Chapter Three

Gabi had invited over two friends, and Kim had hidden in the bathroom. Hoping to stall for another minute, she stared into the mirror. The blue sleeveless top Gabi had lent her fit fairly well since she hadn’t regained all the weight yet. Eyes clear, nose and cheeks a little sunburned. Almost healthy looking, at least on the outside.

Faith, the psychologist, kept insisting self-assessment was a necessary part of recovering. Easy for her to say.
The past week had been…bad. Real bad. But—she nodded at herself—now she no longer cried so violently she’d end up in the bathroom puking, although the tears still hit without warning. Her bouts of terror had lessoned, and hey, sometimes she even managed to talk herself out of one. The feeling something horrible would happen had gone from every second to oh…every few hours. Little victories. Of course, she had help from everyone, including a counselor.
Thank you, Master R. Even though he’d never visited, she felt he was watching over her. Maybe it was the way a doctor had shown up soon after she’d arrived at Gabi’s house, then Faith that evening and daily after that. Gabi and Marcus had been surprised; Master R—Raoul—had arranged it without any consultation.
Yesterday, she’d gotten back the results of the tests the doctor had done. No nasty diseases. No pregnancy.
She patted her chest, smiling. Today, the elephant-on-the-chest sensation was gone. Yes, I’m getting better. The counseling definitely helped. So did Gabi, with her years as a victim specialist and her own history of rape. Kim could share with Gabi things she couldn’t tell Faith—and vice versa. The two women gave her sympathy, hugs, and an occasional hard dose of reality. Gabi, especially, would shake her head and say, “Yeah, of course you’re having panic attacks and nightmares. They might not ever go away completely, but they’ll subside.”
That helped a lot, knowing Gabi had gone on to have a life. To find love. And what a sweetie she’d found. Kim sighed. Marcus couldn’t disguise he was a dominant, but he kept his distance, never asking Kim to do anything, usually letting Gabi do the talking. Seeing his tenderness toward Gabi and the love he openly showed her had been healing in itself.
Why couldn’t I have found someone like that? Why did the slavers choose me anyway? Other women liked BDSM, went to the clubs, didn’t get Tasered and kidnapped. Chained and beaten. Why me? Because I’m a slut? Kim peered into the mirror. Did it show on her face maybe?
Gabi had stopped visiting BDSM clubs years before. I kept going, even drove back from Savannah to visit the Atlanta club. So maybe Kim deserved everything she’d gotten. Maybe she really was a slut and a fuckhole as Lord Greville had said.
Laughter came from the other room, breaking into her thoughts before the darkness overwhelmed her. With a shuddering breath, Kim pushed the bleakness aside and tried to remember what Gabi and the counselor had said. I’m not a slut. Not.
“Kim, get out here,” Gabi called. “The cookies are out of the oven. Jessica and Kari are hungry.”
Enough already. Recovering would take time. Eventually, the FBI would give her permission to go home. I can do this. After splashing cold water on her face, Kim joined Gabi in the kitchen where the comforting fragrance of just-baked cookies filled the air.
The phone rang, and Gabi made a sound of exasperation. “Here. Can you take these out?” She handed over the platter and turned to answer the phone. “Hello?”
As laughter came from the two women in the living room, Kim stood still, having to fight the urge to retreat into solitude.
Once she joined Jessica and Kari, she knew—knew—they would lighten her mood. That was something else that Gabi had done. When Kim had started to retreat from people, Gabi’d brought in a couple of her submissive friends. Being in the lifestyle, they had a good idea of what had happened and how a person might react. Their understanding, without Kim having to explain, was wonderful. She liked them.
The only light during her captivity had been her friendship with the other slaves. Like Linda, the older woman who—Kim swallowed—who that fat scumbag had beaten. As the attendants had been bandaging Kim’s back, she’d heard the bastard refuse to buy the redhead, saying she was too old. God, had Linda survived what the Overseer did to slaves who didn’t sell?
Kim hauled in a breath. Fretting wouldn’t help, or so the counselor kept telling her. Only it made her so…so mad. And guilty, like she’d abandoned Linda without doing anything to save her. But what could she have done? Maybe she—
Gabi cleared her throat and made a fist, gesturing in the way that meant full speed ahead.
I should never have taught her those old tugboat signals. Kim nodded and headed into the living room.
“You’ve got the cookies!” Jessica trotted over. After one bite, the short blonde moaned in delight. “Kari, this is the best recipe.” Another bite and she took a second cookie, sending a frown to the woman across the room. “And hey, thanks for not helping me lose weight.”
“Z likes you round,” Kari said. “I’m just doing him a favor.”
As Jessica curled up in a chair to nibble, Kim set the platter on the coffee table for Kari and tried not to laugh.
The very pregnant, sweet-faced schoolteacher was trying to lower herself into the other overstuffed chair. Finally, arms giving out, she dropped the last foot with a bounce and a squeak. After a squirm to settle, she gave Kim a composed smile. “Made it.”
“Uh-huh. God help you when you want to stand up again. And you still have another month?”
“If I survive that long.” Kari leaned forward to get a cookie and was stymied by her stomach. She giggled. “Help?”
No one could be grumpy around these two. Jessica was intelligent, logical, and assertive. Kari almost beamed with joy at the new life inside her, despite being so short and round she resembled a bowling ball. Kim handed her a couple of cookies. “Are you having a girl or a boy?”
“Dan doesn’t want to know, and I let him have his way. Though he’s getting ahead in winning arguments.”
Kim smiled. Yesterday, when Kari’s husband had dropped her off for a visit, she’d been spitting mad. Apparently Dan had seen her trying to adjust the driver’s seat to accommodate her stomach, but not so far she couldn’t reach the steering wheel. The dom had taken her car keys away.
Kim might have been angrier, except the man had driven Kari over himself. Hard-faced with cop’s eyes, he looked really mean, yet he touched his wife as gently as Marcus did Gabi.
It was nice to be shown that all men weren’t the enemy. But some are. Shoving the thought aside, she snatched a cookie and sat on the couch.
Gabi walked in, brows drawn together. She squeezed Kim’s shoulder before sitting beside her. “That was Vance—the guy from the FBI. He’s coming today.”
“Really? Good.” Kim’s anticipation surged. They’d asked her not to call her mother until they figured a few things out. Mom must be going crazy with worry. I need to go home. “When will he be here?”
