Chapter Fourteen

The time had come.
Kimberly stared at her reflection in the bedroom mirror and ran a finger over her new collar. Master R had obviously ordered this one especially for her. It was very soft on the inside.

On the outside, the black leather boasted a silver engraving: Master Raoul’s gatita. He hadn’t added a padlock, saying she’d feel better if she knew she could remove the collar, and the engraving would make it clear she was owned. She touched the leather. Reassuring.

I’m Master R’s cat. I’ve got claws, and I know how to use them. Look out, you bastards.

As for the rest of her outfit… Ugh. A leather micromini for the bottom, so short that if she bent over, they’d see her tonsils. The top was even worse since the decorative leather harness left her breasts totally exposed.

She’d applied makeup with a heavy hand, hoping to disguise the fear in her eyes. Fear of the auction, of the Overseer, of the slavers.
Not Master R. After yesterday on the boat, she felt closer to him than ever before. He was her security, a lifeboat in a horizon-to-horizon ocean.
He came up behind her in the floor-length mirror, wearing skintight leather pants and a matching black vest. His face was set, his eyes remote. He’d looked like that on the night he’d bought her, but not here…never in his bedroom before.
His gaze took her in, and his whole demeanor softened. “You’re beautiful, gatita. The outfit should keep their attention nicely.” He laid a cape over her shoulders. “They called and are only a few minutes away. We need to go down to the street now. Remember your part?”
“Yes, Master.” Oh God.

* * * *

The black, windowless van pulled in front of the house where Raoul waited, his arm around his brave submissive. She suffered an occasional shiver but was holding up better than he’d thought.

