by Vonna Harper
“Yeah, I do. Maybe I shouldn’t have questioned your professionalism, but something’s happening with you that hasn’t before.”
“Which is?”
“Falling in love with the subject.”
“Love? Where the hell did you come up with that?”
“I’m not an idiot.”
No, B was far from stupid, but he was way off base on this one. Love, whatever that was, came after a man and a woman got to know each other. Once they’d spent time in each other’s company, time doing ordinary things, they might slide into something deeper—not that he could speak from personal experience. Just because he’d handled every inch of Saree’s body and fucked her, just because he’d given her a massage didn’t mean—
“That new GPS, could it be hidden in a collar?”
“A collar. Shit, I don’t know why not. Look, let the geeks work on it this morning. I’ll have it expressed out to you this afternoon. Reeve, now you’re sounding like the agent I know. Keep your head pointed in that direction, and we’ll put those bastards behind bars.”
If only it was that easy.
Saree ran her fingers over the leather collar Reeve had just fastened around her neck. It wasn’t as wide as the one she’d worn earlier, but it was a little thicker, hopefully not noticeably so. Knowing that what was in it represented their only link with the outside world scared her, but even more unnerving was the unknown they’d be walking into in a few hours.
Ever since the e-mail from The Slavers had shown up she’d been able to think of little else, which in a strange way was a relief because otherwise she’d continue replaying the last time she and Reeve had had sex, the lingering yet explosive quality.
“I want to call my sister,” she said. When he started to speak, she held up her hand. “I’m not going to give away anything. I know her. If she believed calling the cops would increase my chances of staying alive, she’d do it no matter if I yelled at her not to.”
“What about you? Don’t you care about staying alive?”
“Of course I do.” Damn him for sitting across from her without his shirt on while she wore one of his. His scent on the fabric plus knowing it had caressed his skin—“But I can’t turn my back on the most important thing, freeing my friend and the other women.”
“What are you going to talk to Hayley about?”
“Girl stuff,” she snapped. “Things a man can’t possibly understand.”
He frowned, then shrugged. “Go ahead. I trust you.”
He trusts me, does he, she mused as she picked her cell phone off the coffee table and walked into the room she’d been confined to when she first came here. Telling herself she didn’t care what he thought, she closed the door behind her. Only, now that she didn’t have to look at him, her self-defenses fell away. Ever since the best massage she’d ever had had turned into something incredible and impossible, she’d spent her time trying to pull herself back together. The core problem, she determined, was that although she knew how to deal with men manhandling her, she was a babe in the woods when it came to handling lovemaking.
Yes, that’s what it had been, not fucking or even sex but that mystical and romantic thing called lovemaking.
Well, it had been a mistake. A huge one on her part. He’d been messing with her body and mind, maybe so she’d go through with this insane and dangerous plan of theirs. And she’d bought into the mystical and magical, briefly turned her back on the reality of their relationship.
“No,” she told her sister a few seconds later. “I’m not crying. Close to it but not there.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Everything.
“Don’t give me that crap. If you’re in danger—”
“I’m not,” she lied. “I’ve just been messing up my mind.” She drew in a deep breath that failed to calm her. “That’s why I called. I don’t need advice, at least I don’t think I do. What I need you to do is listen to me. I’d love to have you tell me that I don’t know what I’m ranting about, but I’m afraid you can’t.”
“To quote Dad, that’s clear as mud.”
Her father. Dead before his time. “I’m sorry. All right, you know how I pay the bills.”
“Go on.”
This was so hard to get out. “Maybe—maybe if Mom and Dad were still alive, I wouldn’t have taken off in the direction I did. But you said you weren’t embarrassed, and they weren’t here to keep me in line.”
“You always said why shouldn’t you make good money doing what you loved doing?”
“Yeah, I did.” Stupid, stupid! “But most people don’t think of it that way, especially men.”
“I’m missing something here. The majority of your fans are men.”
“Ones with overdoses of kink in their systems. But what about decent men, the kind who are looking for someone to marry and raise their children?”
“Is that what this is about? You’ve fallen in love with whomever you’re with?”
“No! Of course not!”
“Protesting a little loud there, kid. All right, this hypothetical decent man who’s after a brood mare, he’s got your thinking all turned around, hasn’t he?”
“Sis, I’ve been ridden hard and put away wet by more men than I can count.” Standing in this room made for bondage was getting to her, yet she sank onto the bed and closed her eyes. “There isn’t a part of my anatomy that hasn’t gone out over the Internet.”
“I can’t argue that.”
“I’m soiled property. Overused.”
For the first time, Hayley didn’t immediately reply, and when she finally did, her voice was low and soft, a touch across the miles. “Don’t put yourself down, not after all this time. All those conversations we’ve had about free will and doing what feels good—I bought into them as much as you did.”
“Not quite as much. You didn’t make your living the way I did.”
“You’re using the past tense. Have you quit your job?”
Her job was part of a world she could barely remember. “No. I don’t know. Until—until he and I have done something, nothing else matters.”
