To Command and Collar

by Cherise Sinclair

  She took an involuntary step back at the violence in his voice, yet…the anger was on her behalf. The reassurance that he was the total opposite of the leering buyers dimmed her fears. “Yes, Sir. That’s good to hear, Master.”

  His lips curved, making her heart swell.

  Pleasing him felt…right. Too right. Flattening her mouth into a line, she turned and stared at the chained women. He wants me to be like that. Only he didn’t. He treated her as someone he cherished, someone he found sexy, but not a nothing. He was more aware of her feelings than she was—and had been pushing her to recover.

  But he wanted to take the decisions away from her, make them for her. I’m so confused.

  The leash tugged. He’d taken a step and waited for her to pay attention. His eyes were gentle, as if he knew her struggles.

  Get out of your head, Kim. Time to do the job. She followed him obediently, eyes on the ground at first and then not. Instead she looked at the women, memorizing their faces. If the operation failed, at least their families would know where to start looking. She met their eyes, willing strength into them. Hang on. The nightmare might be over soon. Let Galen and Vance show up like they’d planned. Oh God, please.

  A shrill scream lifted over the rest of the noise, and Kim turned. A woman restrained to a cross. A red mark marred her white back. The buyer swung a short whip. A cracking sound. A terrified, pain-ridden scream. Another bloody stripe.

  Kim tried to look away and couldn’t.

  An attendant in a red uniform hurried over to the buyer. “You must not mark the merchandise, please, sir,” he scolded with the utmost of deference.

  The buyer, an obese man, red-faced from the effort of using a whip, laughed. “I’m done. She’ll do great for what I have in mind.” He checked the number on the metal pedestal. “Slave number eighteen.”

  Kim could hear the woman whimper. Farther away, another whip cracked. Sobbing. Men’s voices thick with lust. A shriek of terror. Heat swept over her, then a clammy cold. Even as her breathing increased, she couldn’t seem to get enough air.

  “Kimberly?” Master R’s voice sounded over the roaring in her ears.

  She opened her fingers, all ten for a panic attack, knowing it wouldn’t matter. He couldn’t show her—

  He wrapped her in his arms, surrounding her with his strength, his clean scent. His dark voice murmured in her ears, blocking the other sounds. Anchoring her.

  On her first trip to a beach, she’d toddled into the water. A wave knocked her sprawling, and as she tried to stand, another hit, and another. Her world turned to churning sand and water and choking—and then her mother carried her up the beach to safety.

  As Master R had done over and over.

  She sagged against him, the tight band across her chest easing, her lungs able to draw air again. “Okay,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”

  “No problema.” He kissed her hair, not releasing her. “But I’m going to paw you a little so it looks better to the cabrones, sí?”

  Oh, his temper was definitely up, the way he’d slid into Spanish.

  “Sí, Señor,” she whispered back, getting a huffed laugh in return.

  His powerful hands closed on her bottom under her tiny skirt. He gripped her bare cheeks, traced the crack, holding her firmly against him. Oh God, she loved his touch, and it didn’t matter where or when. An arm around her, he tipped her back so he could tease her breasts. Her knees wobbled, and his arm tightened. He yanked her hair, pulling her head back, and kissed her, deliberately rough, biting her lips.

  When he released her, she knew her mouth was swollen and red, and her breasts and butt carried red hand marks. His lips curved. “You look nicely used now, mi pequeña sumisa.”

  She flashed him a nasty look that made him laugh, and then lowered her head properly. He tugged on the leash, and they moved down the room. She returned to watching the slaves. A blonde with terrified blue eyes, surely too young to be here. Two cringing brunettes, one already bearing whip marks. One woman unable to stop crying was next to an older woman, standing straight and defiant, who—

  “Linda.” Kim halted, jerking the leash from Master R’s hands.

  “Bad girl!” He pointed to the floor.

  But… Her training took over, and she sank to her knees. Knowing she’d screwed up royally, she bent completely, arms above her head, wrists crossed, forehead on the floor. The surrender position.

  He left her for long minutes.

