This is Who I Am
Page 49
Master Z held her gaze. “Tell us.”
“He was here. Someone…someone from…” She forced the word past her lips. “A slaver. I know his laugh. His voice.”
Sam growled under his breath.
Master Z’s eyes turned almost black. “What does he look like?”
Over and over, she tried to put a face with the voice. Nothing. She was disappointing Sam. Tears stung her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
Sam’s arm moved, even with her holding it, as he tilted her face up to look at her. “Sorry for what, baby?”
“I don’t know his face,” she whispered. “I never…”
They stayed silent.
“In the cages. We were in cages for a while. And when people came, I kept my eyes closed. Trying to make them go away.” Make everything all go away.
“Closed your eyes, huh?” Sam huffed an actual laugh. “Bet you hid under the covers as a little girl like Nicole did.” He wasn’t mad. Wasn’t blaming her. In fact, his hand slid from her chin to cup her cheek as he tucked her back against his chest.
She let out a sigh, feeling her body melt into him. Warm. Safe.
“Linda,” Z asked, “are you sure you heard someone from when you were imprisoned? Could the voice just be similar?”
“I’m sure.”
Silence. She felt the owner of the Shadowlands study her and realized her eyes were shut again.
“Talk later, Z,” Sam said. “I took her deep. She’s going to drop hard.”
The rustle of clothes. She didn’t want to open her eyes. Maybe the bad ones would all go away. Only they never had before. Closing her eyes hadn’t worked. Hadn’t saved her. Nothing had. She felt tears spill from her eyes to roll down her cheeks.
“Linda. Look at me.” When she opened her eyes, Z was looking down at her with a gentle expression. “Samuel and I are proud of you, little one. You did well.” He squeezed her shoulder and left, his gait smooth and silent.
A knot loosened inside her but didn’t halt the sadness, a thick ocean fog through the streets of her mind, covering her world in gray. Sad, sad gray. Is that where Holly is? Buried in gray?
A sob made her breathing stumble. Then another.
Sam rumbled something, and after a second she realized what he’d said. “Cry, girl. I won’t let go. Cry.”
Burying her head in his shoulder, she did.
* * * *
To see the redheaded ex-slave have a panic attack had been quite diverting. As the spotter strolled toward the unattached submissives’ area, he smiled.
Even more satisfying was seeing the Dom’s scene crash and burn. Such a pity, Master Sam. The asshole. Although Davies could wield a whip well, he always stopped too soon. Didn’t break the submissives, didn’t force them to grovel. And afterward, he treated the sluts like pampered babies.
Disgusting. Aaron’s jaw clenched. Stupid slaves would kneel and beg Davies for a flogging. Some of them were ones who’d turned Aaron down when he’d invited them to play. I’m far more of a Master than he’ll ever be. I’ve fucked more women, hurt more women.
Killed more women.
He smoothed his hair down as satisfaction filled him. Yes, he’d had a fine time recently. He’d been smart to continue using prostitutes. They were sleazy, but…nicely simple. Flash some money, pick one up, deal with her how he pleased. Leave the body in a ditch and take his money back. Yes, he had to be cautious about leaving evidence, but at least he had no Harvest Association Overseer to placate over damaged—or dead—merchandise.
And for a pleasant treat between kills, he used the Shadowlands.
As he neared the bar, he noticed the side door was ajar. Z must have opened the Capture Gardens. Now that promised to be fun. Perhaps a bit risky, since Z and the Masters kept a close eye on the proceedings. But there were ways around that.
As he approached the unattached submissives, he surveyed the offerings. Two of them he’d played with before. No. Not in a mood to exert himself unduly, he also rejected the most athletic-looking women. He’d save his energy for roughing up his prey. And fucking her. Up the ass would suit his mood tonight.
A tattooed one caught his eye. Nice. But then he saw the trainee cuffs on her wrists. Not a good choice. Z kept a close eye on the trainees. All the Masters did.
Ah, perhaps that brunette. She couldn’t be more than midtwenties. He preferred older slaves, but for what he had in mind in the Gardens, an inexperienced submissive would be best. He stalked into the sitting area, gave them all an impersonal, cold stare, and watched them react to his dominance. “I’m looking for some sport in the Capture Gardens,” he said.