A Harvest Association hireling hopped out, slid open the side door, and let the built-in steps down. “If you would, sir.” He gestured to the door.
Raoul climbed the shaky steps and glanced at Kimberly in blatant irritation. “Come, girl. Stop lollygagging.”
She wore the fetish shoes, tall with spike heels, and as she hurried forward, she stumbled and fell to her knees. With a loud impatient sigh, Raoul put his arm on the top of the van for balance and motioned to the attendant. “Help the clumsy bitch.”
As the man assisted Kimberly to her feet, Raoul crushed the vial he’d concealed in his hand and smeared the exposed swab in long streaks across the roof of the van. To his satisfaction, nothing showed. Kouros had said only special glasses could see paint glowing. Since the slavers used GPS jammers in their homes and vehicles, the FBI’s tracking devices had been useless. But now, hopefully, a helicopter could follow them. When picked up, Sam would perform the same swabbing maneuver.
Raoul covertly flicked the empty applicator high in the air to land in the bushes and with an annoyed sound, helped Kimberly up the last step. In the van, three unaccompanied men occupied the luxury seating near the door, watching small DVD displays. Two turned avid gazes toward Kimberly, and Raoul wrapped her cape more firmly around her.
She took a breath and stood straight. Brave gatita.
“May I have your personal items, please, sir?” the attendant said, waiting on the steps.
Raoul handed over his wallet and phone and keys to be sealed away, then suffered a pat down. The multitool in his boot was checked for sharp points and replaced when he mentioned he’d be doing a demonstration.
The light flashed toward Kimberly. She opened her covering, and everyone could see she wasn’t hiding a thing.
As the man jumped out and closed the door, Raoul chose a seat in the back, far from the others. He pulled Kimberly onto his lap, snaked his hand under her cape and over her breast.
Her startled gaze met his, and he kissed her lightly, murmuring into her ear, “If I play with you, I have a reason to hold you on my lap, but if you would prefer to kneel at my feet, you may.”
Her head gave a little shake. At home, she’d have given him a laughing look and shown her pleasure at being in his arms. Not here.
“Stay beside me at all times, Kimberly. We’ll use the leash again, but even so, I want you close enough to feel you. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Master.”
He cupped her face in his hand, ran his thumb over her lips. “I am very proud of you, cariño,” he murmured.
She burrowed into his arms in a very unslavelike manner, and he couldn’t find it in his heart to deny her the comfort.
An unknowable time later, they emerged from the dark van and walked up the sidewalk to a mansion blazing with lights. Raoul strained his ears, thought he heard a faint whisper of helicopter blades, and hoped it wasn’t his imagination.
As they approached the door where the guards were matching photos to arriving buyers, Raoul attached his leash to her collar. “Stay beside me now, Kimberly.”
“Yes, Master,” she whispered. “Thank you.” In the glare of the outside lights, her face appeared gray.
He lifted her chin and forced her to meet his gaze. “You are mine, Kimberly. No one will touch you.”
Under his fingers, the muscles of her jaw loosened. She gave him a jerky nod.
He ran his finger around the edge, touching her soft neck. “I like seeing my collar on you,” he murmured.
Her smile of agreement was followed by confusion. He understood. She didn’t want to be a slave—anyone’s slave.
He stroked her hair once, then strolled arrogantly to the door. She remained to his right and half a pace behind. Closer than normal, but he needed her close for his own peace of mind as well as hers.
The two bulky guards at the door scanned a list of photos and stopped at one. “Master R?”
Raoul nodded.
The guard triggered a house intercom. “Tell the Overseer Master R has arrived.”
A slave hurried over to take Raoul’s coat and Kimberly’s cape as Dahmer strode up.
“Welcome to the auction, Raoul.” When the man turned his gaze on Kimberly, Raoul had to force his muscles to stay relaxed. “Very nice. I like the harness. You’ll probably receive requests for her company tonight.”
“I don’t share.” Raoul buried his hand in Kimberly’s hair, using the rough move to pull her closer to his side. “My mother thought I was quite selfish.”
“Of course.” The Overseer gave him a thin smile. “While your area is being prepared, can I show you the merchandise? We have some lovely showpieces this time. I daresay you’ll find one or two you’d enjoy far more than this damaged one.”
What the hell does that mean? Raoul tugged on Kimberly’s leash and followed Dahmer, thinking of how a bridge would oscillate prior to collapse. Something in Dahmer’s behavior was giving Raoul the same sense of impending disaster. His grip tightened on the leash.
The marble-floored foyer held a wide staircase that looked straight out of Gone with the Wind. Rather than ascending, Dahmer led them into an antebellum ballroom on the right. Textured wallpaper in red and gold warmed the room, and ornate crystal chandeliers attempted to convey a feeling of romance. But there was nothing romantic about the sound of sobbing and screams drowning out the classical music from hidden speakers.
Raoul stopped, too angry to move. This was a slave market, no matter the attempt to render it high class. Small café tables and chairs filled the center of the room. The slaves to be sold lined the walls. A heavy cable ran the perimeter, and each slave wore an ankle cuff and a chain securing her to the cable. Raoul nodded in understanding. According to Buchanan, the slavers changed locations with every auction, and a rental agency would take a dim view of someone putting heavy bolts in the walls to serve as restraints.
Buyers wandered the side aisles between the slaves and the tables, marking the notepads they’d been given. A small pedestal in front of each girl held a large number—the sale item—as well as her biographical and physical information for the buyers to peruse. When Raoul heard the smack of a hand against flesh, he didn’t turn. He was far too close to using his fists on the man beside him. “This is very impressive, Dahmer.”
“Thank you. I have things to do, so go ahead and walk around. Pick out a couple of slaves you like and remember their numbers. You’ll understand why in a bit.”
The hair on the back of Raoul’s neck lifted. Yes, something was definitely going on.
As Dahmer headed out of the ballroom, Raoul glanced at Kimberly. Fast respirations. Hands clenched. He wanted to sweep her up in his arms, hotwire a van, and get her the hell out of this nightmare. Instead he squeezed her shoulder. “You’re doing very well, gatita. I’m proud of the bravery you’re showing.”
A glimmer of tears showed for a second. Then she lifted her chin and gave him a firm nod. “Thank you, Master. Your words mean a lot to this slave.”
This slave? She’d referred to herself in third person, undoubtedly trying to be even more obviously a slave for the evening. She’d gone one step too far.

Kim saw the way anger lit Master R’s face, eroding the control in it.