  A guard appeared, asking if there was a problem. Master R admitted she was still being trained, but he’d needed her for the demonstration the Overseer had asked for him to do. The guard’s voice acquired more deference, and he lingered to exchange gossip and admire her harness.

  The polished wood floor was cool against her forehead, and she wished she could stay in the position for the remainder of the evening. I don’t know how much more I can stand.

  When the attendant finally walked away, Master R snapped his fingers, and Kim rose to her feet, keeping her gaze on the floor, knowing if she saw Linda’s face, she’d give herself away.

  “I recognized her, gatita,” Master R said in a low voice. “If we see Sam, we’ll ask him to keep an eye on her if he’s able.” His concern for both her and Linda was clear.

  God, she loved him. When he tugged on her leash, her heart as well as her body followed.

  They passed a woman in hysterics. When the attendant slapped her and she started to sob, Kim’s hands fisted. God, get me out of here. Get us all out of here. And home to our mommies and husbands and friends.

  “Raoul.” Sam’s rough voice. “Hell of a place, isn’t it? I already got my eye on three of the beauties.”

  “You’re a lucky guy,” Master R said casually. “Maybe after I train this one, I’ll come back and buy another.” He dropped his voice. “One of Kimberly’s fellow slaves is here. We’d appreciate it if you could…keep an eye on her. Especially when things get interesting.”

  Kim dared to look up through her eyelashes to see his reaction. Would he agree?

  “Yeah, I like them spirited too.” Sam laughed loudly and pointed to a nearby slave. “That one got a good beating for her attitude. Makes me think I’d better test the goods before I plunk down my cash.”

  Master R grinned. “You try out enough merchandise, and you’ll crawl out of here.” He pointed down toward Linda. “There’s an older one on that aisle who might give you a challenge.” His voice dropped. “Number ten. Redhead. Linda.”

  “Got it.” Sam glanced at Kim, and his light blue eyes were the color of ice on a lake. “I like the harness, girl.” He walked down the aisle, pausing for a moment as an attendant offered a buyer a selection of canes.

  When Sam stopped in front of Linda’s spot, hands in his pockets, obviously checking her out, Kim let out a breath of relief.

  Well, how was he to be about this business? Sam wondered, studying Kimberly’s friend. Number ten was an older woman, probably midforties, but one of those who only got lusher— erotically softer—as she aged. Her chin-length red hair had been curled back in a smart style, showing some silvering in front of her ears. Freckles up her forearms, lightly tanned legs, the rest of her body a pure white that made the sadist in his soul salivate. She was like a blank canvas for a painter. Think of the marks he could put on her.

  Her rich brown eyes had a few wrinkles fanning out from the edges. Would those deepen as she forced herself to take the pain? Was she truly a masochist as her information said?

  As with all the slaves, she was naked, her wrists cuffed together in front, one leg shackled to a heavy cable running along the wall. She gave him a calm stare that made his cock sit up and take notice. He could see her terror. Despite the way she’d laced her fingers together, her hands still trembled. She’d start to pant, her gaze would dart around, and then she’d catch herself. Slow her breathing, lower her eyes. So lovely in her control.

  Using pain, he could take her deep, make her give up that control—and th
en he could care for her. His sadistic and dominant sides both yelled for him to move forward.

  Now he knew how Raoul had felt when he’d bought his slave. How he must have wanted to explain he wasn’t like the others, didn’t want any of this nonconsensual bullshit.

  But a man had to play the cards he’d been dealt. He stepped forward. “Girl.”

  Her head stayed bowed. “Yes, Sir?” Her voice was that of a woman, low and resonant. No shrill screaming would come from this one.

  “Look at me.”

  She lifted her gaze, and he looked into her brown eyes. Soft. She probably didn’t have anything hard about her, not her body, her eyes, her voice. The thought of burying himself in all that softness… His dick had hardened enough to count the teeth on his jeans zipper.

  “Are you a masochist?” he asked, more to determine her honesty than to get the facts. The sign posted on the pedestal gave her specifics, including her experience and preferences. Not that any slaver would care, except to design something to rip her to pieces more quickly.

  “Yes, Sir,” she said quietly and dropped her gaze, a slight flush on her cheeks. Didn’t like admitting to that need?

