Beneath the Scars

by Cherise Sinclair

  Amber’s jaw moved sideways in an ugly fashion before she glanced at Josie. “Sorry.”

  That was the least authentic sounding apology Josie’d ever heard. And she was done with this. She picked up a stack of tickets a barmaid had left and started drawing a beer. Heavens knew any reply she made to that fake apology would be either rude…or dishonest. This club stuff wasn’t her problem.

  Nonetheless, she listened with one ear as Master Holt told Amber that her apology was as dishonest as her behavior. “Edward, could I impose on you to give Amber a paddling? Stop after each one and let her apologize. If she ever sounds honestly sorry, you can stop. Otherwise, give her the full twenty…as is listed under punishment in the membership agreement.”

  “What?” Amber gasped.

  “I don’t usually enjoy hurting non-masochists but, in your case, it’ll be a pleasure.” Smiling cynically, Edward curled a hand around the woman’s arm and led her away.

  Josie realized she was staring. Not your problem. Not your business. Focus. Serve drinks. She walked over to the two who’d spoken up for her—Master Marcus and the redhead, Gabrielle. “Thank you so much for speaking up. Now, what can I get you to drink?”

  “You’re welcome, and I’d love a Diet Coke.” Gabrielle had a lovely smile.

  Clean-shaven with short hair, Master Marcus looked like the CEO of a Fortune 500 business. His coloring was much like Holt’s—lightly tanned, honey-blond hair, and blue eyes. But the added gray in Holt’s eyes could turn them from a soft foggy color to that of a bleak winter sky.

  Master Marcus’s accent was pure Southern as he said, “It is truly a delight to have a real bartender working here. I’m Marcus.”

  Josie tipped her head in a respectful nod. “Master Marcus. Gabrielle.”

  “Gabi,” the redhead corrected. She turned as Holt joined them and gave him a gentle hug. “Holt, it’s good to have you back. How are you feeling?”

  “Fine.”

  Marcus made a disbelieving sound.

  Josie stood for a second, dying to know what they were talking about, then gave herself a stern shake and poured Gabi a Diet Coke. As she set it in front of the woman, she lifted her eyebrows at Marcus.

  “Gerolsteiner on the rocks, please.”

  Josie scooped ice into a glass, selected the right bottle, and poured the bubbly water.

  “If you’re still here later, we’ll join you for a real drink.” Marcus smiled at Holt, then ran his fingers down his submissive’s cheek. “First, I fear someone has a beatin’ coming to her.”

  Hearing that, Josie’s fingers closed forcefully around the bottle. There would be no beating of women on her watch. “Listen, you—”

  Leaning across the bar, Holt gripped her wrist and gently took the bottle from her. “BDSM club, remember, pet? Everything is consensual.”

  Oh. Damn. She knew that, for heaven’s sake. Had been watching people being whipped and flogged and caned all night. “Right.” She glanced at Holt and said under her breath, “Thanks.”

  Master Marcus chuckled.

  “You were going to come to my rescue, weren’t you?” Gabi grinned. “I like you. Welcome to the Shadowlands.”

  “Um. Thank you.” Josie exhaled silently. At the rate she was blundering from mistake to mistake, she doubted she’d be at the club for a second night. Even if the owner didn’t fire her, she wasn’t sure she was cut out for this place.

  Holt was still holding her wrist, his gaze on her. “You okay?”

  His hand was warm, the strength in it oddly comforting. And she shouldn’t even be thinking that way. Leaning on a man was a good way to end up sprawled on the sidewalk.

  “Fine, yes. Thank you for the help.” She carefully pulled her arm away.

  His gaze went flat. “No problem. If you can handle things, I need to see if Zuri and her crew are here. Excuse me.”

  As Holt walked toward the back, Marcus watched him for a second, then looked at Josie, eyes narrowed.

  Chapter Four

  The night went on.

  Josie hadn’t made more errors—she hoped—and she’d had wonderful conversations with the members. Well, except for a few. From the glares, Amber had friends who blamed the newly hired bartender for her punishment. She had the urge to yell, it wasn’t my fault. I didn’t do anything wrong.

  Well, her father had taught her at a young age that protesting never made a difference.