“Right away.”
Jessica wrinkled her nose. “There’s a typical man. He probably smelled the cookies baking all the way across the city.” She leaned forward and picked up her glass of iced tea. “Speaking of which, can I take some home to Z? He loves chocolate chip cookies.”
“Who doesn’t?” Gabi said. “But sure, we made tons.”
“Eat up, Kari, and we’ll leave before Vance shows up. Otherwise I’ll question Mr. Closemouthed Special Agent about what’s going on, and he won’t spill, and I’ll get mad and be rude.” Jessica rolled her eyes. “He’ll tell Z.”
“And you’d love it.” Gabi snickered. “We all know you act out just to see what creative torture Z will use on you.”
Jessica pointed her cookie at Gabi. “Takes one to recognize one.”
“This is true.” Gabi’s satisfied smile looked exactly like her young cat’s after it had snatched a chicken wing from the table. “I’m not sure who’s more inventive, your dom or mine.”
Kim shuddered. “Don’t worry, fuckhole. I’m quite inventive at finding ways to break slaves.” The whippings. The cage.
“Kim.”
Kim jerked her head up at the sound of her name.
Worry darkened Jessica’s green eyes as she said, “I’m sorry.”
“Hey, I’m glad I’ve recovered enough that you forgot,” Kim said, remembering all the times she’d dissolved into tears. “Besides, it’s nice to be reminded there’s such a thing as teasing a dom for fun.”
Kari grinned. “In that case, you should have been at the last barbecue when Gabi called Marcus a cretin and asked him if he’d had an extra bowl of stupid that morning.”
Kim felt the blood drain from her face. What had he done to her?
“Easy, girl. He didn’t beat on me or anything.” Gabi bumped her shoulder against Kim’s. “I’d rather have had the beating. Would you believe the butthead threw me in the pool after I’d spent an hour on my hair and makeup? And I’d done some really cool temp tattoos around my arms too.”
Kim sputtered a laugh; the knot in her stomach eased.
“You looked so funny.” Jessica rose and hauled Kari out of the chair with a grunt of effort, before grinning at Kim. “She kept cursing him, and he pushed her back in—I think about four times before she cooled down enough to beg forgiveness. And then she hugged him.”
Kari snickered. “You deliberately got his clothes all wet. He didn’t know whether to laugh or curse.”
“Teach him to try to drown me.” Still smirking, Gabi walked with the other two women to the front, exchanged good-byes, then returned to sit beside Kim. “Hey, Jessica forgot Z’s treats—more for us.” Before she got a cookie to her mouth, the doorbell rang. “Well, hell.”
Someone from outside. Heart rate increasing, Kim grabbed her hand. “No, it might not be Vance. I hear another man too. You don’t know who it is.”
“I recognize the voices. It’s okay, girlfriend.”
After a couple of slow breaths, Kim managed to let go of Gabi’s hand. “Sorry.”
“Been there, done that. It takes time.” Gabi hurried to the door and opened it.
The agent walked in first, followed by…Master R? In jeans and a white shirt, he nodded at Gabi, and then his dark gaze went straight to Kim. Intent, powerful.
Her head spun, and her face burned, but the pit of her stomach felt as if she’d swallowed ice cubes. Dizzily, she scrunched into a corner of the couch and pulled her legs up.
His mouth flattened into a straight line, and he said something to Vance too quiet to hear.
“We’ll see.” In khakis and a blue short-sleeved shirt, Vance walked into the living room and took the chair directly across from the couch. “How are you doing, Kim?”
She swallowed. These are friends, not the enemy. Master R—Raoul—got me out. That was the only reason, she realized, she hadn’t run for her bedroom. He’d saved her. “Not good, but better.”
“Lots better,” Gabi said staunchly and dropped down beside her.
Disconcertingly, Master R kneed the large ottoman closer to Kim and sat on it. Within touching distance.
Kim barely kept herself from shrinking away. She’d forgotten how muscular he was. The sleeves of his polo shirt strained to fit around his thick biceps.
“You said you needed to talk about problems,” Gabi prompted.
“Problems, definitely. Our operation is…” Vance’s jaw tightened. “The Harvest Association auctions are big events with many buyers, lots of slaves, and a large number of the association’s personnel. We’ve wanted to raid one for some time, but they change the locations and give out the date and time of the auction only at the last minute. The buyers are transported in windowless vans with anti-tracking technology. Sandoval was to have refused the slaves, so he’d get invited to the next auction. Instead…” He gestured toward Kim.
Instead he bought me and won’t get an invitation. Kim wet her dry lips. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m not, chiquita,” Master R said softly. “We’ll figure something out.”
“But the FBI is angry and—”
Vance smiled slightly. “We can’t be mad at him. He got referred as a buyer all on his own and was generous enough to let us in on the action.”
“I didn’t know that,” Gabi said. “You weren’t recruited? But why?”
Master R flashed her a grin. “My mamá named me after Raoul Wallenberg. How can I not help?” His mouth straightened. “Gabi, it’s a dom’s job to protect his submissives, not sit back while they volunteer to get kidnapped.” He gave her a stern stare.
Kim gripped her friend’s hand. Gabi had done insane things trying to rescue her. What if the slavers had actually succeeded and if—
“Stop imagining,” Gabi muttered to her. “What happens now? Can Kim go home?”
Vance hesitated, and Kim couldn’t bear the silence. “I know it’s probably not good news. Just spit it out, okay?”
He smiled. “If you can speak to me like that, you’re doing better than I thought.”
Master R growled. “She is very strong, but she has been very hurt. This is not—”
Vance broke in. “First, going home isn’t a good idea.” He rubbed the back of his neck, his voice tight. “We’ve discovered at least two slaves escaped.”
“Really?” Gabi leaned forward. “Then they can identify, testify—”
“They can’t,” Vance said flatly. “They’re dead along with anyone they talked with.”
Kim felt her skin go clammy. Going home would put her mother at risk?
“I’m sorry, Kim.” Vance started to say something and then stopped. Waited.
Can’t go home. God, by staying here… She swallowed and edged away from Gabi. “They might come after Gabi and Marcus?”
Gabi broke in. “Don’t you even start thinking like—”
“It might not be a good idea to stay here,” Vance interrupted.
If she ran, where would she hide? The Overseer claimed they had people in every state. She had no money. Her arms wrapped around her legs. The tide was coming in, and it was black.
“Kimberly,” a low, resonant voice said. “Kimberly.” Master R’s voice.
She shuddered and looked at him.
His eyes held hers. “Better. You will listen to everything before you panic. You have options, chiquita.” His intent gaze stayed on her as he prompted, “Buchanan, go on.”