  “Keep your eyes on mine, girl.” He moved forward, close enough to smell the light scent of soap from her body, to see tiny golden specks in her brown pupils. Her heavy breasts brushed against his shirt.

  He’d positioned himself directly in front of her so he could speak freely, and she could react without being observed. Not that he’d reveal anything past the bounds of good judgment. But this would be easier if she didn’t think of him as a total enemy. “Your friend, Kim, suggested I visit you.” He nodded toward the front of the room.

  Her eyes followed his.

  Kim, Raoul, and the Overseer stood by the stage where the women would be auctioned off. The auctioneer was already tapping the microphone, and two attendants bracketed the first slave. A sign to the right announced SLAVE # 30.

  Selling women. Sam’s gut felt as if he’d swallowed a field of thistles.

  While Raoul was talking to the Overseer bastard, Kim caught Linda’s gaze and then nodded slightly at Sam.

  Damndest referral he’d ever gotten. But the redhead released a slow breath. Her muscles relaxed slightly. Better.

  He figured the Feds might take another hour before they got their crap set up. At number ten, this woman would be among the last to be auctioned off. Unfortunately, buyers could abuse her that entire time…unless Sam monopolized her. How many minutes could he waste?

  Would she want him to? “I can play with you until”—the Feds arrive, but I can’t say that—“until you’re sold, or you can take your chances with the other buyers. It’s up to you, girl.”

  “You’ll hurt me,” she stated.

  Keeping his eyes on hers, he nodded. “That’s right. That’s what I do.” He paused a second. “It’s what you need—although this isn’t the place. But I won’t hurt you past your limits.”

  Her mouth twisted slightly. “And you would know those how?” She winced and lowered her head. “Forgive me, please, Master.”

  He barked a laugh that had her eyes jerking up to his. “I like plain speech. Honesty.” He pinched her chin roughly enough to keep her attention focused on him completely and saw— felt—the smallest of easing in her muscles. Yes, she was a masochist and submissive as well. His favorite combination. If she responded to pain and domination sexually, well, hell, she’d be perfect.

  Use your brains, Davies. You’re in the middle of a bunch of slaves. This one would knife you and spit in the hole given half the chance. “I know this because I can read you, little girl. Right down to your toenails.” He leaned forward, still holding her chin, keeping her mouth available for his use, and he took her lips with no teasing, just sheer domination.

  Forcing her response and feeling her response before pulling back.

  Without Kim’s okay and if he hadn’t given her the choice of being with him, he knew this self-possessed woman wouldn’t respond to him at all. But she did.

  “I won’t scar you. I won’t go past what you can take. If you can trust me that far, this will be much easier for you.” He met her eyes straight on, letting her read his body, hear the truth, and see it in his face. “But, Linda, I’m going to hurt you. You’ll hate me when I make you take it, and you’ll hate even more that you need it. That it fills that hole inside you and cleans away the clutter.”

  The shudder ran through her, telling him she’d heard him on all levels. Her muscles were still tight, her eyes blazing, yet he could almost smell the subtle perfume of submission.

  She yielded. Now he would give her what she wanted and finish that surrender.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Raoul was grateful when Dahmer finally showed up in the ballroom. Following the Overseer, he steered Kimberly toward the doors. She didn’t need to see any more. Bidding had started on the third woman whose screaming and fighting caught the buyers’ attention like bloody flesh attracting sharks. As he walked into the quiet foyer, Raoul gave a silent sigh of relief. The crying slaves had kept him tensed with the need to protect.

  “Before you set up for your scene, I need you for a moment upstairs.” The look in Dahmer’s eyes was still…off.

  Raoul tightened his hand on Kimberly’s leash, pulling her closer. “Is there a problem?”

  “No. Well, yes, in a way there is.” Dahmer led them up the wide stairs, the dark red carpeting like a waterfall of blood. He opened a door directly across from the staircase and motioned them inside.

  Raoul glanced around at the richly furnished sitting room. To the right was a small table and chairs on an Oriental rug. Against the far wall was a hand-carved buffet with a serving tray and the remains of a meal. Oddly enough, the corner held a portable dog kennel. On the left…ahhah. A lean man waited in an armchair by the window, the lamplight glinting off styled light brown hair. Two men—bodyguard types—stood behind him. He would be the reason for Dahmer’s detour.