“It’s dangerous, isn’t it?”
“I can’t talk about it. I promised—”
“I’m not your nosy neighbor. I’m your sister. All right, forget I said that. I never could pull things out of you if you didn’t want. Like when our folks died and you didn’t cry, I knew you were as torn apart as I was, but you bottled it all up inside. Then you threw yourself into porn, and I figured that was your brand of therapy.”
“So that’s why you didn’t try to talk me out of it, because you figured it was cheaper than paying for a shrink?”
“Oh hell, I don’t know. Hon, until Mazati came into my life, until he did the bondage thing with me and everything started revolving around him, I didn’t understand what you got from being tied up. The truth is, I didn’t want to think too much about what you were doing. But there’s something about it, like I’ve given up control and turned it over to someone sexy and mysterious. That’s a hell of a turn-on.”
“It is,” she agreed, not sure how the conversation had taken the direction it had, “for those who get off on it. As for others…”
“Like whomever you’re with?”
She could have told Hayley about how Reeve had imprisoned her and turned her love of bondage to his advantage, but that would mean revealing more than she’d promised him she would. “He hasn’t said anything, but I know he doesn’t embrace that scene. How could he?” He’s all about risking his life to save others. “Look, I have to go. I just—just needed to talk.”
“I’m glad you called, but did you figure anything out?”
Yes, she silently answered. I’m not good enough for him.
20
Except for the collar and chain, Saree was free. She was also dressed, albeit in a skirt that barely covered her ass and a plunging blouse, items he’d found in the master bedroom. They’d debated her doing her hair and putt
ing on makeup but had nixed that idea because they didn’t want anyone thinking she enjoyed what was happening to her.
As per their instructions, Reeve had driven to Segun after dark and they’d waited out in the parking lot until a black SUV with tinted windows rolled up. Two men they hadn’t seen before had ordered them into the backseat. There’d been no inside door handles, and they were still putting on their seat belts when a partition between the front and backseats slid into place, blocking out the world. The trip to wherever they were going had taken the better part of an hour, much of it on a road with countless turns. Saree couldn’t be sure but thought the air had a salty tang to it.
Reeve hadn’t spoken to her the whole time, not that a slave would expect a master to carry on a conversation, but after enduring his moody silence for more than twenty-four hours, she’d give anything to know what was going on inside him.
Of course then she’d be expected to do the same in return.
The SUV eased to a stop, the engine a low hum. Both front doors opened. Suddenly everything seemed to stop for her. This was really going to happen. If only she knew what that entailed, if only she had confidence in the tracking device imbedded in her collar.
The door on her side opened, and a long male arm reached in. Snagging her hair, he hauled her out before switching his hold to the chain dangling nearly to her knees. The sound of male voices, one of them Reeve’s, told her that he too had been let out.
“Smoothly done,” Reeve said as he and the other man walked around the front of the vehicle to where she and her handler waited. “I take it this isn’t the first time you’ve transferred people.”
“It’s among our many talents,” the strangely young-looking man with him said. “Top of the list, ensuring the safety of our bosses.”
“Thanks for the warning. Nice place.”
Looking in the direction Reeve was, she took in a house nearly large enough to qualify as a mansion. It was on a slight rise, and the circular driveway they were on curved below and in front of it. Going by the sounds and smells, she guessed it overlooked the ocean. Her mind boggled at the thought of how much this piece of real estate cost. Although the mansion was well lit, the horizon was dark, proof that they were far from the city. She couldn’t say whether they were north or south of the L.A. area. She hoped that those tracking the GPS knew.
If Reeve was impressed by the building, he gave no indication. Instead, he held out his hand, the gesture plainly saying he wanted responsibility for her turned over to him. She relaxed a little when he was holding her chain, but only a little. Mentally reaching out to him, she sensed nothing in return. This was business for him, only business.
“They’re waiting for you,” the man who’d gotten her out of the car said. “We’ll be back when and if we get word that you’re ready to leave.”
“If?”
“You never know. Plans change.”
When the two men headed back toward the SUV, Saree wondered if she would have stood in place forever if Reeve hadn’t tugged on the chain. Mindful that they were surely being watched, she clasped her hands in front of her and tailed after Reeve with her head downcast. He didn’t so much as acknowledge her presence.
Although the front of the house was already bright, another light, powerful enough to illuminate the whole area, came on the moment they reached the bottom step. Reeve’s grip on her chain tightened.
“Welcome,” someone said from inside the opening. “I trust you had a pleasant ride.”
“A bit over the top with regards to security, but that’s a fine vehicle. Great suspension.”
“And lousy gas mileage. Come on in, Reeve. The bar’s open.”
Stairs, four of them—made, she thought, from granite. Then there was the door that had to be fifteen feet high and so solid it could probably survive dynamite. Once inside, she found herself in a wide entryway with a number of impressive seascapes on the wall. The oils had been done in pastels, peaceful colors at odds with her pounding heart. Recognizing the speaker as Paul, her mind immediately went to her last glimpse of the man’s caged slave. Would she see her here, and would she be in another cage?
