Servicing the Target (Masters of the Shadowlands #10)(66)

Hands lifted everywhere.

“Exactly. Deliver that extra kick so he stays put.” Feeling Nolan move, she spun in time to block his left, then used the block-punch movement she’d just taught them. Her fist hit his gut solidly enough she heard his grunt.

She ducked his follow-up, punched back, and delivered a carefully pulled strike toward his throat.

To her surprise, he hammed it up—so not Nolan—and fell, hands to his throat.

She mimed a kick to his knee. “Knees are wonderful targets. Now, I know he won’t get up any time soon.”

Two girls were cheering; the rest were silent. Anne checked them. Some were a bit pale. Most had intent expressions as they absorbed the lesson.

With a faint smile, Nolan propped himself up on an elbow. “Have you let them see how hard you can punch?”

Again, she hadn’t.

After a second, she realized she’d worried that the munchkins had already witnessed too much violence. But, he was right. They needed to know that women could hand it out as well as take it.

She leaned over, offered Nolan a hand, and yanked him to his feet. At the sandbag, she delivered a few light taps to gauge the distance, then worked through solid one-two punches before moving on to snap and roundhouse combinations that would destroy a man’s knee before breaking his neck. She finished with a powerhouse back-kick that would have wrapped the poor bastard’s liver around his fractured spine.

As she turned, all the girls were whistling and shouting.

Well. Good enough. Her gaze met Gina’s.

With tears in her eyes, the girl gave Anne a firm nod. She was in.

“All right then. Class dismissed.”

Anne followed Beth and Nolan into the inner courtyard. Encircled by buildings containing dorms, the dining hall, laundry, classrooms, and meeting rooms, the grassy center held a playground and scattered picnic tables.

Beth and Nolan chose a corner table.

“What’s up?” Anne sat down across from them.

“It’s Gretel.” Beth pushed her hair back and leaned against Nolan. “Her husband located her yesterday.”

Hell. Hell. Fury rose so fast Anne felt her control waver. After suffering years of abuse, Gretel’d walked out when her husband destroyed the Happy 50th Birthday, Mom cake her daughter had baked.

Having her children and grandchildren in Tampa, she’d stubbornly refused to relocate, hoping a restraining order would deter her husband. She’d stayed at the shelter a month—and the children had pined when the kindhearted grandmother moved to her new place.

With an effort, Anne shoved her anger down. “Is she all right?”

“She’ll be fine,” Nolan said. “The bastard was drunk.”

“He spotted her in a mall parking lot and attacked. She was caught by surprise,” Beth said.

“He nailed her in the face. Knocked her down. Busted a couple of ribs. Even on her back, she kept her wits and kicked at his legs.” Nolan gave a nod of respect. “He stepped back, and she hosed him down with the pepper spray attached to her key ring.”

“The police arrested him,” Beth added.

Anne frowned as she realized her friend was shivering. “Beth—”

Nolan was already wrapping an arm around his submissive, pulling her in close. “Anne, Gretel said to tell you that, thanks to your lessons, she survived.”

“He’s in jail now.” Beth’s voice sounded strained. “How long will he stay there? Guys like that don’t stop.” As her gaze dropped to her hands, her shoulders hunched as if to protect herself. Anne could see she was fleeing inward to memories of her own abuse. To the scars she still carried.

“Beth,” Nolan growled.

God, Beth. Anne’s eyes prickled with tears as she reached across the table and took Beth’s trembling hand. Fucking men. “I swear, Nolan, I like you, and still, there are days I want to go out and geld every male in every town in all the world.”




Buried and suffocating in brutal memories, Beth heard Nolan, but it was Anne’s voice—icy cold, yet filled with rage—that sliced through her fears and ignited a fire to burn away the past.

Hauling in a deep breath, Beth leaned into her Master, who’d proven over and over that he could be trusted. Her gaze met Anne’s furious eyes, and she offered, “I have pruning shears. And branch loppers as well.”

Nolan snorted a laugh. “That’s my girl.” Relief as well as pride roughened his deep voice.

“I’m okay,” Beth said to both of them, heartened by their concern.

“You’re far more than that.” Anne squeezed Beth’s hand, a fierce look on her face. The Domme was fully as protective as Nolan. If anyone threatened a woman here, her friend would fight shoulder-to-shoulder with the Masters.

And Beth would darn well join them, even if she were shaking in her sneakers.

The opening of the door to the admissions building drew her attention, and she watched as a shelter advocate stepped out, followed by a woman in her thirties.

“This is the commons area,” the advocate said, waving at the grassy yard.

The new woman was limping, exhaustion and pain evident with every step. Her face was black and blue; her neck and arms displayed small, round scars.

Deliberate cigarette burns. Beth knew, all too well, how that felt.