, her brother-in-law fucking her in the ass.

  Raoul had taken a step forward, thinking Randolph had whipped her, was raping her—he’d kill the man. But he heard Alicia demanding for more pain, for him to fuck her harder.

  He hadn’t killed either of them. Maybe he should have. He’d filed for divorce…and in revenge, she’d told Mamá about her son, the dom. The master. Raoul had tried to explain the BDSM lifestyle to Mamá. All she saw was that her son was a pervert. Sick. An abuser.

  Raoul sighed, his throat tight. Her eyes used to light up when he came home. She’d scold him in Spanish for being so long away. Now her gaze held revulsion.

  The phone on the bedside table rang, and Raoul grunted in pain as he stretched to answer it. “Sandoval.”

  “Hey, buddy.” Cullen’s hearty voice blasted through the phone. “Galen sent me to pick up Kim’s mom at the airport. We’re downstairs. Can you tell Kim she has company?”

  Her mother. “Is she a good woman? Able to care for her daughter?” Raoul asked slowly, trying not to let his growing loss show in his voice.

  He didn’t succeed, for Cullen’s voice turned cautious. “Seems to be. She’s been in tears half the time and furious at the slavers the rest. Good thing none of them are within her reach. Reminds me of Jessica. And your Kim.”

  “Bueno.” Blackness welled inside him, until the air itself seemed to darken. The time had come. “Bring her to the waiting room at the end of my hallway. I will meet you there.”

  Kimberly should not remain with him longer. She needed to heal, and once she did, he doubted he’d ever see her again. To step back into a D/s relationship would be more than she could tolerate, no matter how brave she was.

  And she was so very courageous. She’d tried to protect him, had crawled into a cage to save him, had killed a man.

  Last night, in his lightless room, she’d sat on the foot of his bed, and the hall light had haloed her small figure as if her soul had turned luminous. Her spirit, despite all the hurt, remained beautiful and giving.

  But she’d given enough. He swallowed the tightness in his throat away. The next meeting would play out as it should, and then it would all be over. As would the dreams he hadn’t realized he’d held. Foolish Sandoval. She’d made no secret of the fact that she didn’t want a Master/slave relat
ionship or to be a full-time submissive. Even if she hadn’t lived through what she had, she still wouldn’t have wanted it.

  Yes, before the auction, she’d asked him to continue as her master, but she’d only needed someone to cling to.

  He scowled. Yet she’d been happy with him. Content. Fulfilled. He hadn’t imagined that. He should give her a choice.

  First, he’d meet her mother. Make sure his gatita would be cared for if she went home. He glanced at the IV bag and started undoing the tape holding the needle in his arm.

  * * * *

  Kim sat on a chair in the cafeteria, watching the torrents of rain outside the hospital, listening to the bone-shaking thunder. Thunderstorms, waves… No matter what stupid things humans did, the universe continued. The tides rose and fell; storms rolled in off the ocean; the sun came up every morning.

  Life went on.

  What about my life? Galen said she could go home now.

  Home. She frowned as lightning flashed from cloud to cloud, and a few seconds later,

  thunder rumbled.

  Go back to Savannah? To what was familiar. Away from slavers and FBI and kidnapped women. Homesickness surged in her, pushing her like the gusts of wind outside. She needed to return to her own life, her work, her duplex, her friends. Her mom.

  Time to go home. But…Master R? The thought of leaving him made her chest ache as if the lightning had hit it. She pushed to her feet and headed back to his room.

  Could she bear to not see him anymore? To never again feel his hand on her head, or kneel at his feet, or hear the warm pleasure in his voice when she anticipated his needs. But then other memories oozed up, nauseating her: the Overseer stomping on her foot, Lord Greville whipping her until blood ran down her legs, the cage trapping her.

  She froze in the center of the hall and concentrated on breathing. I can’t go through that again. Master R’s mother said he was an abuser…but he wasn’t. He couldn’t be. But Mrs. Sandoval was so sure. What am I going to do?

  She stopped in his doorway.