Red Handed

by Shelly Bell

  She didn’t come. She exploded. Broke apart.

  Just as he’d promised.

  She shattered.

  Chapter Twelve

  COLE REMOVED HIMSELF from between her legs and stood. “Stay there while I clean the wax off you.”

  The cameras had stopped their snapping of pictures. Cole turned off the studio lights, dimming the space. Her eyes fluttered shut. She wanted to escape and go back to her room for a shower, but she didn’t have the energy. Breathing deep, she listened to the sounds Cole made as he moved around the room.

  She felt his presence beside her moments before he brushed something across her lips. “Open up.” He popped a piece of chocolate into her mouth. “How are you feeling?”

  She sighed. “Tired.”

  He chuckled and fed her another piece. “Eat a little more candy.”

  An orgasm and chocolate. No wonder people came here for slave training.

  “I’m going to rub some baby oil on your skin to help soften the wax and then scrape it off with a comb.” He kneaded the top of her breasts with his oiled hands.

  “I get a massage too?”

  “How’s that?”

  “Heaven.” As his hands inched lower and stroked the area that included her nipples, she opened her eyes to an up-close view of Cole’s covered erection. “Do you need me to take care of it?”

  He stopped for a brief moment and hissed out a breath. “I’m good. Let’s get you cleaned up, and I’ll take you back to your room.”

  Her heart slammed against her breastbone. “Or you could take me to yours,” she offered, guilt and hope snaking together as she seized the opportunity to access his residence.

  He avoided her eyes. “I don’t allow any slaves in my private residence.”

  The words sliced through her like a machete. He’d reverted to his Master voice, speaking as if this was a rule he’d had to repeat a thousand times. Silly of her to think for a moment she meant more to him than a slave. “Right. Of course.”

  “If I could, I would.” Using the comb, he removed pieces of wax from her chest. “I have to have clear boundaries, or I’d never have any space to myself.”

  “It’s fine, I get it.” She gritted her teeth and lay as still as possible, trying her best to dissociate from her body as she would in a doctor’s exam. Cole worked in silence, completing the process of removing wax from her skin. When he got to her pussy, she clamped her legs together. “I’ll get that off myself. If you don’t mind, I’d prefer to return to my room for a shower.” A warm one that would erase the chill that had settled in her bones.

  “Danielle . . . ” His lips flattened into a firm line. “I hope today helped you feel beautiful.”

  For a short time, she’d almost believed it was true. “You certainly did your best to make me feel that way.”

  As she sat up, he reached behind him and grabbed a plastic bottle, then held it out to her. “Drink some water before you stand.”

  “I’m not thirsty.” She hated that she sounded like a petulant child, but she couldn’t help it.

  “I’m not asking, Danielle. Drink the water.”

  Sighing, she uncapped the bottle. “Yes, Master.”

  After she’d taken a couple sips, he slipped his arm around her back. “Up you go.”

  She squirmed away from him. Why did he have to act as if he cared? “I don’t need your help.”

  “Too bad you don’t have a choice. This is what we call ‘after-care.’ After a scene, it’s the Master’s responsibility to attend to the slave’s needs. Blood sugar drops, and you can experience dehydration.”

  Embarrassment heated her cheeks. “Chocolate and water.”

  “Yeah. Chocolate and water. A blanket. A hug. A ride home or assistance to a room. Whatever’s necessary to ensure the health and welfare of the slave or in this case, you.” He picked up her clothes off the floor. “Turn around.”

  Her breathing hitched as he encircled her chest and slipped her arms into the straps of her bra before hooking it in the back. Her skin felt tender, as if she’d spent too much time in the sun. Finding after-care to be far too intimate for her taste, she shivered when he helped her into her skirt and blouse.

  He slowly spun her to face him and took her hands in his, interlacing their fingers. “Tomorrow, I’d like to show you the photographs.”

  “Of course.”

