To Command and Collar (Masters of the Shadowlands, #6)(17)

Warning flag. Ice water trickled into Kim’s core as she remembered… She closed her eyes, took a breath. She had to tell them, but her words stuck to her tongue. “Vance.”

Master R was still fighting to keep her out of it. “There’s always the demonstration. I could get into an auction that way.”

“Maybe,” Vance said. “But that only gets you on the waiting list for God knows when in the future. Besides, the Overseer would still expect to see Kim since your audition is during the follow-up visit.”

“Vance,” Kim said, raising her voice. Their attention shifted to her. “The gossip in… I heard from the other slaves that if a buyer kills a slave, they don’t contact him for quite a while in case he didn’t cover up well enough, or the body’s found or there’re witnesses. Repercussions.”

“Hell.” Vance scowled. “Then pretending you died won’t work. At least not for getting Sandoval into an auction in the near future, either as a buyer or doing a demo.” He cursed under his breath.

Silence. The number of eyes on her made her shake, and she stared at her hands. Such white fingers, all twined together in knots.

Master R’s voice. “It doesn’t matter.” She looked up into compassion. Worry. “Go into the witness protection program anyway, Kimberly. Stay safe and out of sight.”

How incredible it felt to have someone on her side. In slavery, each woman stood alone, for if one tried to protect another, both were beaten. She winced as a lash cracked across her memory. But now… She wasn’t at their mercy, and the man beside her, like a massive tank, was so, so not helpless.


How could she find a plan that would work? At one time, she’d been good at solutions. Back…before. But now… Pretend to be dead and be safe, but her mother would suffer, and she’d have ruined any chance of getting the FBI to the auction. Be a slave and…oh God, she couldn’t.

“What about the other slaves still in their grasp, Raoul?” Vance asked, his voice edged with pain. With pity. “Can you abandon them so easily?”

The question was a blow straight to Kim’s chest. She watched as Master R turned his face away, the skin taut over his cheekbones. He’d planned the whole thing to rescue all the slaves and abandoned it to save her. Just her. While the rest—Holly and Linda and the others—were still there. They’d never get out. Because of me. Because he rescued me.

Guilt settled in her belly, cold and leaden, and with every breath she could hear Holly’s terrified screams, as if the dungeon were only a few feet away. I can’t. Can’t be a slave. Her throat felt as if a rope bound it, contracting to keep the words from escaping.

But to leave them there? Linda had changed the bandages on Kim’s stomach, her hands gentle and careful. She’d told jokes to make Kim laugh, diverting her from memories of how Lord Greville had… I can’t do this. But then Linda would be never get free. She’d live in pain. She had two children in college. Talked about being a grandmother someday. Held Kim when she cried. She’d been so strong, but eventually everybody would break, even Linda.

Is it worth it to live if I betray…everyone ? She looked at her wrists. The bruises from the cuffs had faded to a faint yellow. I endured before. I can endure again. No, she probably couldn’t. She’d die if she was a slave again. No no no. She looked at Master R, who still stared out the window. He’d tried to soothe her fears. He’d held her, not hurting her, but—she shivered—not letting her go either. He did as he thought best. He was a dom.

I can’t do it, can’t even pretend to be a slave. No.

Holly had cried herself to sleep every night. Every night.

I have to do this . The nausea came fast, choking her, and she inhaled through her nose, forcing it back. I’m me. Not a slave, even if I choose to pretend. And I will do this. Because I’m me. Not broken.

A warm hand closed on her upper arm. “Chiquita…Kimberly…look at me.”

She heard him sometimes in her dreams, his voice breaking through the storm of screaming, and everything would calm, the slow smooth baritone as comforting as the ocean rocking a boat. She looked up at him. “I’ll be your s-slave.”

* * * *

Had he ever seen anyone look so terrified and still manage to move? Raoul leaned against the door frame and watched Kimberly enter his home. Her dusky complexion was a grayish pale, her cheekbones standing out above a clenched jaw. She walked as if the tile floor was covered with sharp spikes.

He sighed. She was incredibly brave, but he had doubts she could maintain her courage. Gabi might get a call this evening begging for rescue.

Kim saw him watching and took a step back. “What would you like me to do now, Mmaster R?”

Stop looking at me as if I plan to slice you into inch-sized chunks of flesh. He glanced at his watch. “It’s almost suppertime. Why don’t we sit on the patio”— where you won’t feel as cornered—“and talk? Then we can figure out what to do for supper.”

She gave him a jerky nod.

He led the way through the great room and out the French doors. Sun sparkled off the wide expanse of water. On the shore, waves lapped quietly on the sand. Behind him—silence. He turned.

She was on her knees, hugging herself, staring at the beach, at the waves rolling in. The breeze ruffled her hair back, and the setting sun glinted off the tears on her cheeks. She cried as silently as anyone he’d ever known.