  As the hour grew late and the club quieter, she had the time to watch the roped-off scenes. The sessions reminded her of performance art, except…the tops and bottoms rarely seemed aware of observers. They were engrossed in what was happening and in each other.

  Each scene was different. She watched canings, spankings, floggings. Dripping wax on bare skin. Tying a person up in elaborate ways. Sparking electrical wands applied to body parts—even intimate places.

  One Domme had actually stuck needles into her female submissive. Josie’d kept her back turned until that scene was over. Sheesh. However, most of the other stuff was mesmerizing. And sexy.

  Apparently, there weren’t any restrictions on nakedness or on sexual activity. Private parts were fondled—or slapped—or stuck with needles—or… Cullen had mentioned there were private rooms upstairs where members could play—or have sex—without being observed. But some members went ahead and had their sex right out in public.

  She had no words. And she grew far too aware of the throbbing of her breasts, the dampness of her thong. Every inch of her skin felt over-sensitive.

  But she wasn’t here to play. She was here to serve drinks, and bartending was bartending, no matter where. She enjoyed talking with the club members here as much as she had with her Highlands customers. Once away from their roped-off areas, BDSM people were pretty normal. They, too, had the age-old problem of finding the right person or getting attached to the wrong one. Of breaking up or being cheated on.

  As her customers chatted with her, she’d learned about new kinds of problems. Like “wrapping” a flogger, which meant the tips of the leather strands would curve around the target area to whip against the other side—in this case, the submissive’s breasts. Holy hell. As she listened, Josie realized she’d crossed her arms over her chest.

  A gay submissive confessed he had burst into giggles during an intense moment and annoyed his Dom.

  A Top told her he’d done a suspension scene, twirled the woman in the ropes—and made her so sick to her stomach, she’d thrown up.

  Then there was this woman… Josie frowned and studied the only person at the bar who didn’t seem to want to talk.

  In her late twenties, the tiny Latina woman sat with her shoulders slumped, drinking from her own bottle of water. Earlier, one of the woman’s friends—another submissive—had come over, then given up when the Latina hunched away.

  She wasn’t speaking with her friends. Even though there were comfortable chairs throughout the clubroom, the woman had chosen to sit at the bar. To Josie, that was an invitation to talk or a plea for attention.

  Josie walked over and leaned her forearms on the bar top. “Good evening. Can I get you something to drink?”

  “No. Thank you. This water is enough.” The lady didn’t look up.

  Since the bar was mostly empty, Josie took a glass from the rack Peggy had brought from the utility room. The sweet older woman, who did general cleanup and kept the bar furnished with clean glasses, was the only employee other than Josie during the club’s open hours. Everyone else was a volunteer—including the submissives serving two-hour barmaid shifts.

  With a fresh towel, Josie started buffing the wine glass to a gleaming shine—not that it needed it, but it gave her a reason to stand there. Not talking, just staying close.

  The woman’s shoulders straightened slightly, and she took another sip of her water. Her brows drew together. “Aren’t those already washed?”

  “Mmmhmm. But I like to make them even shinier.”

  Brown eyes lifted. “Really?”


  “If I have the time, why not?”

  There, the lady was breathing easier.

  Josie found her own chest relaxing. “It kind of hurts to see someone looking unhappy. Do you need a buffing up, too?”

  The woman gave a tiny snort of laughter. Her smile faded quickly. “It’s nothing. I just get s-subdrop sometimes.” The melodic Hispanic-accented voice had a hitch in it, and tears welled in her brown eyes.

  “Um. I’m new to the club, and I don’t know what subdrop is.”

  The woman’s attempt at a smile broke Josie’s heart. “It’s like after a scene, especially an intense scene, you go from being really high on endorphins and stuff, and then everything drops out and leaves you miserable.”

  “That sounds horrible. What can I do to help?”

  Another tear slid down her cheek. “I’ll be fine.”

  Josie tried not to scowl. “Isn’t the person you played with supposed to, like, stay with you afterward or something?”

  “She…she isn’t into aftercare.”

  Huh. Someone really needed a hug. What were the boundaries on personal touch in this place? “I’m Josie. Am I allowed to ask your name?”

  Another tiny smile. “Sure. Natalia. Don’t worry, Josie. I just need to sit for a few minutes before I drive home.”