“We are trying to accomplish two things,” Vance said. “To keep you safe and to continue with the operation of shutting down the slavers in the Southeast quadrant. You have a couple of choices.” He waited for her nod. “We can put you into a witness-protection program. Sandoval will report you died—we can’t risk saying you escaped, in case they go after your family—and he’ll ask to buy another slave. The downside is your death would have to be public enough they’d know it was true. Your family would… It might be difficult for them.”
Kim stared. Have Mom think I’m dead? Is he insane? “What’s the other plan?” It must be better.
“We give up on having Sandoval attend the auction. Instead he’d refer someone else.”
“That sounds good,” Gabi said.
“It would be except for the Association’s fu—damned precautions. The only way to talk to the Overseer is at the follow-up visit.” Vance frowned at Kim. “The visit where he finds out if the customer is satisfied. Where he’ll expect to see you, Buchanan’s slave. A good slave, since otherwise you get returned.”
Kim felt the ground drop away. Be a slave. Meet the Overseer again?
“God, no.” Gabi scowled. “She can’t handle that.”
All the feeling had receded from Kim’s fingers. How white they’d gotten. Did she have any blood left inside her? “How long is the visit? How long would I have to pretend?” She’d have to see the Overseer. Deep inside her body, her bones shook like a Halloween skeleton in a cold wind.
“I’m not sure. Probably a couple of hours at least, maybe an evening.” Vance shook his head. “But, Kim, the problem is this: the Overseer doesn’t make contact for a few weeks. At that point, he’d expect to see a fairly well-trained slave. One who knows Sandoval—his habits, his protocols.”
“She could fake it.”
Vance snorted. “Don’t play stupid, Gabi. This isn’t something a slave picks up in an hour. When Marcus nods at the floor, does he mean strip and prostrate yourself, suck his cock, or present yourself doggy-style, or maybe kneel with your hands on your thighs? Or does he prefer your hands behind your head?”
With a sinking feeling, Kim saw Gabi’s understanding nod.
“But maybe she could be…well, kept in a separate room. Like Raoul only uses her for sex or something?” Gabi asked.
Master R shook his head. “During my interview with the Overseer, he asked what functions my slave would perform. I said I wanted service as well as sex. I never imagined being caught in this kind of situation.”
“Who could?” Vance asked. “So Kim would be expected to serve and be present in the room. Having her cringe if her master’s displeased wouldn’t be unusual, but cringing whenever he touches her—or even looks at her? No. Not knowing what to do when he motions for something?” Vance’s gaze turned to Kim, pity softening his blue eyes. “You can’t fake this kind of slavery, sweetie. You’d have to live with Sandoval starting now and actually be his slave, in order to act like one in front of someone as experienced as the Overseer.”
“I already told you no. I won’t have anything to do with this,” Master R said in a hard voice. “She can’t do it.”
The tiny amount of pride left in Kim flickered at how easily he’d dismissed her. She could do whatever she put her mind to. But the rest of her agreed. Go back to being a slave? No way.
But to have them tell her mother she was dead? Would Mom survive such a devastating blow? No.
“I don’t see any other choice,” Vance said. “Not if—”
“I bought her to free her, not to torment her further.” Master R interrupted. “She has enough nightmares without me adding to them. What if she panics when he’s there?”
“Not a deal-breaker,” Vance said. At the deadly look Master R gave him, he shrugged. “To still be struggling with her problems would be normal enough. So would jumpiness. But she can’t fake training she never gets. Most masters do some instruction, even for a sex slave. The kicker is that you not only asked for a service slave, you’re also known in the lifestyle as being an excellent teacher. I’m sorry, Raoul. You’ll have to train her—and you’ll have to touch her as well.”
“Maybe I could go and be there with her? It would be easier with…company or something,” Gabi offered.
Kim looked up. Maybe that—
Vance shook his head. “They do an extensive background on the buyers, so they know Sandoval lives alone. They might do some monitoring after the sale. For him to bring in another woman right after he buys a slave would be downright unlikely and would probably send up a warning flag.” He scowled. “They’re paranoid bastards.”
Warning flag. Ice water trickled into Kim’s core as she remembered… She closed her eyes, took a breath. She had to tell them, but her words stuck to her tongue. “Vance.”
Master R was still fighting to keep her out of it. “There’s always the demonstration. I could get into an auction that way.”
“Maybe,” Vance said. “But that only gets you on the waiting list for God knows when in the future. Besides, the Overseer would still expect to see Kim since your audition is during the follow-up visit.”
“Vance,” Kim said, raising her voice. Their attention shifted to her. “The gossip in… I heard from the other slaves that if a buyer kills a slave, they don’t contact him for quite a while in case he didn’t cover up well enough, or the body’s found or there’re witnesses. Repercussions.”
“Hell.” Vance scowled. “Then pretending you died won’t work. At least not for getting Sandoval into an auction in the near future, either as a buyer or doing a demo.” He cursed under his breath.
Silence. The number of eyes on her made her shake, and she stared at her hands. Such white fingers, all twined together in knots.
Master R’s voice. “It doesn’t matter.” She looked up into compassion. Worry. “Go into the witness protection program anyway, Kimberly. Stay safe and out of sight.”
How incredible it felt to have someone on her side. In slavery, each woman stood alone, for if one tried to protect another, both were beaten. She winced as a lash cracked across her memory. But now… She wasn’t at their mercy, and the man beside her, like a massive tank, was so, so not helpless.
How could she find a plan that would work? At one time, she’d been good at solutions. Back…before. But now… Pretend to be dead and be safe, but her mother would suffer, and she’d have ruined any chance of getting the FBI to the auction. Be a slave and…oh God, she couldn’t.
“What about the other slaves still in their grasp, Raoul?” Vance asked, his voice edged with pain. With pity. “Can you abandon them so easily?”
The question was a blow straight to Kim’s chest. She watched as Master R turned his face away, the skin taut over his cheekbones. He’d planned the whole thing to rescue all the slaves and abandoned it to save her. Just her. While the rest—Holly and Linda and the others—were still there. They’d never get out. Because of me. Because he rescued me.