“What’s this?” Paul indicated her. “Clothes on a slave?”
“If it suits me, yes. Besides, if someone is denied all modesty, after a while there’s nothing left to take away.”
“Whatever. We have a full house tonight, and the booze is flowing. You a whiskey man?”
“Within limits. I don’t believe in doing anything that might blunt my mental faculties.”
“Suit yourself. Follow me.”
When Paul turned his back on them, Reeve fell in line behind him. She had no choice but to do the same, aching for any sign from him, the slightest indication that he was thinking about her. When it didn’t come, she clenched her teeth. After this nightmare was over, she’d let him know what he could do with his indifference!
Or would she?
Reeve stopped, causing her to nearly run into him. Mindful of her role, she kept her eyes downcast instead of trying to see around him. Music from an incredible stereo system drifted out to her. The air was fresh, making her wonder if windows were open, and the dense, lush carpet was off-white.
“So, what do you think?” Paul asked.
“Who’s your interior decorator? Nice furniture.”
“We think so.”
A light jerk on the chain let her know she was expected to stand beside him. Only then did she risk looking around. They were in a massive living room occupied by a number of men. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over a cliff to the ocean below. A rock fireplace took up the better part of one wall. Like the carpet, much of the furniture was white, although there were several dark brown leather recliners and couches. The bar was to her right, a chess table to her left. If she didn’t know better she’d conclude this was the home of a man with exquisite tastes and refinement. The women crouched in a corner made a lie of that.
From what she could tell—she didn’t want to stare and risk angering someone—they were waiting for their orders. Naked and wearing collars, they put her in mind of dogs who might but might not be let out to exercise. Because they were in a part of the room with little illumination, she couldn’t tell whether they sported bruises or whip marks. Despite the terrible lessons to be learned in their cowed demeanor, the peaceful instrumental and mind-stealing view lulled her.
Someone asked Reeve how he liked his whiskey. Then someone else said that they’d be turning on the big-screen TV soon so they could watch a particular news program. Once that was over, everyone was expected to participate in a bidding. “The rules are pretty simple,” said a fifty-something man dressed all in black. “The slaves will each perform a little act they’ve been working on. If it’s something you’re interested in having performed on you, you place a bid. The proceeds go for a good cause.”
That caused several of the maybe dozen lounging men to laugh.
“The reason for the levity,” the man in black said, “is that we employ a lobbyist whose function is to monitor and deal with any bills in opposition with our policies and bylaws. We’re particularly cognizant of anything the so-called moral majority or religious conservatives might try to ram down lawmakers’ throats.”
“What kind of opening bid are we talking about?” Reeve asked as he accepted a glass with whiskey over ice.
“Depends on how much we feel we’ll be asking of our lobbyist in the foreseeable future. Right now except for a lackluster attempt to find a way to verify the ages of those who access adult Web sites, it’s pretty quiet. To keep us from getting bored, we asked our slaves to come up with activities calling for two slaves and one master. Since yours was unable to participate in the rehearsals, we were debating how she could participate just before you arrived.”
Reeve gave her a dismissive glance. “I’d say it depends on what the activities are. She does have a fair amount of acting experience, something I’m sure you’re all aware of.”
&nb
sp; “Indeed, indeed. And that’s why we anticipate that any bidding she’s part of will be vigorous. A master can bid on his own slave, but he seldom does because the opportunities to enjoy other slaves is limited.”
She was going to be sick, damn it! If that disgusting man with the too-white capped teeth and surprisingly big hands didn’t shut up, she’d either vomit all over his shoes or attack him. Expecting to see the other women looking as disgusted as she was, she stared at them. Not a single emotion played in their expressions. Didn’t they care what happened to them or were they afraid to give away anything?
Someone must have shown Reeve where he could sit because he was heading toward a large leather chair not far from the women. With his hands around her chain, she had no choice but to trail along. Settling into the chair, he jerked down on her chain, and she sank to her knees. He sipped on his drink as the man to his right said he’d been looking forward to seeing her in the flesh after months of taking in her charms on his monitor. For the first time, she was grateful because she was expected to keep her head down and her mouth closed.
“I prefer her without the false nails,” Reeve said, “which is why I ordered her to remove them. Takes away a possible weapon. She’s rather plain without makeup, but those boobs always at attention make up for it.”
Why did energy continue to arc from him to her? Damn it, she should absolutely hate his every word. She did, but that didn’t stop her from feeling his tense heat. As for the source of his tension—
“Saree?”
The question was so soft that she wasn’t sure she’d heard it. Just the same, she looked in the direction she thought it had come from. As far as she could tell, none of the women had moved. Only one stared at her instead of the floor.
Amber! She was thinner than when she’d last seen her, and her hair was longer and lifeless. She wore no makeup, and her shoulders slumped instead of the proud breast-out stance Saree was accustomed to. Most chilling, Amber’s eyes no longer danced with mischief. Instead she reminded Saree of a lost and frightened child.