  “You stay here as long as you need.” Josie patted her hand and noticed a new customer had walked up to the bar. What crummy timing.

  Stewing over her inability to help, Josie crossed the bar space. The arrival was older with silver hair and a leathery tan. Rather than flashy or black BDSM clothes, he wore jeans and a button-up shirt the pale blue color of his eyes.

  Josie tried to smile. “Hi. What would you like?”

  He studied her for a second. “I’d like to know why you look like someone ran over your puppy.”

  “I…” Josie’s gaze dropped. Spotting a looped black whip attached to his belt, she stiffened. The last guy she’d seen wearing a whip had been called a sadist. Did all the sadists wear their…tools…like this?

  He sure wasn’t someone she’d ask for help for sad little Natalia.

  “I’m waiting, girl,” he growled. “Look at me.”

  A shiver ran up her spine at the command, but as she lifted her gaze, she saw the golden armband half-hidden by his loose shirt. “Ah.” She stared at the whip and blurted out, “If someone needed your help, you wouldn’t hurt her, right?”

  Hard lips curved. “Not unless that was what she needed and wanted. You need help, missy?”

  “Not me.” Josie glanced over her shoulder at Natalia, and the Master followed her gaze. “She said she had something called subdrop?”

  “That’s the word. That one’d best have a female, though.” He looked around and then pointed toward the middle of the room. “That Mistress there with the gold armband. You go tell Olivia that Sam wants her to help your li’l subbie there. Got it?”

  “But…” Josie glanced around the bar.

  “If someone needs a drink, I’ll get it for them.”

  Right. On first sight, the guy looked like a rancher. A second look made him out to be someone extremely scary. She pulled up her own courage. “Okay, but don’t scare my customers.”

  He barked a laugh and lifted the pass-through for her. “Half of them are here because they like being scared.”

  She ducked through, muttering, “Nonetheless…”

  Mistress Olivia was on the stocky side. A sleeveless snug leather jacket showed off her muscular shoulders. Black latex leggings were partially covered by thigh-high lace-up boots. Her caramel-colored hair was as short as Josie’s and worn in aggressive spikes. She wasn’t…quite…as scary as Master Sam.

  As Josie approached, Olivia stopped to talk to Uzuri and a redhead with silvering hair at the temples.

  Uzuri saw Josie and grinned. “Girl, I was coming over to give you some support.”

  “I never turn that down.” Josie turned to Olivia and hesitated. “I hate to interrupt. Sam—Master Sam—asked for your help with a…a subbie.”

  “Did he, now?” Olivia had a British accent and an unreadable face. “Why would that be?”

  “There’s a woman at the bar, Natalia, and she’s got…she called it subdrop, and she’s crying and that just…” Josie felt her anger rising again. “It’s just not right that whoever she played with left her all alone when she’s feeling so sad.”

  “Quite right.” Olivia patted Josie’s shoulder. “I got this, love.”

  As she stalked toward the bar like a force of nature, Josie stared after her, then looked at Uzuri. “I’m not sure whether I should be relieved or run ahead and warn Natalia to flee.”

  “Mistress Olivia can be scary—although nothing like Mistress Anne—but she’s really nice under it all. She’ll take good care of Natalia.” Uzuri motioned toward the redhead. “Josie, have you met Linda? Linda, this is Josie, our new bartender.”

  Linda smiled. “Lovely to meet you, Josie.”

  “It’s good to meet you.” Josie glanced behind her at the bar. I left a sadist tending bar. Bad Josie. “I better get back.”

  “We’ll come with you.” Uzuri turned to a sitting area where some Doms were talking. Alastair’s gaze was on Uzuri, and when she gestured toward the bar, he nodded.

  “Did you just get permission?” Josie asked in disbelief.

  As Linda chuckled, Uzuri headed them toward the bar. “Oh, yes. Running around here without permission isn’t healthy.”

  Josie shook her head, then frowned. She’d already noticed submissives wore less clothing than the Dominants. Uzuri and Linda were also barefoot as well. Looking around, she spotted only one submissive with shoes, and her fancy stilettos were so high it was a wonder she could walk. “I see the lower classes lack footwear. Is that so you can’t escape outside?”

