To Command and Collar (Masters of the Shadowlands, #6)(5)

Kim swallowed hard.

Sure fingers cupped her chin, lifting her face. The brown eyes that had been so cold at first now held the desire she wasn’t sure she wanted…and something else. Concern? “What is wrong, chiquita?” he asked softly.

The question, the gentleness brought tears to her eyes. She tried to pull back, but his fingers tightened, keeping her face exposed to his scrutiny. To her horror, she realized she was close to crying. No. “Please. Don’t.”

His frown grew. Then he released her and looked away. When he turned back, his eyes were remote, his face like stone, chilling her inside as well as outside. For a moment, he’d almost seemed human.

Haven’t you learned anything, Kim? You really are a dumb slut like Lord Greville said.

“Gentlemen, if you are ready, the dungeon is waiting,” the Overseer announced.

The fat one made a pleased sound, face filling with lust.

The older one snapped, “About time.” He rose and grabbed Holly by her hair, dragging her behind him. She was half-bent over. Crying.

Kim’s wish to kill the cruel man almost…almost outweighed her common sense. But she’d learned. Painfully. Interfering meant the slavers would beat her—and the woman she tried to help as well. The short whip slicing across her back, then the shocking explosion of pain. The screaming of the other slave. Her hands flattened on her thighs. Don’t speak; don’t look.

Master R rose. “Come.”

She started to gather her discarded garments, and he shook his head. “You are dressed appropriately for the dungeon.”

When she was on her feet, he grasped her by the back of her neck, his grip firm but not painful, his fingers calloused. Pushing her in front of him, he followed the others to the dungeon, a converted living area with hardwood floors, chains dangling from the rafters, a couple of St. Andrew’s crosses, sawhorse benches, a bondage table. Implements hung on the dark paneled walls between the bloodred drapes covering the windows. Even in silence, the dimly lit room seemed to echo with the sounds of pain.

“Go ahead and put your prospective slaves through their paces,” the Overseer announced. “Since you have provided medical papers, no condoms are necessary. All three women have birth control implants and are certified disease-free. I remind you not to inflict permanent damage, but anything that’ll heal in a few days is fine: welts, stripes, bruises.”

The pudgy one headed for the St. Andrew’s cross on the right wall, picking up a single-tail on the way. The older man shoved Holly to her knees beside him as he examined the rack of canes.

Kim’s stomach tightened as she remembered her words earlier. “Maybe there’s a nice one out there.” There were no nice ones in this world. Oh Holly, I’m sorry, honey.

“And you, sir?” The Overseer turned to Master R. “I heard you enjoy dispensing a good beating.”

The hand gripping her neck flexed slightly. “I’ll use a flogger.”

Staring at the floor, Kim breathed out, trying to tell herself a flogger wasn’t as bad as other stuff. Like a whip. Or a cane. Unless he picked one of the nastier kinds. Her nerves were jumping with her need to yank away and run, but she wouldn’t even get out of the room. And then she’d pay and pay and pay. I can endure this. It’s only pain.

Somehow she could feel the buyer’s attention on her like a warm breeze. His thumb stroked the side of her neck. “Dahmer, you’ve got a pretty setup here.”

“Thank you,” the Overseer said, his voice with that slick, sharp edge to it. “Although pulling everything down and setting up in a new house becomes tedious.”

“I can imagine. How long have you been in this…line of work?”

“The Harvest Association hired me about seven years ago.” The Overseer’s laugh made Kim’s skin crawl. “The side benefits are great—like training the merchandise.”

“I daresay. Do you choose the women?”

“Our watchers select potential slaves according to what we’re looking for at the time.” The Overseer nodded to Holly. “That one was picked up for our annual ‘Blondes are more fun’ auction. In the Southeast quadrant, I select from the list and contract the appropriate people to make the pickups.”

“Quite a few layers in your group. That’s reassuring.”

Layers upon layers. Drown the bastards and let crabs eat their bodies. Kim bit her tongue until she tasted blood. Early on, the Overseer had explained how long the Association had been in business, and the impossibility of their families ever finding them. One despairing slave had tried to commit suicide that night, but the torn plastic cup couldn’t cut her skin deep enough.

“The safety and anonymity of the association and our buyers is our primary concern.” The Overseer stopped. Kim glanced up to see him gesture toward the floggers on the back wall. “I think you’ll find something there that fits your needs.”

“How much time do we have?”

“Long as you want.” The Overseer’s eyes met Kim’s. “According to her last owner, this piece of goods doesn’t break down quickly.”

Her skin went cold; her hands started to tremble. Lord Greville had never stopped until she’d broken, and then he’d…

Master R snorted and pulled her back against his body, his arm around her waist, one wide palm covering her breast. “Any ham-handed idiot can make a woman scream. I prefer to assess…responsiveness.” His powerful hand caressed her, his touch light. Not somehow repugnant, but still…touching her, as a reminder that her body was no longer her own. She tried to move, but the iron band of his arm held her easily in place.