  He steered her through the gallery, a painful reminder of her status in his world, then past the jagged mirrors, where she discovered her disappointment was etched on her face. She didn’t understand why she cared so much about Cole’s intentions. They both had a job to do and a role to play. If anything, today had served as a reminder that everything that happened here may have looked, smelled, and felt real, but it was simply a mirage. As long as she remembered it, her heart would remain intact.

  After Cole locked the gallery door, he splayed a hand on her lower spine and directed her to the kitchen, so he could take her upstairs to her room. A glance at the grandfather clock at the end of the hallway and the people littered around the main floor told her it was nighttime. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. Had they really been in the studio all afternoon? No wonder she was so tired.

  As they passed the foyer, a harried Gracie ran up the stairs from the dungeon, taking two at a time. Strips of black leather-looking material crossed in an X over her breasts, barely concealing her nipples, and ran down her sides until it merged with a piece that covered the juncture between her thighs. “Master Cole, we have a problem. Anthony Rinaldi has asked Cassandra to join him for electrical play.”

  Cole stiffened and removed his hand from her back, his jaw tightening and eyes narrowing. “He knows he has to go through me or a dungeon monitor to scene with a trainee.”

  “Yes, Master, but he refuses to listen,” Gracie said. “Not to mention Cassandra is arguing with the dungeon monitors as well.”

  It figured Cassandra was at the root of the problem. The woman was literally a glutton for punishment.

  Cole yanked his cell from his pocket and dialed, then raised it to his ear. “Michael, will you please have Anthony Rinaldi and Cassandra brought upstairs to my office?” He disconnected and frowned, his anger morphing into concern. “She wants to try electrical play with him? Have you explained he’s a sadist?”

  “Oh, she knows.” Gracie folded her arms over her chest. “I’m certain this is one of her ploys for attention. She’s a brat, not a pain slut.”

  Danielle admired how Cole immediately took charge of the situation, but it was clear he didn’t have time to worry about her well-being at the moment. She pasted on a fake smile and stepped back from him. “You obviously have your hands full with the club, and I’m fine to get myself to my room, so I’m going to go—”

  “You’ll wait for me,” he said firmly. “This will only take a moment.”

  Gracie glanced between them and seemed to pick up on the tension. “I’d be happy to take her upstairs, Master.”

  He hesitated. “Thank you for your offer, but I’ll see to her myself.”

  Danielle didn’t know much about after-care, but to her, his behavior reminded her of someone insisting he walk his date to the door. At this point, she didn’t see why Gracie couldn’t fulfill his Master obligations toward her.

  Dressed in a see-through black mesh dress, Cassandra sauntered up the stairs with what appeared to Danielle to be a triumphant grin. As soon as the troublemaker caught sight of Master Cole, she schooled her expression into one of remorse. As she had earlier in class, she dropped to her knees in front of him. “Master Cole, I’d like permission to scene with Anthony Rinaldi.”

  “Permission denied. Please stand.”

  She tossed her long red hair over her shoulder as she complied. “May I ask why?”

  Cole remained calm, calmer than Danielle would be in the same position. She didn’t understand why he indulged her behavior. “As your Master, I don’t have to explain my decision to you, but since you’
re a trainee and this is a learning experience, I will. Rinaldi is a sadist and not the kind you read about in your BDSM romances.”

  She raised a brow. “Then why is he a member?”

  From the dungeon, two men climbed the stairs, Michael trailing behind them. The taller of the men wore a black business suit and was built like a football player, while the other, an older man with graying brown hair, was dressed casually in jeans and a Polo shirt. Which one was the sadist?

  Answering Cassandra, Cole didn’t seem to notice Rinaldi’s approach. “I’ve known him for a number of years, and he’s been a member of Benediction since day one. So long as he follows the rules, a sadist has just as much of a right to membership as any other person. However, unless you’re a masochist with a high pain tolerance, this is not a man to tango with.”

  “Cole,” the older man said smoothly, offering a hand. “I wasn’t aware you were running a dance studio.”

  Michael’s phone rang, and he answered, motioning to Cole with his hands that he was needed elsewhere. At Cole’s nod, he headed toward the kitchen.