Three of the submissives, including his choice, showed interest. He held his hand out to her. “Would you care to play the game?”
She jumped to her feet. “Sure.”
Noticing a slut he’d used before shaking her head no toward the girl, he smoothly moved the girl away. “Do you have a safe word?”
“I use red.” The girl tried to look confident.
He almost laughed. “Red will be fine.” Wasn’t it a shame she wouldn’t be able to yell with his hand over her mouth? And he could tell that when he broke the insecure sub down and scared her enough, she wouldn’t return to the Shadowlands. Wouldn’t tell a soul.
Chapter Twenty-One
Sam scowled as he watched Linda drive down his farm lane toward the front gate. Goddamned stubborn woman. She sure as hell hadn’t slept long enough but still dragged herself out of bed to sing in a church service. Wouldn’t even wait for him to get the gate for her.
His mood lightened as he remembered how she’d snarled at him. Her grumpy morning face was damn cute.
And he’d see her later. Z had called already this morning. He’d arranged a late-afternoon meeting today with her, the Feds, and the other Masters. Just what she needed. More stress in her life. At least, she’d agreed to let him pick her up at her home after work and drive her to the Shadowlands for the meeting.
With a snap of his fingers for Conn, he headed down the drive. Since the construction crew took Sundays off, he’d lock the gate before heading to the orchards.
Halfway down the lane, Conn let out an “incoming” bark as a car turned in. The vehicle was an ancient two-door with dings and dents all over the bumper. One headlight gone. Blonde at the wheel. Hell. Even before he saw her face, he knew, and his gut felt as if he’d swallowed glass.
Without thinking—just to keep her from his house—he stepped into the center of the drive, forcing her to stop if she didn’t want to run him over. Muscles tense, he prepared to jump out of the way if she was too drugged out to notice an obstacle.
She stopped.
His fury grew, and he yanked open her door. Conn growled.
She gave him a beseeching look. “Sam. Darling. I know you didn’t want—”
“Get the hell off my land.” She wasn’t high but strung out instead. Face sweaty. Hands shaking. His jaw tightened. No matter how often he’d seen her like this, it still grated. No one—ex-wife or not—should do that to herself.
He smothered the maddening need to fix her. Year after year, he’d tried that. Programs, clinics, therapy, detoxing wards. The minute she was released, she’d return to shooting poison into her veins.
“I need a little help, darling. To buy food.”
Right. Any cash would go straight into a smack buy. “Been through this, Nancy. No money. You aren’t gone when I reach the house, I call the cops.”
“You fucking bastard.” Her mask of niceness slipped, and mean replaced it. “I put up with you for years, gave you a child. You can’t even spare me a few bucks?”
“You get money from the trustee every month. You get no more.” Their divorce had been ugly, but the evidence of her drug use and toxic behavior had disgusted the judge. She hadn’t been awarded alimony. Nonetheless, she was Nicole’s mother. He’d hired a trustee to pay for a room and groceries, and to deal with her. Because he couldn’t.
Seeing her—each and every time—left him frozen inside. It would take a few days before he even wanted to see people again.
“Asshole,” she hissed like the viper she’d turned out to be. “I loved you.”
“Only when you wanted something from me.” His mouth twisted at the foul taste.
“I love you, Sam. Darling, I owe Stevie a thousand dollars. Can you give it to me?”
“I love you, Sam. Oh, darling, I broke my laptop. Will you buy me a new one?”
Broken, hell. She’d hocked that laptop for drug money. Although he’d canceled her credit cards and stopped handing her cash, he’d been slow to realize she was selling things off. She’d even pawned some of Nicole’s toys. “You wouldn’t know love if it bit you in the ass.” As ice wrapped around him, he welcomed the way it blunted his rage. His memories.
“Fine. I’ll go to Nicole.”
“You bother Nicole, I cut off your monthly money, and you get nothing. Get out of here.” He slammed her door shut and stepped away.
Two minutes later, as her car squealed down the road, he locked the gate and flipped on the security alarm. After the second time she’d broken into the house, he’d shelled out for the fancy-ass system.