Guilt settled in her belly, cold and leaden, and with every breath she could hear Holly’s terrified screams, as if the dungeon were only a few feet away. I can’t. Can’t be a slave. Her throat felt as if a rope bound it, contracting to keep the words from escaping.

But to leave them there? Linda had changed the bandages on Kim’s stomach, her hands gentle and careful. She’d told jokes to make Kim laugh, diverting her from memories of how Lord Greville had… I can’t do this. But then Linda would be never get free. She’d live in pain. She had two children in college. Talked about being a grandmother someday. Held Kim when she cried. She’d been so strong, but eventually everybody would break, even Linda.

Is it worth it to live if I betray…everyone ? She looked at her wrists. The bruises from the cuffs had faded to a faint yellow. I endured before. I can endure again. No, she probably couldn’t. She’d die if she was a slave again. No no no. She looked at Master R, who still stared out the window. He’d tried to soothe her fears. He’d held her, not hurting her, but—she shivered—not letting her go either. He did as he thought best. He was a dom.

I can’t do it, can’t even pretend to be a slave. No.
Holly had cried herself to sleep every night. Every night.

I have to do this . The nausea came fast, choking her, and she inhaled through her nose, forcing it back. I’m me. Not a slave, even if I choose to pretend. And I will do this. Because I’m me. Not broken.

A warm hand closed on her upper arm. “Chiquita…Kimberly…look at me.”

She heard him sometimes in her dreams, his voice breaking through the storm of screaming, and everything would calm, the slow smooth baritone as comforting as the ocean rocking a boat. She looked up at him. “I’ll be your s-slave.”

* * * *

Had he ever seen anyone look so terrified and still manage to move? Raoul leaned against the door frame and watched Kimberly enter his home. Her dusky complexion was a grayish pale, her cheekbones standing out above a clenched jaw. She walked as if the tile floor was covered with sharp spikes.

He sighed. She was incredibly brave, but he had doubts she could maintain her courage. Gabi might get a call this evening begging for rescue.

Kim saw him watching and took a step back. “What would you like me to do now, Mmaster R?”
Stop looking at me as if I plan to slice you into inch-sized chunks of flesh. He glanced at his watch. “It’s almost suppertime. Why don’t we sit on the patio”— where you won’t feel as cornered—“and talk? Then we can figure out what to do for supper.”
She gave him a jerky nod.
He led the way through the great room and out the French doors. Sun sparkled off the wide expanse of water. On the shore, waves lapped quietly on the sand. Behind him—silence. He turned.
She was on her knees, hugging herself, staring at the beach, at the waves rolling in. The breeze ruffled her hair back, and the setting sun glinted off the tears on her cheeks. She cried as silently as anyone he’d ever known.
Very slowly, he dropped to one knee and touched her cheek with his fingertips to get her attention. He could feel tiny shudders running through her. “Kimberly, can you tell me why you’re crying?” Should he call Gabi now?
To his complete shock, she rubbed her cheek against his hand like an overwhelmed kitten, and her blue, blue eyes looked up at him. “I forgot. I didn’t even remember…”
He cupped her cheek and rubbed her shoulder, feeling the fragile bones. “What did you forget, gatita?”
“You live on the beach. On the gulf.” Her eyes were wide—not with fear, but with joy. “I can breathe again. Thank you.”
He laughed and rubbed his knuckles over her curving cheek. Perhaps this was not such a forlorn hope after all. If she could share happiness with him, then the rest would come.

* * * *

The next day, Kim stepped out of the guest room onto the long balcony overlooking the gulf. Master R had an interesting place in a beach-house-meets-hacienda way. It was two-story stucco except for a small third story, like a tower, and curved in a C shape around the patio up from the sandy shore. With huge arched windows and balconies everywhere, the inside seemed to merge into the outdoors.

She squinted against the bright sunlight that reflected on the water. Almost noon. She’d hidden in the bedroom since breakfast.

With a sigh, she dropped onto the dark red cushioned chair. Bare feet on the iron railing, she leaned her head back, immersing herself in the feeling of the moisture forming on her skin, the ocean breeze, the heat of the sun. Waves lapped quietly on the sand, the gentle gulf surf nothing like that of her energetic Atlantic. A gull circled, screeching.

Oh, she’d missed the ocean. The rhythm of her life had been marked by the tides, starting on her father’s fishing trawler to her work as a marine biologist. But slaves were shut inside, never to see the sun or hear the surf. Worse than any drug addict, she’d craved the sound and smell of the shore.

She’d probably scared Master R with her reaction last night, but apparently he’d understood. He’d laughed.

