Beneath the Scars (Masters of the Shadowlands #13)(26)

As Josie set the last drink onto Amber’s tray, the blonde snapped, “Finally. I’ve never seen anyone so slow. Who hired you anyway?”

“That would be me.” The darkly resonant voice held an edge of steel.

The barmaid spun. At the sight of Z behind her, she went pale. “Master Z!”

“I’ve been quite pleased with how efficiently our new bartender fills the drink orders.” His icy expression contrasted with his measured words. “The only complaints I’ve heard are from the submissive who stole a drink from the private stock.”

Amber sank to her knees.

Master Z looked down at her. “After being punished, a submissive is forgiven and her slate wiped clean. It seems you haven’t extended the same courtesy to the person you attempted to wrong. Rather than trying to make amends, you’re taking out your resentment on her.”

The woman’s head bowed until her forehead touched the floor.

“I’m disappointed in your behavior, Amber. If your discourtesy loses us the bartender, the Masters will have to resume tending bar, and none of them will be pleased with you. Neither will I.”

The submissive’s squeak was like a tortured sparrow. “Oh God, oh God, I’m sorry, Master Z. It won’t happen. I’m sorry, I’ll behave.”

There was a long silence before he spoke. “You’re normally a good girl, one a Dom could enjoy. Before you leave tonight, I want you to write an essay explaining why a submissive should release all the anger in her heart after her punishment. Just as she hopes her Dom will do.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Very good. Continue.”

Master Z nodded at Josie and strolled away as if he hadn’t just reduced a person to a quivering mess with a few words. He hadn’t even raised his voice.

Amber scrambled to her feet, saw Josie, and grabbed her hand. “I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry. It wasn’t your fault, and I shouldn’t be mean to you, and I’m sorry. Please don’t quit. Oh God, don’t quit.”

Good grief. The woman sounded so much like Carson that the annoyance drained out of Josie’s heart. With her free hand, she patted Amber’s arm. “It’s all right. Shhh. I’m not quitting—it’ll be fine.”

Tears filled the blonde’s eyes, and she whispered, “Thank you. You really are nice, aren’t you? Thank you!” Grabbing her tray of drinks, she hurried away.

Josie stared after her and then scrubbed her hands over her face. “Sheesh.”

A low chuckle resonated up her spine, and she turned.

On a barstool, Holt sat close enough to have heard the whole show. “You look shook up, sweetheart.” When he smiled at her, a sexy dimple appeared in his left cheek.

The easy affection added to his melted-chocolate voice made her knees weak. “This place sure has some strange…customs.” With a towel, she restored the bar top in front of him to the proper gleam. “What can I get you, Sir?”

Amusement glinted in his steel-blue eyes. “Did you just call me sir?”

She had, hadn’t she? Why in the world had she done that? “Um…I guess all this military lingo is catching.”

“You do it very nicely.” As his eyes held hers, the floor sank a few inches under her feet.

When he finally released her gaze, goosebumps covered her arms.

“Holt, I do believe you’re looking better today.” Master Marcus sat down beside him.

Turning away, Josie busied herself with tidying up the drink well…and tried to get her wayward responses under control. What in the world was wrong with her?

When Master Holt returned his attention to her, the intent look in his eyes set up a flutter in her stomach. “I’ll take a Mountain Dew if you have one on hand.”

“Coming right up.” This time, she managed to bite back the sir that wanted to follow. He was her neighbor. They weren’t even friends, although she found his presence oddly reassuring, like she wasn’t alone amidst strangers. Only, really, he was a stranger, too.

As she went through the sodas to find a Dew, she took a few glances at him. Tonight, she could finally see the tattoos covering his very ripped biceps. A dark dragon on one arm, a red and black phoenix on the other. Beautiful work. Destruction and rebirth.

When he leaned his forearms on the bar top, she saw more slashing knife scars marked his golden tan, starting at his wrists. The sight made her eyes burn with tears. No, you can’t go give him a hug, Josephine.

Instead, she turned her attention to finding the right can of soda. After opening it, she held up a glass. Glass or straight from the can?

He nodded, accepting the glass. As a bartender, she had a well-tuned antenna for facial expressions and body language. While he wasn’t snooty or rude, it was clear he was accustomed—and comfortable—with being served.

Why did that seem sexy, too? Yes, she was being silly.

As she poured, a man in a black vinyl tank and black jeans approached the bar. Medium height, stocky build, sandy hair and ruddy complexion. He looked like a sales rep who sold liquor to The Highlands.

Wait… She took a second look. “Peter?”

“There she is.” The rep took a barstool next to Holt. “Good evening, Holt.”

Holt nodded. “Peter.”

Peter grinned at her. “I was hoping to find our lost bartender from The Highlands. Quite the change for you, isn’t it, Josie?”