“He was here. Someone…someone from…” She forced the word past her lips. “A slaver. I know his laugh. His voice.”
Sam growled under his breath.
Master Z’s eyes turned almost black. “What does he look like?”
Over and over, she tried to put a face with the voice. Nothing. She was disappointing Sam. Tears stung her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
Sam’s arm moved, even with her holding it, as he tilted her face up to look at her. “Sorry for what, baby?”
“I don’t know his face,” she whispered. “I never…”
They stayed silent.
“In the cages. We were in cages for a while. And when people came, I kept my eyes closed. Trying to make them go away.” Make everything all go away.
“Closed your eyes, huh?” Sam huffed an actual laugh. “Bet you hid under the covers as a little girl like Nicole did.” He wasn’t mad. Wasn’t blaming her. In fact, his hand slid from her chin to cup her cheek as he tucked her back against his chest.
She let out a sigh, feeling her body melt into him. Warm. Safe.
“Linda,” Z asked, “are you sure you heard someone from when you were imprisoned? Could the voice just be similar?”
“I’m sure.”
Silence. She felt the owner of the Shadowlands study her and realized her eyes were shut again.
“Talk later, Z,” Sam said. “I took her deep. She’s going to drop hard.”
The rustle of clothes. She didn’t want to open her eyes. Maybe the bad ones would all go away. Only they never had before. Closing her eyes hadn’t worked. Hadn’t saved her. Nothing had. She felt tears spill from her eyes to roll down her cheeks.
“Linda. Look at me.” When she opened her eyes, Z was looking down at her with a gentle expression. “Samuel and I are proud of you, little one. You did well.” He squeezed her shoulder and left, his gait smooth and silent.
A knot loosened inside her but didn’t halt the sadness, a thick ocean fog through the streets of her mind, covering her world in gray. Sad, sad gray. Is that where Holly is? Buried in gray?
A sob made her breathing stumble. Then another.
Sam rumbled something, and after a second she realized what he’d said. “Cry, girl. I won’t let go. Cry.”
Burying her head in his shoulder, she did.
* * * *
To see the redheaded ex-slave have a panic attack had been quite diverting. As the spotter strolled toward the unattached submissives’ area, he smiled.
Even more satisfying was seeing the Dom’s scene crash and burn. Such a pity, Master Sam. The asshole. Although Davies could wield a whip well, he always stopped too soon. Didn’t break the submissives, didn’t force them to grovel. And afterward, he treated the sluts like pampered babies.
Disgusting. Aaron’s jaw clenched. Stupid slaves would kneel and beg Davies for a flogging. Some of them were ones who’d turned Aaron down when he’d invited them to play. I’m far more of a Master than he’ll ever be. I’ve fucked more women, hurt more women.
Killed more women.
He smoothed his hair down as satisfaction filled him. Yes, he’d had a fine time recently. He’d been smart to continue using prostitutes. They were sleazy, but…nicely simple. Flash some money, pick one up, deal with her how he pleased. Leave the body in a ditch and take his money back. Yes, he had to be cautious about leaving evidence, but at least he had no Harvest Association Overseer to placate over damaged—or dead—merchandise.
And for a pleasant treat between kills, he used the Shadowlands.
As he neared the bar, he noticed the side door was ajar. Z must have opened the Capture Gardens. Now that promised to be fun. Perhaps a bit risky, since Z and the Masters kept a close eye on the proceedings. But there were ways around that.
As he approached the unattached submissives, he surveyed the offerings. Two of them he’d played with before. No. Not in a mood to exert himself unduly, he also rejected the most athletic-looking women. He’d save his energy for roughing up his prey. And fucking her. Up the ass would suit his mood tonight.
A tattooed one caught his eye. Nice. But then he saw the trainee cuffs on her wrists. Not a good choice. Z kept a close eye on the trainees. All the Masters did.
Ah, perhaps that brunette. She couldn’t be more than midtwenties. He preferred older slaves, but for what he had in mind in the Gardens, an inexperienced submissive would be best. He stalked into the sitting area, gave them all an impersonal, cold stare, and watched them react to his dominance. “I’m looking for some sport in the Capture Gardens,” he said.