He can laugh . He had a great laugh. Braced by the knowledge, she’d made it through yesterday evening without panicking. She’d been quite proud of herself.
A noise came from the room behind her, and she glanced over her shoulder. Sitting with her back to a door felt as if she asked to be attacked, but she forced herself to stay. To try to relax. To ignore the certainty a stranger would come out of nowhere and grab her. Knowing Master R was in the house helped…at least with the stranger-abduction fear.
It sucked to have so many fears she had to name them.
Would Master R create more terror than he eased? A tremor ran through her. I don’t know him at all. Aside from insisting she eat supper with him, he’d left her alone last evening, letting her get used to his house, to losing Gabi’s support…although Gabi had called about every half hour to check on her. Kim smiled. Sweet Gabi.
But Master R apparently realized how terrifying his presence was—not for anything he’d done, but because he was male. A dom.
He was even more careful with her than Marcus had been. Like last night when she’d had a nightmare. Nothing new. Usually Gabi would hear her screams and wake her up. This time it had been Master R.
“Kimberly.” His voice had entered her dream, where she was pinned down, unspeakable things…pain… “Kimberly!” Such a smooth voice. The horrors reverberated through her in the slaps, the burning. “Wake up, chica!” A sharp command. A master’s voice. Her eyes had snapped open. A man in the doorway. Another scream, awake now, but the lights were on, and she saw—after a minute—the man who had bought her. Freed her. Master R.
He’d waited until she said his name before entering, then fetched her a glass of water from the bathroom. Pulled up a chair. Let her drink and shake. He hadn’t touched her once, and his presence had turned comforting. Did he know if he’d loomed over her, she’d have gone into hysterics? That she couldn’t stand being touched right then, not after the nightmare of so many men?
He’d watched her, patient and quiet, then picked up the book she had on the bedside table and simply read to her in that voice, dark with a twist of accent. No nightmare could compete with Raoul Sandoval reading Huckleberry Finn.
So she really was better. Maybe the spark of her very self hadn’t gone out. Maybe she wasn’t filthy inside, deserving of everything done to her and more. Only she felt dirty. Ugly and ruined. She blinked against the welling tears. Would “filthy slut” echo in her mind forever?
The psychologist hadn’t made much progress with her feelings of self-loathing. Or with helping her to figure out what came next, after this was over. How could she go back to her job, knowing someone might grab her again? That—
She heard a footstep and jerked around, heart jackhammering against her ribs.
“Easy, gatita.” Master R stopped. Waited, his eyes steady on hers.
“Sorry.”
“You have the right to be jumpy.” He squatted beside her chair, tilting her chin up to wipe her cheeks with his fingers. “And to cry. No matter how strong you are, I think you will be in tears often for a while.”
“Are we going to start…?” She couldn’t finish, hated how pitiful she sounded.
“When you are ready, Kimberly, come downstairs and we’ll talk.”
“Kim. Everyone calls me Kim.”
He smiled, and for a second, she saw the dom he was. Self-confident. Powerful. He would do what he wanted.
A shiver ran through her. “You really are a dom, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am.” He released her chin and brushed his knuckles down her cheek. “But you’re safe, chiquita. The only slave I want is one whose dearest wish is to be mine.”
He wanted to own a slave? A chill settled deep in her bones.

