Servicing the Target (Masters of the Shadowlands #10)(8)

But Ben would unquestionably win in the More Deadly one, something she’d first grasped when seeing a girl harassed at Gabi’s bachelorette party. That night, he’d looked quite capable of ripping someone’s throat out—and wasn’t it perverse of her to find that incredibly hot.

“Did a bit of service,” Ben had said. It really, really showed.

“Nice Maleficent—you’ve sure got the required cheekbones.” Cullen stopped in front of Anne. Before she could give him her order, he put down a delicate ice-filled crystal glass and filled it from a bottle of sparkling water.

Anne stared. “Water?”

His mouth thinned. “If you ever imbibe on top of pain medications again, I’ll never serve you another drink.”

Z had shared.

Anne tapped her fingernails on the bar top. Unfortunately, she’d earned the reprimand. Cullen was compulsive about the no-impairment Shadowlands rules; he’d cut people off after one drink if they appeared affected. He’d have blamed himself if she’d come to harm.

So rather than taking offense, she answered mildly, “Fair enough.”

“And here I thought I’d need a crotch-guard to protect my pride ‘n’ joys from your snips.”

A chuckle came from Marcus.

Cullen poured the remainder of the water into a beer mug and clinked it against her glass before drinking. “You scared me last night, love.”

“Sorry, my friend. I hadn’t realized how potent the pills were.” She sipped the strawberry-flavored bubbly water. Not bad.

“You okay?”

“I’m just sore today. And my drug of choice this evening is only ibuprofen.” She’d never make the mistake of taking pain meds unless she intended to stay home. And maybe not then either. Cullen wasn’t the only one who’d been scared.

“Z took you off dungeon monitor duties tonight.”

“Z’s such a mother.”

“Nah, we’ve got it covered. The Feds are back in Tampa.”

Although Galen had resigned from the FBI, his partner Vance had stayed in—and both were out of town so often that they didn’t go on the roster. But when home, the two Masters enjoyed filling in. “In that case, it’s nice to have a break.”

“Are you fixin’ to play tonight?” Marcus asked in his deep, Southern-accented voice.

She hadn’t planned to because of her soreness, although she’d taken the time to dress up. A girl had to have standards, after all. “Play? There’s a chance I just might.” She felt herself smiling.

“Aye? And what lucky boy gets the Mistress tonight?” Cullen asked. “Been a while since I saw you look interested.”

“Indeed, I would have to agree.” A snifter was set on the bar top, and Z took the seat to her right. His intent gaze swept over her in a Dom’s automatic assessment.

She sighed, unable to summon any annoyance. Z did the same to all of the club members, submissive or Dominant, male, female, or gender-fluid. In his opinion, he was responsible for them all.

“Z. You’re just the person I needed to see,” she said. “I’d like to steal your security guard for an hour.”

Z looked taken aback for a moment.

Cullen choked on his water. “Ben? Ben’s the guard tonight. You want Ben?”

Z rubbed his lips, obviously smothering a smile at Cullen’s reaction. Then his gray gaze landed on Anne. His brows drew together. “He’s always insisted he was vanilla. Did he indicate he wanted a scene?”

“In an I’m-too-macho-to-ask-for-what-I-want way, yes. Most definitely.”

“You’re not one to misread a man’s intention.” Z’s calm response was gratifying. “I’ll send someone out for an hour while Ben takes a break. Would twenty-three hundred suit you?”

Eleven at night. Her favored time to have a session. Early enough that the ambiance in the room would still hold an edge. Late enough that the gung-ho players would have finished and not be impatiently waiting at a roped-off area for a turn. She’d be able to take her time during the scene. “Perfect. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Just don’t break my guard, please.”

“Not a problem.” She hadn’t felt like breaking a man in a while, at least not in the same way she had before.

And lightweight or not, the guard dog would be fun to play with.





That night, Ben answered the thumping on the locked door and let his buddy Ghost into the Shadowlands. “Hey.”

“Got called in to relieve you. The boss says you want to play.” Vocal cord damage during an early battle had given Ghost a hoarse voice more suited to telling horror stories—and sounding horrified, as well. “Seriously?”

“Yep.” Ben grinned. “I figured it was time to liven up my life.”

“I guess it can’t be worse than getting shot at.” The gray-haired vet should know. As Special Forces, he’d been in and out of every active shithole over the last twenty years. Dressed in black jeans and a button-up shirt—Z’s minimum dress code—he crossed the room without a limp despite his leg prosthesis and tossed a crossword puzzle on the desk.

“It’s quiet tonight.” Ben tapped the membership list. “Mark off the members as they leave. If you’re not sure someone is stable—or if any combo of people feels hinky, call Z.”