Servicing the Target (Masters of the Shadowlands #10)(101)

Even if she couldn’t have Ben, she wouldn’t go back to the way she’d been.

As the warmth of Joey’s breath bathed her hand, she realized she’d been staring at him for…for a while. Loosening her grip, she gave him a slight smile. “Joey, I—”

“See you found your boy.”

Still bent over Joey, Anne looked up into Ben’s eyes.




Ben had thought getting gut-shot was the worst pain in the universe.

He’d been wrong. His entire chest felt sliced through with shrapnel, every shard targeting his heart.

But he’d had plenty of experience in staying upright despite hurting like hell.

Jesus, he might’ve known Anne would go back to her pretty boys. To her obedient, fawning slaves. Why would she want a man like him? One who’d put limits on her and told her he wasn’t a slave.

But she could’ve talked to him before kicking him to the curb.

“Ben.” She straightened.

At least she’d taken her hand off the pretty boy. When she had bent and stared into the bastard’s eyes for—for f*cking ever—he’d come close to ripping the little shit away from her.

She held out her hand—the same hand that had touched her slave. “I’m not—”

“No.” Ben stepped away. Then he mentally took out his K-bar and sliced through the hold she had on him. His life. His heart. “Don’t see any need to talk this to death. You were right. I’m vanilla, and I don’t need this kink shit. Thanks for the taste.”

The shocked pain in her eyes couldn’t have been greater if he’d gutted her.

He found no satisfaction in the thought at all.

As he walked out of the Shadowlands, his chest hurt so badly he looked down at his shirt, half expecting to see it covered in blood.




But…no. Anne stared after Ben. He hadn’t even given her a chance to speak. To explain. Anything. With a cruelty unlike him, he’d delivered his decision with sledge-hammer effectiveness—and had broken her fragile hopes into tiny fragments.

She could feel her lips trembling, how her skin had gone cold, and somehow couldn’t pull her gaze from the direction he’d taken. From where he’d disappeared.

He hadn’t even looked back. Please. No.

“Mistress.” Joey’s voice recalled her. Blinking, she looked down at him, and his expression turned to concern.

That wouldn’t do. She was the Domme. Supposed to be in control of herself. Able to support those who were weaker.

It took all her strength to bulldoze the damage under enough to move. She had to swallow several times before her voice could get past the rawness. “Joey, I’m not taking on any slaves right now.”

The floor was shaking under her feet; no, the trembling came from deep inside her.

“Oh, but Mistress.” His voice broke. “I-I need…” Desolation filled his eyes before he looked down.

Disgusted with herself, she straightened her shoulders and pushed her self-pity and ego away. She was a Mistress of the Shadowlands; this was a submissive who needed help. “Do you want me to find you a new Mistress?”

His gaze lifted, hope lighting his face. “Really?”

She managed to curve her lips up. “I’m sure I can find a Domme who is more of a sadist than me. I should have done better for you, pet.”

He bent and kissed her boot. “Oh, thank you. Thank you.”

“Give me a few days to make some inquiries, and I’ll get back to you.”

Quivering with happiness, he rose and backed away. Then hesitated, and his brow furrowed as he looked at her.

She motioned with her hand. Off with you.

He complied. He knew better than to linger if she indicated otherwise.

Ben would have ignored her wishes, would have talked to her and comforted her, no matter what she said she wanted. The thought brought another stab of agony as she looked around, hoping against hope he’d changed his mind.

No tall man topped the crowd, broad shoulders taking up more than his share of the space.

He’d left. Just walked out without talking to her. Without even giving her a chance to work it out. Why? After pushing himself into her life, he just…gave up?

The savage ball of pain in her chest continued to grow, pressing against her ribs, cutting off her breathing. One hand over her heart, the other over her baby, Anne struggled for the next breath.

“What was that about?” Raoul appeared in front of her. “What hap—”

Cullen stalked from behind the bar. “What happened was she ripped his heart right out of his chest.” His eyes were chill. Unhappy. “That man trusted you. Was doing his damnedest to serve you, and you go right back to your previous slave and—”

“I what?” Anne stiffened. “Tell me, Master Cullen, have you touched another submissive since Andrea became yours?” Her gaze went to the bar ornament and back to him.

“That’s different. I wasn’t hitting on her. Andrea knows that.”

“I wasn’t either,” she said softly. God, God, she couldn’t take this. Tears kept filling her eyes, and the struggle to blink them back pissed her off.

It all pissed her off. As anger battered her defenses into broken fragments, she knew the damn hormones were messing with her.