* * * *

An hour later, Raoul pushed his keyboard to one side and rested his forearms on the massive oak desk. The design for a new waterfront area in Belize couldn’t keep his attention.
Could Kimberly tolerate being a slave? He wasn’t a harsh master, but he wasn’t a pushover either, and since he’d acted like a cold bastard for the Overseer, turning into a hearts-and-flowers master wouldn’t cut it. Honesty would serve both him and Kimberly best. After all the upheavals in her life, she’d need the stability—the reassurance—of consistency.
He looked up at a sound from the door.
She stood there, her face pale, but chin up and standing straight. Brave little subbie. Satisfaction welled in him as he noted her cheeks had started to round out. Gabi’s cooking and pampering had put some weight on her.
“I’m ready to talk,” she said. “Is this a bad time?”
“This is fine.” He rose and saw her force herself to stand still.
In the doorway, he put his hand on her back, touching her as he’d avoided doing before. He felt her tremble. His brows drew together as he realized he was seeing her in two ways: as a hurt woman and as a willing sub. How had his mind ever received the impression she was willing? Yet there had been times in the slaver’s dungeon, when their rhythms had come together, and she’d unconsciously accepted him as dominant.
He paused, then turned toward the stairs, steering her up past the second floor to the third and into the tower room. Their discussion should be in a private place. Intimate. Not his office. And the great room was for guests.
Here, the steeply angled roof formed two sides of the square room, but the front and back walls were all glass, giving a breathtaking view of the sea to the west and his gardens to the east. The floor was a rich brown pile, the off-white sectional soft and welcoming. The toys for bondage and play stayed hidden inside the sturdy ottoman and bombé chest by the wall.
“This is beautiful,” she said, walking to the window with the ocean view.
So are you, little submissive. The light of the afternoon sun glinted off her straight black hair, bringing out brown tints, and silhouetted her slim figure. Under the loose-fitting clothing, she had a pretty body, he recalled. So thin, yet still graceful with nicely curved hips. He pointed to the sofa, saw her hesitation, and patiently waited for her to take a seat.
What should have been eagerness to obey—and probably had been once—was fear instead. His heart ached that anyone could treat a woman so harshly. He sat on the sturdy square ottoman, knee to knee with her, the sofa back keeping her from retreating farther. “We’re going to talk about what I expect and what you will do. And we’ll get to know each other, gatita.”
“What’s gatita mean?”
“Little cat. Kitten.” He tugged on her black hair. “Baby cats often have blue eyes, and when I was young, I had a black kitten with big blue eyes.”
She smiled. “You called me chiquita.”
“Little girl.”
She didn’t like that. “You said pobre-something means poor little baby.”
“Yes.”
Her eyes narrowed. “That’s an awful lot of littles, don’t you think?”
“Perhaps.” He displayed his hand. “Big.” He set hers next to his, so small and delicate contrasted with his thick, blunt fingers. Why did holding her fragile hand raise every protective instinct he had? “Little.”
When she huffed in exasperation, he captured her other hand and leaned forward. “Now, tell me what happened when you were a slave.”
His unexpected question felt like a kick to the stomach. Talk about it? No way. Kim attempted to withdraw, and his fingers tightened. “Excuse me?” Her mind shifted, trying to detach from her body.
“You heard me, Kimberly. Until this is over, I will be your dom—your master. I will expect you to follow orders. Your body will be available to me—”
She froze.
“No, not for sex,” he added with a sigh. “But my hands will be on you at times. You need to become accustomed to my touch so you’re not jumping.”
She managed a nod. I knew this. I did. Why did it seem much more intimidating when she was looking at those powerful hands?
“I expect you to tell me when something bothers you—and things will. I need to know what to avoid, and I can’t help you if you can’t share what happened.”
Go into it? Talk about it? With him? His fingers were hot against her skin as the ice crept into her hands.
“Share with me, Kimberly.” His voice was a grave baritone, the slight Spanish accent softening it. “When did they kidnap you?”
“A-about maybe seven weeks ago.” The pain, horrible pain from the Taser, then a sting. The world going fuzzy, then she awoke to terror. A nasty kick when she threw up, a slap when she cried too loudly.
“I’d forgotten it was so long. Did they hold you for a while before they auctioned you off? What happened during that period?”
“They…didn’t do much. I was penned up with the others for…I think almost two weeks?” The time was blurry, crying women, leering men, nothing to do. The days ran together. “Our ‘rebelliousness’ was a selling point, so we got no training.” She swallowed, remembering how scared she’d been. If she’d known what would come after, she’d have jumped overboard right then. “I didn’t go to the big auction though. Lord Greville bought me a while before.”
“The owner who sent you back to the Overseer?”
She nodded, blinking furiously. I won’t cry.
Master R’s hands squeezed her fingers. “Tell it all.”
He needed the information. But it was hard. “He took me to his house.” Cold with white walls and furniture, no comfort anywhere. “He had his servants hold me down, and h-he raped me.” She forced the word out. After a week of talking with Gabi and Faith, she could say it now—say it without vomiting. “I fought them. He beat me until I passed out. And raped me again.” And again and again.
“Was he the one who used a whip on you?” Master R asked, his voice even.
She nodded, looking at their entwined hands. “Each time, each day. The pain—” So much pain that every breath had hurt, until it billowed in her head, made her vision waver. Until all she could think was, Make it stop. “I couldn’t quit fighting, even…even though…” Blood in her mouth, on the floor, the stink of sweat and sex.
“It’s why the bastard wanted you—because you’d fight back.” His fingers massaged hers. “So you’ve had both physical and sexual abuse. How about mental? Did he call you names?”