  Cole eyed Rinaldi’s outstretched hand but didn’t shake it. “Anthony. I’m told you tried to negotiate a scene with my slave trainee. You’re aware you need to obtain prior approval, yes?”

  Undeterred by Cole’s rejection, Rinaldi winked as he dropped his hand to his side. “You and me, we go back a long time. I figured by now, you’d trust me.”

  Danielle sensed an undercurrent of animosity in Rinaldi’s words. Cole remained calm, but his hands twitched as if he was keeping himself from saying what he really felt.

  If Rinaldi didn’t follow the rules, why wouldn’t Cole terminate his membership?

  “My decision has nothing to do with trust,” Cole said in much the same way he’d told her he didn’t bring slaves to his bedroom. “Everyone, including Benediction’s original members, must adhere to our policies. Cassandra is not a masochist, and as her Master, it is my role not only to see that her limits are honored, but to know when to add limits for her own protection.”

  Rinaldi tilted his head and ruminated for a moment. “Fair enough.” Then to her horror, he turned to her. “I don’t recognize you.” His assessing gaze slid down the length of her body. “I don’t suppose there’s any hope this one’s a masochist? What’s her name, Cole?”

  Cole shoved him. “You will never fucking touch her. Don’t talk to her. Don’t even look at her. You’re not worthy to breathe the same air as her, and you’re certainly not worthy of learning her name.”

  Danielle froze. Why was he so protective of her?

  A sick grin turned Rinaldi’s otherwise unremarkable face into one of a psychotic. “No worries. I can see the girl means something to you.” He smacked his cohort on the back. “Let’s go find us a masochist. I’m itching to cause some pain.”

  Although they could access the stairs if they went right, Rinaldi swaggered left. “Welcome to Benediction, Danielle Walker.”

  An icy chill swept through her. Why had he asked Cole for her name if he already knew it?

  Cole tensed, and his eyes darkened as he watched Rinaldi leave. Gracie laid a gentle hand on his arm and shook her head. “He’s not worth it, Master. Let him go.”

  Rinaldi disappeared from sight before Cole moved a single muscle. Then he turned to Cassandra. “We’ll need to speak tonight about whether you’re committed to Benediction and your training as a slave. Until then, you’re to return to your room. You’re excused.” Swallowing hard, Cassandra wisely kept her mouth shut and ambled toward the kitchen. “Gracie, thank you for your assistance. As a reward, I’ll set up a scene for you with Ryder and Morgan.” As if nothing had occurred, he returned his hand to the small of Danielle’s back.

  Gracie beamed. “Of course, Master.” She caught Danielle’s gaze and wiggled her eyebrow before galloping off to the basement.

  With everyone now gone, Cole made good on his word and escorted Danielle to her room, his touch even more confusing now that she’d witnessed his attack on Rinaldi. “How did Rinaldi know my name?” she asked.

  The fingers of his hand curled into her waist. “Word gets around when Benediction gets a beautiful new slave trainee.”

  She didn’t believe him, but why would he lie? Now at her room, she pivoted so her back rested against the wooden door and searched his eyes for the truth. “I thought you were going to hurt him.”

  “I wanted to.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. “Because of me?

  He leaned forward, bracing his hands on either side of her head. “Because Rinaldi and I have a complicated history, and it’s my responsibility to protect”—his gaze dropped to her lips—“all my slaves. You’re safe here.”

  She held her breath as his mouth inched closer and closer. At the last second, he stopped, brushing his thumb against her cheek. “Get some rest. You’re going to need it.”

  Leaving her wanting and confused, he turned and walked away, as if she’d imagined the entire moment. And although she was flooded with the urge to confront him on it, she let him go, knowing it was for the best.

  Chapter Thirteen

  A RECTANGULAR, LIGHT blue Tiffany box with a white bow tied around it sat on her bed as though it was her birthday.

  She fingered the Tiffany locket around her neck and shivered, goose bumps developing up and down her arms. The sensation of being watched returned.

