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

Wrought-iron sconces kept the roped-off scene areas fairly bright yet left the conversational areas in shadows. In one front corner, a caterer was setting food out on long tables. To her right was a small dance floor.

The unpopulated room smelled of leather and a citrusy cleaning agent.

Ghost nodded toward the bar where a man as big as Ben was talking to Z. “There’s your destination.”

“Right. Thank you.” She didn’t move. The entire room felt like a strange land, full of unfamiliar furnishings, behaviors, and danger. What if…”

Ghost frowned down at her, glanced at the bar, and snorted. “Come, lass. Let’s get you settled.” A hard hand curled around her upper arm.

“I…” She felt like a big baby and was more relieved than she could say. “Thank you.”

“No thanks needed. My job is to keep the scary world at bay.” He gave her a level look. “Those are two of the finest Doms you’ll ever find, and oddly enough, this is one of the safest places on the planet; however, you don’t know that. Yet. Until you do, I’ll provide escort services.”

The quivery feeling in her stomach settled.

When they arrived at the bar, he gave her a mock salute and headed back out without stopping.

She smiled at Z and the other man behind the bar.

“Welcome to the Shadowlands, Josephine,” Z said.

Josephine? Oh, great, she’d had to use her legal name on the application. “Josie, please.”

He smiled. “I dislike the propensity of the world to shorten names, as if an extra syllable or two is too much trouble to speak. Josephine.”

“This, coming from a person everyone calls Z?”

The booming laugh came from the big guy behind the bar. “She’s got you there, boss.”

“She does indeed.” Z chuckled. “I’ve been waiting years for someone to call me on that. Josie, it is.”

Whew. Her boss had a sense of humor—and she wasn’t fired.

His grin was a flash of white in his tanned face. “However, just so you know, Z is less of a nickname than a scene name.”

Oh, that made sense. She’d read about using an alias in a BDSM setting. “I understand.”

“Good.” Z motioned toward the big guy behind the bar. “Josie, this is Cullen. He’ll show you where everything is and explain the protocols we have in place.”

As Z strolled away, Cullen lifted up the hinged pass-through, and she walked into the space enclosed by the bar. She ran her hand over the gleaming mahogany of the bar top. “This is beautiful workmanship.”

“Aye and it is.” A faint Irish accent lilted his words as he leaned against the bar top. “Let’s start with the rules.”

She nodded and leaned her elbow on the bar.

“First, the only people allowed behind the bar are you, Z, and the official Shadowlands Masters and Mistresses.”

“Um. Aren’t a lot of people in a BDSM club called Masters and Mistresses?”

He had a big easygoing grin. “Yes, but the club awards its “official” title to the most experienced members, ones who are willing to give back to the community. Z insists the Masters and Mistresses wear gold armbands so people can find us.” He slapped the one on his massive biceps to show her what he meant. “You can consider the Masters to be Shadowlands staff. If you get swamped, someone will pop in to help. They can bring their submissives behind here to assist. Otherwise, this space is off limits.”

That sounded good, both restricting the area and knowing there was help around. “Got it.”

“Let’s get you acquainted with where things are. Z stocks the speed rail with the standard liquors, and if a regular favors something unusual, he might add it to the stock. There’s also private stock. We’ll go over that later.”

She nodded. “All right. So…let’s start at the top so I can suck up properly. What do you and Z drink and where is it kept?”

Yeah, the guy really did have a great laugh.

*

The weekend had arrived, and Holt was feeling pretty good as he walked with Anne and Ben up the sidewalk to the Shadowlands. The beautiful early December evening made him regret having to drive the SUV rather than his Harley. Then again, the surgeon had a point. Bumpy roads, motorcycles, and surgical wounds might not be a comfortable combination.

As the slope increased, he saw Ben take Anne’s arm, as if the pregnant Domme couldn’t safely walk without his assistance. Holt grinned. The woman had served in the Marines and was an ex-bounty hunter.

Her low growl said what she thought of Ben’s over-protectiveness.

“Push her too far, Ben, and she’ll wrap your jewels in one of her favorite nutcrackers,” Holt warned.

The big guard snorted. “She can’t bend down far enough to reach my package these days.”

“I can if you’re on the bed, tiger,” Anne said in her throaty voice.

“Ah…right.” Being a smart man, Ben kissed her cheek…and released her arm.

Laughing, Holt opened the heavy front door and gestured them in.

Beside the security desk, Z was talking with Ghost.

“Hey, Ghost, Z,” Holt said as he followed Anne and Ben.

“Holt.” Ghost studied him with a frown. “You’re not moving like you’re fully recovered. Tell me you’re not planning to play.”