“Yeah.” Slut, cunt, dirty whore. Did the filth inside her show? Could Master R see the darkness? She tried to laugh. “Even some words I’d never heard of before. He said I deserved everything I got because I was a slut. Bad. Filthy. He locked me in a cage during the day—put my water and food in bowls because I was an animal.” She dared to look up, had to, and saw his black frown. “That’s why he gave me to his friends.” Her throat clogged as her stomach turned over.
He cursed under his breath and gripped her chin with those strong fingers, pulling her head up. “Look at me, chiquita.”
Her gaze came up to meet his dark brown eyes, patient. Firm.
“Good. Now take a breath. Yes. Let it out slowly. That’s a good girl.”
The memories retreated, pushed away by his anger…for her. Her nausea eased.
After she’d managed a few breaths, he sat back, taking her hand again. “Others used you. And?”
“I stabbed him afterwards.”
He stared at her, then burst out laughing, and with the sound of his hearty laughter, open and pleased, the darkness in her head shrank. He kissed her fingers. “Good for you. But…I think this is why you were hurt so badly?”
Badly. She couldn’t answer, just started to shake.
A growl came from him. He plucked her up like a dandelion and sat down with her in his arms. Warmth and strength enfolded her, not frightening her. Somehow. How did being ordered to talk make her blurt things out like that?
He waited, simply holding her, one hand running up and down her arm. As her trembling slowed, he said, “I know something of trauma. I have friends who were in war. Others survived the gangs. You will continue with the counselor—she and Gabi can come here—but even so, things will set you off. Panic you or make you cry. I expect that.”
Gabi? And Faith? Not alone, not abandoned. “Thank you.”
“But if simply talking does this to you, then I need to know the rest, so I can help you through it. Or avoid it. Do you understand?”
She felt dirty. Weak and useless and ruined. But he was right. She bit her lip and nodded.
“How did you manage to stab Lord Greville, and what did he do afterward?”
“As the…men…were leaving, I hid a knife in my dancing scarves.” Crawling to the veils, pulling them around her, knotting one over the blade. Her blood staining the delicate fabric. Trying to stand. Falling. Pushing to her feet. Blood trickling down her legs like warm water. “When he returned for me, I stabbed him.” She swallowed. The blade punching through his shirt, then his skin, his flesh resisting. “He jerked away as I did. Enough that I got his shoulder and not his heart. He hit me.” Knocked her across the room.
“I’m sorry you were not more accurate,” Master R said mildly. “And then?”
“He yelled, and his staff came. He was crazy mad.” Blood everywhere, yelling, insanity in his eyes. “He whipped me and then got the knife I’d used.” “I’ll cut you into pieces. Scream, slut.” She touched her ribs where the long slash had opened her to the bone. The pain had bloomed and grown and grown. “But he’d lost enough blood that he passed out.” She’d hurt so much, too much to glory in it. “They tied a bandage around my ribs and put me back in the cage. The little one.” Not the kennel. Made for a medium-sized dog and so small she couldn’t straighten her legs, couldn’t stand up. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t… Her lungs spasmed like a fish on dry land, suffocating with air all around.
“Shhh, shhh.” A big hand stroked her hair. “You’re here, gatita. No one will hurt you.”
Here. She blinked away the darkness at the edge of her vision. “They left me… I don’t know how long.” In the dark. Never let out. Bleeding. Hurting. Peeing on herself, her legs wet and stinking. The cage stinking. Her voice had broken from screaming. “Eventually they came and got me.” When the door opened, she knew she’d die and felt only relief.
He shook her gently, breaking her from the nightmarish thoughts. “Breathe for me, Kimberly.”
Slow breath. She stared out at the waves. The small windows lining the huge ones were cracked open, and the ocean’s shushing sounds rolled over her, drawing her memories away, grain by grain.
“Look at me.” He drew her back to the present. “They took you out and…?”
“The Overseer was there. They made him take me back.”
“Pobrecita,” Master R murmured.
Too tired to be afraid, she laid her cheek against his soft shirt. Beneath the thick muscles of his chest, his heart beat slowly, evenly, his breathing pulling hers into a matching rhythm. Under the influence of the even pace, she found her voice again. “The Overseer was furious because he said I was damaged, but he gave them a refund since Lord Greville’d brought in a lot of referrals. One of the Overseer’s slaves sewed me up, and I didn’t do anything for a while. After the stitches came out, I helped out in the kitchen for another week. And learned to dance.”
“No hospital?”
She managed a laugh. “Hardly. Although I got antibiotics. I think they were for dogs from a feed store.” I’m an animal.
“Well, I see why you were a bargain,” he said, breaking up her thoughts. “Almost killing your owner would definitely lower your value.” He tapped a finger on her nose. “Good job.”
She blinked, startled. A trickle of warmth crept into her at the open approval in his voice.
“Aside from being kidnapped, which would leave you insecure, most of what terrifies you happened at this Greville’s house? Rape, cage, beating. The way they treated you, being called names—you feel as if they’re right? That you’re what they called you?”
Why did it help when he…listed…things? Because it sounded like a set of problems she could deal with instead of an overwhelming chasm she’d fall into? “I… Yes.”
“Mmmmh. You get counseling already. I’ll add in some self-defense, so if you have to stab someone, you’ll do a better job.” He waited for her nod. “Getting over being raped will take time, but since you’re here in my arms, it might not be the worst of your problems. But you suffered enough that things will set you off. Unless your counselor says otherwise, we’ll stop, go through your fear so you handle it, and if possible repeat the trigger until it doesn’t work any longer.”
Maybe she could survive. Except… “Not the cage.”
He shook his head. “No, that one is for your counselor to deal with. You and I will stick with what causes you problems in your slave training.”
Slave. The word made her want to retch. “I’ll do my best.”
“I know you will, chiquita.”
As his arms tightened around her, she felt fear and safety mingle inside her as she was comforted…by her master. God had the oddest sense of humor.