“I realize you meant that for the best, but do not ever refer to yourself in third person. You are not an object. Try it again.”
She took an involuntary step back at the violence in his voice, yet…the anger was on her behalf. The reassurance that he was the total opposite of the leering buyers dimmed her fears. “Yes, Sir. That’s good to hear, Master.”
His lips curved, making her heart swell.
Pleasing him felt…right. Too right. Flattening her mouth into a line, she turned and stared at the chained women. He wants me to be like that. Only he didn’t. He treated her as someone he cherished, someone he found sexy, but not a nothing. He was more aware of her feelings than she was—and had been pushing her to recover.
But he wanted to take the decisions away from her, make them for her. I’m so confused.
The leash tugged. He’d taken a step and waited for her to pay attention. His eyes were gentle, as if he knew her struggles.
Get out of your head, Kim. Time to do the job. She followed him obediently, eyes on the ground at first and then not. Instead she looked at the women, memorizing their faces. If the operation failed, at least their families would know where to start looking. She met their eyes, willing strength into them. Hang on. The nightmare might be over soon. Let Galen and Vance show up like they’d planned. Oh God, please.
A shrill scream lifted over the rest of the noise, and Kim turned. A woman restrained to a cross. A red mark marred her white back. The buyer swung a short whip. A cracking sound. A terrified, pain-ridden scream. Another bloody stripe.
Kim tried to look away and couldn’t.
An attendant in a red uniform hurried over to the buyer. “You must not mark the merchandise, please, sir,” he scolded with the utmost of deference.
The buyer, an obese man, red-faced from the effort of using a whip, laughed. “I’m done. She’ll do great for what I have in mind.” He checked the number on the metal pedestal. “Slave number eighteen.”
Kim could hear the woman whimper. Farther away, another whip cracked. Sobbing. Men’s voices thick with lust. A shriek of terror. Heat swept over her, then a clammy cold. Even as her breathing increased, she couldn’t seem to get enough air.
“Kimberly?” Master R’s voice sounded over the roaring in her ears.
She opened her fingers, all ten for a panic attack, knowing it wouldn’t matter. He couldn’t show her—
He wrapped her in his arms, surrounding her with his strength, his clean scent. His dark voice murmured in her ears, blocking the other sounds. Anchoring her.
On her first trip to a beach, she’d toddled into the water. A wave knocked her sprawling, and as she tried to stand, another hit, and another. Her world turned to churning sand and water and choking—and then her mother carried her up the beach to safety.
As Master R had done over and over.
She sagged against him, the tight band across her chest easing, her lungs able to draw air again. “Okay,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”
“No problema.” He kissed her hair, not releasing her. “But I’m going to paw you a little so it looks better to the cabrones, sí?”
Oh, his temper was definitely up, the way he’d slid into Spanish.
“Sí, Señor,” she whispered back, getting a huffed laugh in return.
His powerful hands closed on her bottom under her tiny skirt. He gripped her bare cheeks, traced the crack, holding her firmly against him. Oh God, she loved his touch, and it didn’t matter where or when. An arm around her, he tipped her back so he could tease her breasts. Her knees wobbled, and his arm tightened. He yanked her hair, pulling her head back, and kissed her, deliberately rough, biting her lips.
When he released her, she knew her mouth was swollen and red, and her breasts and butt carried red hand marks. His lips curved. “You look nicely used now, mi pequeña sumisa.”
She flashed him a nasty look that made him laugh, and then lowered her head properly. He tugged on the leash, and they moved down the room. She returned to watching the slaves. A blonde with terrified blue eyes, surely too young to be here. Two cringing brunettes, one already bearing whip marks. One woman unable to stop crying was next to an older woman, standing straight and defiant, who—
“Linda.” Kim halted, jerking the leash from Master R’s hands.
“Bad girl!” He pointed to the floor.
But… Her training took over, and she sank to her knees. Knowing she’d screwed up royally, she bent completely, arms above her head, wrists crossed, forehead on the floor. The surrender position.
He left her for long minutes.
A guard appeared, asking if there was a problem. Master R admitted she was still being trained, but he’d needed her for the demonstration the Overseer had asked for him to do. The guard’s voice acquired more deference, and he lingered to exchange gossip and admire her harness.
The polished wood floor was cool against her forehead, and she wished she could stay in the position for the remainder of the evening. I don’t know how much more I can stand.
When the attendant finally walked away, Master R snapped his fingers, and Kim rose to her feet, keeping her gaze on the floor, knowing if she saw Linda’s face, she’d give herself away.
“I recognized her, gatita,” Master R said in a low voice. “If we see Sam, we’ll ask him to keep an eye on her if he’s able.” His concern for both her and Linda was clear.
God, she loved him. When he tugged on her leash, her heart as well as her body followed.
They passed a woman in hysterics. When the attendant slapped her and she started to sob, Kim’s hands fisted. God, get me out of here. Get us all out of here. And home to our mommies and husbands and friends.
“Raoul.” Sam’s rough voice. “Hell of a place, isn’t it? I already got my eye on three of the beauties.”
“You’re a lucky guy,” Master R said casually. “Maybe after I train this one, I’ll come back and buy another.” He dropped his voice. “One of Kimberly’s fellow slaves is here. We’d appreciate it if you could…keep an eye on her. Especially when things get interesting.”
Kim dared to look up through her eyelashes to see his reaction. Would he agree?
“Yeah, I like them spirited too.” Sam laughed loudly and pointed to a nearby slave. “That one got a good beating for her attitude. Makes me think I’d better test the goods before I plunk down my cash.”
Master R grinned. “You try out enough merchandise, and you’ll crawl out of here.” He pointed down toward Linda. “There’s an older one on that aisle who might give you a challenge.” His voice dropped. “Number ten. Redhead. Linda.”
“Got it.” Sam glanced at Kim, and his light blue eyes were the color of ice on a lake. “I like the harness, girl.” He walked down the aisle, pausing for a moment as an attendant offered a buyer a selection of canes.
When Sam stopped in front of Linda’s spot, hands in his pockets, obviously checking her out, Kim let out a breath of relief.

