To Command and Collar (Masters of the Shadowlands, #6)(20)

“I’d forgotten it was so long. Did they hold you for a while before they auctioned you off? What happened during that period?”

“They…didn’t do much. I was penned up with the others for…I think almost two weeks?” The time was blurry, crying women, leering men, nothing to do. The days ran together. “Our ‘rebelliousness’ was a selling point, so we got no training.” She swallowed, remembering how scared she’d been. If she’d known what would come after, she’d have jumped overboard right then. “I didn’t go to the big auction though. Lord Greville bought me a while before.”


“The owner who sent you back to the Overseer?”

She nodded, blinking furiously. I won’t cry.

Master R’s hands squeezed her fingers. “Tell it all.”

He needed the information. But it was hard. “He took me to his house.” Cold with white walls and furniture, no comfort anywhere. “He had his servants hold me down, and h-he raped me.” She forced the word out. After a week of talking with Gabi and Faith, she could say it now—say it without vomiting. “I fought them. He beat me until I passed out. And raped me again.” And again and again.

“Was he the one who used a whip on you?” Master R asked, his voice even.

She nodded, looking at their entwined hands. “Each time, each day. The pain—” So much pain that every breath had hurt, until it billowed in her head, made her vision waver. Until all she could think was, Make it stop. “I couldn’t quit fighting, even…even though…” Blood in her mouth, on the floor, the stink of sweat and sex.

“It’s why the bastard wanted you—because you’d fight back.” His fingers massaged hers. “So you’ve had both physical and sexual abuse. How about mental? Did he call you names?”

“Yeah.” Slut, cunt, dirty whore. Did the filth inside her show? Could Master R see the darkness? She tried to laugh. “Even some words I’d never heard of before. He said I deserved everything I got because I was a slut. Bad. Filthy. He locked me in a cage during the day—put my water and food in bowls because I was an animal.” She dared to look up, had to, and saw his black frown. “That’s why he gave me to his friends.” Her throat clogged as her stomach turned over.

He cursed under his breath and gripped her chin with those strong fingers, pulling her head up. “Look at me, chiquita.”

Her gaze came up to meet his dark brown eyes, patient. Firm.

“Good. Now take a breath. Yes. Let it out slowly. That’s a good girl.”

The memories retreated, pushed away by his anger…for her. Her nausea eased.

After she’d managed a few breaths, he sat back, taking her hand again. “Others used you. And?”

“I stabbed him afterwards.”

He stared at her, then burst out laughing, and with the sound of his hearty laughter, open and pleased, the darkness in her head shrank. He kissed her fingers. “Good for you. But…I think this is why you were hurt so badly?”

Badly. She couldn’t answer, just started to shake.

A growl came from him. He plucked her up like a dandelion and sat down with her in his arms. Warmth and strength enfolded her, not frightening her. Somehow. How did being ordered to talk make her blurt things out like that?

He waited, simply holding her, one hand running up and down her arm. As her trembling slowed, he said, “I know something of trauma. I have friends who were in war. Others survived the gangs. You will continue with the counselor—she and Gabi can come here—but even so, things will set you off. Panic you or make you cry. I expect that.”

Gabi? And Faith? Not alone, not abandoned. “Thank you.”

“But if simply talking does this to you, then I need to know the rest, so I can help you through it. Or avoid it. Do you understand?”

She felt dirty. Weak and useless and ruined. But he was right. She bit her lip and nodded.

“How did you manage to stab Lord Greville, and what did he do afterward?”

“As the…men…were leaving, I hid a knife in my dancing scarves.” Crawling to the veils, pulling them around her, knotting one over the blade. Her blood staining the delicate fabric. Trying to stand. Falling. Pushing to her feet. Blood trickling down her legs like warm water. “When he returned for me, I stabbed him.” She swallowed. The blade punching through his shirt, then his skin, his flesh resisting. “He jerked away as I did. Enough that I got his shoulder and not his heart. He hit me.” Knocked her across the room.

“I’m sorry you were not more accurate,” Master R said mildly. “And then?”

“He yelled, and his staff came. He was crazy mad.” Blood everywhere, yelling, insanity in his eyes. “He whipped me and then got the knife I’d used.” “I’ll cut you into pieces. Scream, slut.” She touched her ribs where the long slash had opened her to the bone. The pain had bloomed and grown and grown. “But he’d lost enough blood that he passed out.” She’d hurt so much, too much to glory in it. “They tied a bandage around my ribs and put me back in the cage. The little one.” Not the kennel. Made for a medium-sized dog and so small she couldn’t straighten her legs, couldn’t stand up. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t… Her lungs spasmed like a fish on dry land, suffocating with air all around.