  Linda linked her arm with Josie’s and told Uzuri, “She’s so irreverent I can see why you’re friends.” She smiled at Josie. “The grand poohbah, Master Z, has ruled that submissives go barefoot unless they’re wearing extremely sexy footwear. The security guard gets to decide.”

  “I used to wonder if anyone offered Ben sexual favors to get his permission to wear their shoes,” Uzuri commented. “But he’s incorruptible.”

  “Ben is the big one, right?”

  Linda nodded. “That’s him. Uzuri, after his baby is born, you could try bribing him with an offer to babysit.” She opened her left hand. “Honor.” She opened her right hand. “Crying infant.” Her hands went up and down, imitating a set of scales. “Honor loses every time.”

  When Uzuri looked blank, Josie snickered. “I still remember my first year of motherhood. I would have done anything to have a few free hours.”

  “Exactly.” Linda smiled. “Mine are in college, but I can still remember the horror—and delight—of a newborn.”

  When Josie ducked back behind the bar, Master Sam pointed her toward a patiently waiting barmaid. “Handle her tickets. I’ll finish up the orders I’ve taken.”

  “Right. Thank you.” As she checked the drink tickets, Linda and Uzuri settled onto barstools across the bar and kept talking about Ben and footwear.

  Uzuri was enthusiastic. “I’m a great babysitter, and I have fantastic shoes he hasn’t let me wear here.”

  Josie grinned. “I’ll have to remember that about Ben. It’s good to know who will take bribes.”

  “Isn’t it though?” Linda pointed to Master Sam. “For example, that mean-looking bartender there? I hear he bribes real easily.”

  Josie stared. Was the woman crazy? The guy carried a whip. “Uh, Linda?”

  Master Sam growled under his breath, leaned across the bar, and buried a fist in Linda’s shoulder-length hair. She let out a yip of surprise as he yanked her toward him and took her mouth. There was no gentleness in that kiss. It was all domination.

  Linda didn’t struggle. She wrapped her arms around his neck.

  Josie’s jaw dropped.

  Uzuri met her gaze, grinned,
and fanned herself.

  No lie, that was one hot kiss. Whew. The temperature in the entire bar area was rising. Josie retreated down the bar, checking for empty glasses or new customers. She picked up a couple of empties and put them on the cart for the cleaning lady.

  Returning, she averted her gaze from Master Sam and Linda and asked Uzuri, “Would you like a drink?”

  “A strawberry margarita, please.” Uzuri’s eyes were dancing. “They’re together, you know—Linda and Master Sam. He doesn’t just grab women. Well, not kissing-grabbing them, only it’s smart to be polite around him because he’s really good with that whip, and he has hard hands if he’s not pleased with something you’ve done. I couldn’t sit down for a day after he…”

  Her voice trailed off when she saw Josie shake her head slightly. The submissive glanced over her shoulder and saw the eavesdropping sadist. “Oh. Oops.”

  Linda had a hand over her mouth, and her shoulders shook with laughter.

  Cautiously, Josie assessed Master Sam. His mouth was straight, yet the crinkles beside his eyes showed his amusement. Well, okay then.

  He nodded to Josie. “If you’re back, I’ll get my bag and give the redhead a lesson in manners.” He glanced at Linda. “Right, missy?”

  “Oh, absolutely.” Rather than looking terrified, Linda slid right off the barstool. “Where to, Sir?”

  Master Sam picked up a hefty leather bag from the far section of the bar. “The dungeon. Z roped off the room for single-tails.”

  Cullen had mentioned the “dungeon” was a separate room down a hall. Josie’d heard snapping sounds coming from that direction all night. And screams…don’t forget the screams. Her mouth was dry as she set Uzuri’s drink in front of her.

  As Master Sam left the bar, he paused. “You’re doin’ a fine job, girl.” Without waiting for her answer, he put an arm behind Linda’s back and herded her toward the rear of the building.

  “That is a very scary person,” Josie said under her breath. Nevertheless, she felt a warm glow. She had a feeling compliments from that guy were hard won.

  “You should see him with that whip,” Uzuri said. “I’m no masochist, and I never want someone to hurt me like that, but watching him turns me on like you wouldn’t believe.”