  Could Cole have left her a present?

  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d received a gift. Tasha wrote her checks, and Roman took her shopping to pick out something she wanted, but a surprise gift? It must have been more than eight years ago. Before her father had been imprisoned.

  This box looked innocent enough, but for some reason, it felt . . . ominous. She sat on her bed, picked it up, and shook it. The box was light, and she didn’t hear anything.

  She carefully untied the bow and slid it off the box.

  Footsteps sounded in the hallway, and then the noise disappeared, almost as if someone had stopped in front of her door. Was it the person who’d left her the gift? Were they waiting for her reaction?

  Her hands trembled as she slowly lifted the top off the box. Gasping, she dropped its bloody contents on the floor. Nausea choked her.

  A finger.

  Discolored and gray, with dry, crusted, black blood coating the bottom where it had been severed from the hand, there was no mistaking the finger’s identity.

  The long red polished nail.

  The faded scar underneath the knuckle.

  The platinum and diamond wedding band.

  The finger belonged to Tasha. Had belonged to Tasha.

  Her belly churned, and she gagged. Rushing to the bathroom, she barely made it to the toilet before emptying all the contents of her stomach.

  Why? She’d done everything they had asked. Gotten on a plane and left her life in Arizona behind. Convinced Cole to let her train as a sex slave.

  How had the box gotten to her room? She’d locked the door.

  Maybe one of the trainees knew something about how it had arrived. But what if it came from one of the other trainees? Was one of them working for the kidnappers? It would certainly make sense. Any one of them could be watching her and reporting back.

  But what had she done to warrant Tasha losing her finger?

  Her poor stepmother. She didn’t deserve this. No one deserved this.

  Danielle flushed the toilet and cleaned up at the sink, brushing her teeth and rinsing her mouth out with mouthwash. She couldn’t fall apart. Not when Tasha’s life was on the line.

  Now she had to figure out what to do with the finger. She couldn’t keep it here. But she couldn’t bear to throw it away in the garbage either. What if she needed it later as evidence? Surely when Tasha came home, they could contact the police and start an investigation.

  Her breathing calmed, and her hands steadied. She could do this. She’d take the box outside and find a safe place to hide it.

  She ste
pped out of the bathroom and into her bedroom just as the door to her room clicked shut. Frozen, she scanned the room, immediately noticing the package and the finger were gone.

  They’d been in her room while she was in the bathroom, oblivious, only feet away.

  The nausea returned as she raced to the door and flung it open. She stepped into the hall and found it empty. It had to be one of the trainees. There was no way anyone else could’ve gotten away so quickly. She scanned all the closed doors. Which one hid the trespasser? Did they know what they had delivered?

  The door across her hall creaked open, and looking polished as ever, her red hair flowing over her shoulders, out came Cassandra. She smirked as she noticed Danielle. “Need help packing your suitcase? If you need a ride, I’d be happy to call a taxi for you.”

  There was no mistaking the fact that Cassandra was a class-A bitch, but had she left the box in her room? Could she be working with the kidnappers?

  “I’m not the one who Master Cole is planning on speaking to about her commitment,” Danielle said, curling her shaking hands into fists at her hips.

  Surprise registered in Cassandra’s eyes before she concealed it. “Oh, that? You obviously don’t know how things work around here. I’m what’s known in the BDSM community as a ‘brat.’ I make trouble because the Masters get off on punishing me. If you knew anything about BDSM, you’d get it.” She raked her gaze down Danielle’s body. “You’re a poser. I don’t understand why Master Cole allowed you to train.”

  Danielle took a steadying breath. “I don’t have to explain myself to you, nor do I answer to you.” Instead of retreating, Danielle stalked closer to her, lowering her voice and speaking nonchalantly. “And you’re not a brat. You’re a selfish little girl playing adult games. Those Masters who you believe get off on your behavior? They see right through you.” She twirled around and went back into her room, shutting the door.

  Standing with her back against it, she spied a pill bottle halfway under the bed. Had that been there before?