* * * *

With a low groan, Raoul pushed the weight slowly upward, his arms shaking with the strain. At the top, he dropped the bar into the rack, the clank loud in his empty weight room.
As he sat up on the bench and shook out his arms, sweat plastered his tank top to his skin, and his pecs and triceps burned. His body made the shadows on the wall dance. He’d deliberately left off most of the lights, the darkness suiting his mood.
He’d managed to keep from showing his fury when Kimberly talked about her kidnapping, but, Dios, it had been difficult to hear her voice tremble, feel her scarred body tremble.
An hour of lifting weights, of pushing himself to exhaustion and beyond, had restored his control. Leaning forward, he set his elbows on his knees and stared at his forearms. His skin was taut over the pumped muscles. His veins bulged. Yes, he was fucking strong.
Uselessly strong. He’d been too late to save his brother from dying in a filthy alley, too late to rescue this little slave before her abuse. Even worse, next time he saw the Overseer, he couldn’t beat him into the ground. Not yet. His jaw tightened until his teeth ground together. Hopefully later.
For now, his task was to heal the damage to Kimberly’s soul…and train her as his slave. He dropped his head into his hands, despair edging through his defenses. A slave. Here, in his house, the one he’d built after his divorce, not wanting to live with any memories of Alicia and their failed Master/slave relationship.
Now he would bring it back into his life.