Beneath the Scars (Masters of the Shadowlands #13)(12)

“A girl fight?” Max turned to Alastair. “My money’s on our subbie.”

Zuri choked on her drink—then scooped ice out and shoved a handful down Max’s shirt. “Cool off, dude.”

His outraged shout split the night air.

Holt smiled. His fun-loving Zuri hadn’t been curbed by her Dom lovers. And the contentment they’d found together made him envious. That kind of love was what he wanted, what he had hoped to find with Nadia.

But life went as it went. A firefighter should be accustomed to getting burned, even if he hadn’t expected it from a lover. He wasn’t giving up on finding himself a sweetheart like Zuri, but no hurry. In a while, when he didn’t feel quite so singed, he’d try again.

Maybe next year.





Chapter Three





Oh wow. Eyes wide, Josie stared through the encroaching darkness at a looming, three-story, stone mansion. Shades of Victoria Holt and Gothic romances. Only a formal English landscape was lacking. Instead, the long curving driveway was lined with stately palm trees.

She eyed the huge dark oak doors. Intimidating much? Bet the appearance of this place discouraged anyone handing out religious tracts. Her too. Tiny chills tiptoed up her spine.

She’d already been on edge because, face it, no matter how many bars she’d worked in, starting a new job was always scary. Could she do the work? Would the people she served be nice? Would they expect—and prefer—the showy, garrulous kind of bartender rather than a quiet, efficient one?

The door was as massive and heavy as it had looked—as if to warn, Your doom awaits. Damn imagination. Huffing a laugh, she stepped inside.

Huh. No depravity. Instead, the quiet entry was an austere room with two men in blue button-up shirts and jeans behind a desk. The clean-shaven, gray-haired man was tall and lean with a military straight posture. The other man was massively built and at least six feet five. Leather-bound light brown hair revealed a brutal-looking face.

Both frowned at her.

“Club’s not open yet, miss,” the biggest man said.

“I’m… Z told me to come now. I’m the bartender. Josie.”

“Are you now? Welcome then. I’m Ben.” He rose and held his hand out. “I used to do security here. Ghost here replaced me, at least until things quiet down at home.”

“Hate to tell you, Longshot, things at home will get even busier after your baby arrives.” Ghost stood. “Good to meet you, Josie. Sign in here, and we’ll go get you a staff locker.”

“Thank you.”

With the slightest of limps, he walked out from behind the desk. “You can leave your belongings in the locker and”—he turned to Ben—“do bartenders get to leave their shoes on?”

“My shoes?”

“Her shoes?” Ben frowned. “But she’s probably not even submissive, so—”

“She is. That wasn’t my question.”

“I’m what?” Josie took a step away from Ghost.

Ben scowled. “And you know that how?”

“Because Ghost is far more experienced than he’s shared.” The rich smooth voice came from behind Josie.

She spun and saw Z in the inner doorway.

“Josie, welcome. Let Ghost show you the lockers, and I’ll meet you at the bar. Shoes are fine”—a corner of Z’s mouth curved up—“when you’re working.”

She blinked. What else would she be doing here but working?

As the door closed behind her new boss, Ghost motioned toward a door. “This way.”

Still behind the desk, Ben was sputtering. “Ghost, what exactly did he mean…experienced? Ghost?”

After stowing her purse and jacket, Josie pulled in a breath. Okay, here goes nothing. A BDSM club. Truly, she was out of her mind. That paperwork she’d been given had been unsettling. The first forms were normal for a new job. Income tax. Direct deposit. But then there were club rules and something titled “Limit List.”

Honestly, by the time she’d finished that form—and looked some of the activities up on the internet—she felt as if she’d watched a scorching hot movie. In between giggling like a maniac. Since a bartender wouldn’t be playing, she’d had an urge to check YES to the terrifying, unusual options—like asphyxiation and infantilism and branding. Then she reconsidered. What if the owner actually noticed her answers?

So, she’d answered honestly and found herself embarrassed in a whole different way. Who knew she had so many…odd…interests? Thank God the damn thing would get buried in her employment file and never be seen again.

Ghost was waiting for her, leaning against a wall by the sinks. “Ready?”

No. Not in the least. “Sure.” She followed him out a different door.

“This is the main clubroom.” Ghost patiently waited as she turned in a circle to take everything in. Clusters of leather couches and chairs ranged outward from a dark oval bar in the center. Around the perimeter of the room, roped-off areas held all sorts of strange devices.

So this was what a real BDSM club looked like. She’d spent the last few days researching BDSM, so she knew the X-shaped, black leather padded devices were called St. Andrew’s crosses. That the sawhorse looking thing was a version of a spanking bench. That there were Masters—or Mistresses—and slaves, Tops and bottoms, Dominants and submissives. Admittedly, she didn’t have them all quite straight in her head yet.