  As Kimberly stepped into the room, she gasped and gave a thin moan.

  Raoul spun, grasping her shoulders. “What?”

  “Lord Greville,” she whispered, her eyes going glassy with panic, her breathing like a steam engine.

  Raoul slapped her sharply across the face, rocking her back on her heels. Fisting her hair, he pulled her head back so the only person she could see was him. “You are mine. You do not react to any other master,” he told her through gritted teeth…and saw reason return to her eyes.

  She blinked tears of pain away, and he let her lower her head. “I’m sorry, Master.”

  “Better,” he grunted. He glanced at Dahmer, letting his irritation show. “What’s this about—aside from trying to destroy the work I’ve put into this slave?”

  “I apologize for not explaining earlier, but I wanted you to view the undamaged beauties downstairs first.” Dahmer’s gaze lingered on the scar visible beneath Kimberly’s harness. “Which ones did you find interesting?”

  “I have a slave, thank you.” This wasn’t going well at all. Kimberly’s former owner had given Raoul a dismissing look, then hadn’t taken his eyes off her. From the hand-tailored suit, the Italian shoes, the sheer pampered posture, Greville wasn’t used to being denied anything. And he wanted Kimberly.

  The hatred burning in his blue eyes sent cold streaming up Raoul’s spine. He saw murder in that gaze.

  Raoul took a firm grip of Kimberly’s arm and whispered in her ear, “He seems a little angry. Some people are poor sports about being poked with a knife, no?”

  Her shocked laugh lightened his spirit. Brave, brave Kimberly. “Dios, I love you,” he said under his breath, not realizing he’d spoken until he saw her face. The dawning glow outweighed her fear.

  When she looked down hastily, he squeezed her arm lightly. She needed to hold up awhile longer. Somehow.

  And he had to keep her away from Greville. The FBI would arrive eventually, but if her previous owner got his hands on her, she
might not survive that long. Stall. Stall and stall.

  Dahmer took a seat on the couch and motioned to the chair across from Greville. “Please sit. I’m sure we can reach a meeting of the minds. Raoul, this is—”

  “Greville, I assume.” Raoul assessed the bodyguards with a glance. One had puckered scars across his face and neck. The other had a shaved head with a death’s head skull tattoo on one side of his neck, a swastika on the other. They wore white shirts, dark slacks. No weapons visible. They’d probably received the same pat down as the buyers—so weaponless—but from their stances, they were well trained.

  Not good odds. He was no Chuck Norris. Stall. He took the chair, caught Kimberly’s gaze, and glanced at the floor beside him.

  She knelt at his feet and kept her eyes lowered.

  “Hello, fuckhole.” Greville spoke directly to her, trying to get her to meet his gaze.

  “You do not address my slave without permission,” Raoul snapped.

  Greville’s face reddened with rage.

  “Raoul.” Dahmer held up a hand.

  “This is not the professional standards I was led to expect from the Harvest Association. What kind of shoddy scam are you running here?”

  Dahmer drew himself up. “Not a scam. Lord Greville simply wishes to repurchase his slave. During his…illness, his staff returned the slave for a refund. He wasn’t aware and had no intention of returning her to us.”

  Raoul forced himself to lean back in his chair. “Perhaps he should keep closer track of his staff. They sound incompetent.” This is not going to end well. If he got Kimberly out of the room, could she hide until the FBI arrived?

  * * * *

  The attendants were too damned efficient, Sam thought. In answer to his request, one had quickly wheeled a mobile St. Andrew’s cross into Linda’s slave space. So much for his attempt at stalling.

  After turning the woman to face the X shape, he secured her wrist cuffs to the upper rings. The other blank-faced attendant handed him a cane and dragon’s tongue whip.

  He set them down, out of his working area, and considered how to go about wasting time until the FBI arrived. Unfortunately, anything he did would have to be genuine. The assistant had positioned the cross so bystanders could see the marks he’d put on the slave’s back.