To Command and Collar (Masters of the Shadowlands, #6)(21)

“Shhh, shhh.” A big hand stroked her hair. “You’re here, gatita. No one will hurt you.”

Here. She blinked away the darkness at the edge of her vision. “They left me… I don’t know how long.” In the dark. Never let out. Bleeding. Hurting. Peeing on herself, her legs wet and stinking. The cage stinking. Her voice had broken from screaming. “Eventually they came and got me.” When the door opened, she knew she’d die and felt only relief.

He shook her gently, breaking her from the nightmarish thoughts. “Breathe for me, Kimberly.”

Slow breath. She stared out at the waves. The small windows lining the huge ones were cracked open, and the ocean’s shushing sounds rolled over her, drawing her memories away, grain by grain.

“Look at me.” He drew her back to the present. “They took you out and…?”

“The Overseer was there. They made him take me back.”

“Pobrecita,” Master R murmured.

Too tired to be afraid, she laid her cheek against his soft shirt. Beneath the thick muscles of his chest, his heart beat slowly, evenly, his breathing pulling hers into a matching rhythm. Under the influence of the even pace, she found her voice again. “The Overseer was furious because he said I was damaged, but he gave them a refund since Lord Greville’d brought in a lot of referrals. One of the Overseer’s slaves sewed me up, and I didn’t do anything for a while. After the stitches came out, I helped out in the kitchen for another week. And learned to dance.”

“No hospital?”

She managed a laugh. “Hardly. Although I got antibiotics. I think they were for dogs from a feed store.” I’m an animal.

“Well, I see why you were a bargain,” he said, breaking up her thoughts. “Almost killing your owner would definitely lower your value.” He tapped a finger on her nose. “Good job.”

She blinked, startled. A trickle of warmth crept into her at the open approval in his voice.

“Aside from being kidnapped, which would leave you insecure, most of what terrifies you happened at this Greville’s house? Rape, cage, beating. The way they treated you, being called names—you feel as if they’re right? That you’re what they called you?”

Why did it help when he…listed…things? Because it sounded like a set of problems she could deal with instead of an overwhelming chasm she’d fall into? “I… Yes.”

“Mmmmh. You get counseling already. I’ll add in some self-defense, so if you have to stab someone, you’ll do a better job.” He waited for her nod. “Getting over being raped will take time, but since you’re here in my arms, it might not be the worst of your problems. But you suffered enough that things will set you off. Unless your counselor says otherwise, we’ll stop, go through your fear so you handle it, and if possible repeat the trigger until it doesn’t work any longer.”


Maybe she could survive. Except… “Not the cage.”

He shook his head. “No, that one is for your counselor to deal with. You and I will stick with what causes you problems in your slave training.”

Slave. The word made her want to retch. “I’ll do my best.”

“I know you will, chiquita.”

As his arms tightened around her, she felt fear and safety mingle inside her as she was comforted…by her master. God had the oddest sense of humor.

* * * *

With a low groan, Raoul pushed the weight slowly upward, his arms shaking with the strain. At the top, he dropped the bar into the rack, the clank loud in his empty weight room.

As he sat up on the bench and shook out his arms, sweat plastered his tank top to his skin, and his pecs and triceps burned. His body made the shadows on the wall dance. He’d deliberately left off most of the lights, the darkness suiting his mood.

He’d managed to keep from showing his fury when Kimberly talked about her kidnapping, but, Dios, it had been difficult to hear her voice tremble, feel her scarred body tremble.

An hour of lifting weights, of pushing himself to exhaustion and beyond, had restored his control. Leaning forward, he set his elbows on his knees and stared at his forearms. His skin was taut over the pumped muscles. His veins bulged. Yes, he was f*cking strong.

Uselessly strong. He’d been too late to save his brother from dying in a filthy alley, too late to rescue this little slave before her abuse. Even worse, next time he saw the Overseer, he couldn’t beat him into the ground. Not yet. His jaw tightened until his teeth ground together. Hopefully later.

For now, his task was to heal the damage to Kimberly’s soul…and train her as his slave. He dropped his head into his hands, despair edging through his defenses. A slave. Here, in his house, the one he’d built after his divorce, not wanting to live with any memories of Alicia and their failed Master/slave relationship.

Now he would bring it back into his life.

Chapter Four

That evening, Raoul made Kimberly fix stir-fry while he sat on a tall chair at the kitchen island, sipping a beer. The way she moved was as beautiful as the way she danced. No motion wasted, everything in order. But the multitasking was making his head hurt. When he cooked, he’d fix one part; when it was done, he’d prepare the next. The little slave had several different preparations going on at once.

The slight smile on her face pleased him. Cooking was a comfort to her. He’d remember that.