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

Her rich brown eyes had a few wrinkles fanning out from the edges. Would those deepen as she forced herself to take the pain? Was she truly a masochist as her information said?
As with all the slaves, she was naked, her wrists cuffed together in front, one leg shackled to a heavy cable running along the wall. She gave him a calm stare that made his cock sit up and take notice. He could see her terror. Despite the way she’d laced her fingers together, her hands still trembled. She’d start to pant, her gaze would dart around, and then she’d catch herself. Slow her breathing, lower her eyes. So lovely in her control.
Using pain, he could take her deep, make her give up that control—and then he could care for her. His sadistic and dominant sides both yelled for him to move forward.
Now he knew how Raoul had felt when he’d bought his slave. How he must have wanted to explain he wasn’t like the others, didn’t want any of this nonconsensual bullshit.
But a man had to play the cards he’d been dealt. He stepped forward. “Girl.”
Her head stayed bowed. “Yes, Sir?” Her voice was that of a woman, low and resonant. No shrill screaming would come from this one.
“Look at me.”
She lifted her gaze, and he looked into her brown eyes. Soft. She probably didn’t have anything hard about her, not her body, her eyes, her voice. The thought of burying himself in all that softness… His dick had hardened enough to count the teeth on his jeans zipper.
“Are you a masochist?” he asked, more to determine her honesty than to get the facts. The sign posted on the pedestal gave her specifics, including her experience and preferences. Not that any slaver would care, except to design something to rip her to pieces more quickly.
“Yes, Sir,” she said quietly and dropped her gaze, a slight flush on her cheeks. Didn’t like admitting to that need?
“Keep your eyes on mine, girl.” He moved forward, close enough to smell the light scent of soap from her body, to see tiny golden specks in her brown pupils. Her heavy breasts brushed against his shirt.
He’d positioned himself directly in front of her so he could speak freely, and she could react without being observed. Not that he’d reveal anything past the bounds of good judgment. But this would be easier if she didn’t think of him as a total enemy. “Your friend, Kim, suggested I visit you.” He nodded toward the front of the room.
Her eyes followed his.
Kim, Raoul, and the Overseer stood by the stage where the women would be auctioned off. The auctioneer was already tapping the microphone, and two attendants bracketed the first slave. A sign to the right announced SLAVE # 30.
Selling women. Sam’s gut felt as if he’d swallowed a field of thistles.
While Raoul was talking to the Overseer bastard, Kim caught Linda’s gaze and then nodded slightly at Sam.
Damndest referral he’d ever gotten. But the redhead released a slow breath. Her muscles relaxed slightly. Better.
He figured the Feds might take another hour before they got their crap set up. At number ten, this woman would be among the last to be auctioned off. Unfortunately, buyers could abuse her that entire time…unless Sam monopolized her. How many minutes could he waste?
Would she want him to? “I can play with you until”—the Feds arrive, but I can’t say that—“until you’re sold, or you can take your chances with the other buyers. It’s up to you, girl.”
“You’ll hurt me,” she stated.
Keeping his eyes on hers, he nodded. “That’s right. That’s what I do.” He paused a second. “It’s what you need—although this isn’t the place. But I won’t hurt you past your limits.”
Her mouth twisted slightly. “And you would know those how?” She winced and lowered her head. “Forgive me, please, Master.”
He barked a laugh that had her eyes jerking up to his. “I like plain speech. Honesty.” He pinched her chin roughly enough to keep her attention focused on him completely and saw— felt—the smallest of easing in her muscles. Yes, she was a masochist and submissive as well. His favorite combination. If she responded to pain and domination sexually, well, hell, she’d be perfect.
Use your brains, Davies. You’re in the middle of a bunch of slaves. This one would knife you and spit in the hole given half the chance. “I know this because I can read you, little girl. Right down to your toenails.” He leaned forward, still holding her chin, keeping her mouth available for his use, and he took her lips with no teasing, just sheer domination.
Forcing her response and feeling her response before pulling back.
Without Kim’s okay and if he hadn’t given her the choice of being with him, he knew this self-possessed woman wouldn’t respond to him at all. But she did.
“I won’t scar you. I won’t go past what you can take. If you can trust me that far, this will be much easier for you.” He met her eyes straight on, letting her read his body, hear the truth, and see it in his face. “But, Linda, I’m going to hurt you. You’ll hate me when I make you take it, and you’ll hate even more that you need it. That it fills that hole inside you and cleans away the clutter.”
The shudder ran through her, telling him she’d heard him on all levels. Her muscles were still tight, her eyes blazing, yet he could almost smell the subtle perfume of submission.
She yielded. Now he would give her what she wanted and finish that surrender.