Beneath the Scars (Masters of the Shadowlands #13)(45)

“Mmmph…mmmph, mmmph, mmmph.” The last one ended in a high note and a glare.

Holt smothered a laugh.

Z grinned. “I have a theory that crime might decrease if police officers were allowed to spank impertinent prisoners. Let’s test that, shall we?” The Master took a couple of steps back, sat on a couch, and pulled his pretty subbie belly-down over his knees.

Grinning, Holt headed for the bar.

Behind him, the first loud smack was accompanied by an outraged shriek.


Midnight had come and gone, and the crowd in the Shadowlands was thinning.

Holt hadn’t showed. Disappointment was a hard coil in Josie’s chest.

With a sigh, she pushed her police hat back and leaned against the bar. She’d been…foolish. Too excited about being with Holt. She should have known better.

Aside from Holt’s nonappearance, she’d had a great night…and was adapting nicely to the Shadowlands. On her first weekend, in addition to learning the members, the bar setup, and the protocols, she’d had to work past the shocking costumes—or lack thereof—and the distraction of the scenes. And the conversations. “She screamed so loud…” “His testicles turned blue and I knew…”

Last night, she’d found her footing, and tonight, she’d thoroughly enjoyed being the bartender. Smiling, she set a vodka Collins in front of a brunette submissive in a half-ripped-off prison uniform.

She’d even found herself some sexy cop apparel. The approving glances and smiles she’d gotten from the various members felt good.

This place sure knew how to throw a costume party.

The munchie table had cookies in the shape of police badges and an incredible variety of donuts.

Bad submissives were imprisoned in the iron-bar cages placed in a row down the center of the room. The short cages forced the prisoner to kneel. Two were tall, upright, and coffin-sized, keeping the submissive standing. One cage displayed a sign: PLEASE TOUCH and passing Doms would reach through the bars and fondle the naked captive.

The variety of costumes was amazing. She watched a Dom in cop uniform leading his horse—a male submissive in full “pony” regalia.

Josie had assumed a police uniform would indicate she was in the untouchable Dom category. Then she’d seen two Doms dressed like slum escapees hauling around a restrained, very subdued submissive in a cop’s uniform.

Apparently, no matter the costume, the Dominant always won.

And boy, people really got into this roleplaying stuff. Submissives kept snatching the coin pouches and getting chased. One Domme officer dragged a submissive to a couch and spanked him for “excessive speed when walking”.

She glanced around. The few people lingering around the bar still had full drinks.

“Looks quiet.” Smoother than an aged Glenmorangie whisky, the dark smoky voice stole her breath. Holt.

He was here. Her heart started doing disconcerting somersaults in her chest. She turned…and her mouth dropped open.

He’d cut his hair to ear-length. And shaved. Oh…wow. He’d been gorgeous before, but now nothing concealed the sharp, stern angle of his jaw or the firm line of his mouth. The now completely visible scar made her want to kiss it and make it all better.

And kiss his lips right afterward.

He leaned on the bar, his gaze on her. The masculine appreciation in his gaze was heady. After a second, she noticed his clothing. Interestingly enough, the firefighter hadn’t donned a uniform. He wore a black leather vest over a skull-decorated black tank top. Black dragon tats—real ones—wound around his muscular biceps, and he’d roped a dark blue and black bandanna around his head.

“You really do look like a biker tonight.” Her voice came out disconcertingly husky.

“Guess it’s a good thing I have a bike.” His voice dropped. “You wanna ride?”

“Oh my God, that sounds incredibly perverted.”

His grin flashed white in his tanned face. “Little girl, you’re in a BDSM club. We are perverted.”

A delicious thrill seared over her nerves at the reminder. “Of-of course. What can I get you to drink, Master Holt?”

“Nothing.” He smiled slowly. “Z gave permission for you to abandon the bar and have some playtime.”

Holt still wanted to do the scene. Her mouth went dry. She took a step toward him. “B-but what if someone needs something?”

After a quick scan of the area, he called to an approaching man, “Cullen, I’m going to go beat on the bartender. If someone is desperate for a drink, can you handle it?”

“Aye.” The giant Dom who’d trained her had his arm around Andrea, his tall, lush brunette wife. He grinned at Josie. “Go have a good time.”

“Thank you.” She turned to Holt and hesitated. Those clothes made him look awfully mean. And she hadn’t ever seen him play. What if he was a sadist or something? “You…wouldn’t really…”

He gave her a level look. “You can trust me, Josie.”

She did, really. Mostly. “I… Okay.”

“Good girl.” The purr in his resonant voice sent warmth curling inside her.

He lifted the pass-through to let her out and then stopped her with an upraised hand. “Let’s keep you out of trouble with Master Z. Leave your boots and socks here.”