Three of the submissives, including his choice, showed interest. He held his hand out to her. “Would you care to play the game?”
She jumped to her feet. “Sure.”
Noticing a slut he’d used before shaking her head no toward the girl, he smoothly moved the girl away. “Do you have a safe word?”
“I use red.” The girl tried to look confident.
He almost laughed. “Red will be fine.” Wasn’t it a shame she wouldn’t be able to yell with his hand over her mouth? And he could tell that when he broke the insecure sub down and scared her enough, she wouldn’t return to the Shadowlands. Wouldn’t tell a soul.
Chapter Twenty-One
Sam scowled as he watched Linda drive down his farm lane toward the front gate. Goddamned stubborn woman. She sure as hell hadn’t slept long enough but still dragged herself out of bed to sing in a church service. Wouldn’t even wait for him to get the gate for her.
His mood lightened as he remembered how she’d snarled at him. Her grumpy morning face was damn cute.
And he’d see her later. Z had called already this morning. He’d arranged a late-afternoon meeting today with her, the Feds, and the other Masters. Just what she needed. More stress in her life. At least, she’d agreed to let him pick her up at her home after work and drive her to the Shadowlands for the meeting.
With a snap of his fingers for Conn, he headed down the drive. Since the construction crew took Sundays off, he’d lock the gate before heading to the orchards.
Halfway down the lane, Conn let out an “incoming” bark as a car turned in. The vehicle was an ancient two-door with dings and dents all over the bumper. One headlight gone. Blonde at the wheel. Hell. Even before he saw her face, he knew, and his gut felt as if he’d swallowed glass.
Without thinking—just to keep her from his house—he stepped into the center of the drive, forcing her to stop if she didn’t want to run him over. Muscles tense, he prepared to jump out of the way if she was too drugged out to notice an obstacle.
She stopped.
His fury grew, and he yanked open her door. Conn growled.
She gave him a beseeching look. “Sam. Darling. I know you didn’t want—”
“Get the hell off my land.” She wasn’t high but strung out instead. Face sweaty. Hands shaking. His jaw tightened. No matter how often he’d seen her like this, it still grated. No one—ex-wife or not—should do that to herself.
He smothered the maddening need to fix her. Year after year, he’d tried that. Programs, clinics, therapy, detoxing wards. The minute she was released, she’d return to shooting poison into her veins.
“I need a little help, darling. To buy food.”
Right. Any cash would go straight into a smack buy. “Been through this, Nancy. No money. You aren’t gone when I reach the house, I call the cops.”
“You fucking bastard.” Her mask of niceness slipped, and mean replaced it. “I put up with you for years, gave you a child. You can’t even spare me a few bucks?”
“You get money from the trustee every month. You get no more.” Their divorce had been ugly, but the evidence of her drug use and toxic behavior had disgusted the judge. She hadn’t been awarded alimony. Nonetheless, she was Nicole’s mother. He’d hired a trustee to pay for a room and groceries, and to deal with her. Because he couldn’t.
Seeing her—each and every time—left him frozen inside. It would take a few days before he even wanted to see people again.
“Asshole,” she hissed like the viper she’d turned out to be. “I loved you.”
“Only when you wanted something from me.” His mouth twisted at the foul taste.
“I love you, Sam. Darling, I owe Stevie a thousand dollars. Can you give it to me?”
“I love you, Sam. Oh, darling, I broke my laptop. Will you buy me a new one?”
Broken, hell. She’d hocked that laptop for drug money. Although he’d canceled her credit cards and stopped handing her cash, he’d been slow to realize she was selling things off. She’d even pawned some of Nicole’s toys. “You wouldn’t know love if it bit you in the ass.” As ice wrapped around him, he welcomed the way it blunted his rage. His memories.
“Fine. I’ll go to Nicole.”
“You bother Nicole, I cut off your monthly money, and you get nothing. Get out of here.” He slammed her door shut and stepped away.
Two minutes later, as her car squealed down the road, he locked the gate and flipped on the security alarm. After the second time she’d broken into the house, he’d shelled out for the fancy-ass system.
