To Command and Collar [Masters of the Shadowlands 6] (28 page)

* * * *

Don’t look at the cage in the corner. Don’t look at Lord Greville
. Kim stared at her knees, controlling her breathing. Controlling the panic was like piloting a boat in a tropical storm, trying to keep the bow headed into the seas. The counselor’s suggestion of imagining Greville with a rabbit-sized dick, whiskers, and a fuzzy tail didn’t help at all.

The men talked. Lord Greville had a voice like his whip, cutting and ripping, leaving bloody flesh behind.
The Overseer’s voice was an oil film on water, suffocating all life beneath. Her chest tightened.
When Master R spoke, the sound washed her clean, let her breathe. His knee pressed against her shoulder, bumping her now and then as if to keep her in the present. Her shoulders straightened.
Pay attention. He’ll need your help.
“You’d said that buying damaged merchandise might have been a mistake, so this is your opportunity to find a slave more suited to your needs,” the Overseer said, still trying to arbitrate.
“I see. I did complain about the damage, didn’t I?” Master R sounded so reasonable, they probably didn’t hear the tight thread of anger underlying his words. “You’re offering to buy me a different slave?” She felt the vibration as his fingers tapped on her leash. “I wouldn’t mind owning one with a curvier figure. Big breasts appeal to me.”
What
? After a moment of fear—then a sense of insult—she understood he was stalling for time. He could do no less, although all she wanted was out of here. The sickly sweet scent of Lord Greville’s cologne filled the air, and she breathed through her mouth, trying not to gag. The sounds of screaming came faintly past the closed door. The auction was going on.
“Well then, we should be able to work something out.” The Overseer sounded relieved.
“Perhaps. Unfortunately, the slaves here are masochists—not anything I’m interested in. What other auctions do you have coming up?”
“I—Well, the next will be in October. The black-and-white affair, featuring blondes and brunettes, with a sampling of black women as well.”
“I definitely like blondes. That might work out quite well.” Master R rose. “In October then. And Greville there will buy whatever slave I wish in return for the girl.”
The leash tightened; Kim started to rise.
“Unacceptable. I’ll take possession of her now.” Lord Greville’s voice was flat.
“Leave me without a slave? I think not. October.”
“I’ll buy her outright then. How much?”
“Still leaves me without a slave.” Master R pulled, and Kim rose to her feet, staying a step behind him.
“The hell with this. Just take her.” Lord Greville motioned to his men.
Master R dropped the leash and shoved her toward the door. “Run!”
She scrambled away, expecting him behind her—only he wasn’t. He’d charged the bodyguards. She hesitated and—
The Overseer slammed into her, knocking her into the wall. He grabbed her hair and yanked her back against his body.
No
! She jammed her elbow into his gut.
He folded over but still clung to her hair.
Screaming, she ignored his grip, curling her fingers into claws.

Two against one. Dios
. A big fist grazed Raoul’s face, leaving a burn in its wake. He spun and kicked the other guard in the gut, knocking him on his ass. Spin back, block another fist, try for a knee. Missed. The guards were both damn good fighters. Scarface’s return punch nailed him in the jaw, stunning him.

Raoul shook his head and half-blindly punched back, feeling the impact and crunch as his fist hit a nose. A bellow. Hot spray of blood. He twisted to check the other.
And then something punched him from behind, high on the right shoulder. He jerked around to see the Greville bastard jump away.
The skinhead swung. When Raoul blocked with his right arm, pain sheeted into him like all of hell had opened. He grunted and continued, but his block held no power, and the man knocked him into the wall. As he hit, fire ripped through his shoulder. His knees gave, dropping him to the floor.
“You knifed him good, Lord Greville.” Scarface stepped sideways as Raoul pushed to his feet.
Greville
. He’d attacked from behind like a feral cur.
The two guards had him bracketed, his back to the wall. He could feel the knife, still stuck in his shoulder. Pain shot through him with every movement.
As the two glanced at each other, trying to synchronize their attack, Raoul darted a look across the room. Dammit, Kimberly hadn’t run, and Dahmer had grabbed her.
Still looking, he faked a grin, and Skinhead fell for it, glancing over his shoulder at Kimberly. Raoul stabbed rigid fingers straight into the bastard’s throat and felt the cartilage break.
Scarface yelled and lunged. Raoul tried to block, but his right arm failed—
fucking knife
— and a roundhouse knocked him sideways. He staggered, fell onto his hands and knees.
“Use the knife and just kill him, you incompetent turd,” Greville said coldly. “I’ve got better things to do.”
When two more men ran into the room, Raoul knew his—and Kimberly’s—chances of survival had just died.
Run, gatita, dammit, run.
Scarface jumped forward and ripped the knife from Raoul’s shoulder. Pain burst like fireworks. Before the guard could step back, Raoul slammed his fist straight up into his balls.
With a choking gasp, Scarface fell to his knees, grabbing his groin. The knife clattered to the floor. A fucking steak knife from the dinner tray.
Raoul tried to snatch it and got kicked in the ribs. New guards. His hand skidded on the blood on the floor.

Heart battering at the inside of her ribs, Kim stared across the room at the group of men. Lord Greville’s bodyguards were down, one on his knees moaning. Between two new men, Master R pushed partway up and dived at Greville, hitting him in the stomach, knocking him down.

Swearing, the new men grabbed his arms, tearing him off Greville, holding him between them.

Face dark with rage, Greville staggered to his feet. Using a handkerchief, he wiped blood from his mouth, looked at it. He bent and picked the knife up. “Hold him good—I’m going to gut him like a trout.”

“Nooo!” Her shriek stopped everything.
Lord Greville turned, taking his time, Kim could tell. Playing her. He glanced at the Overseer who lay a few feet away, moaning, hands over his face. “Worthless bastard.”

She didn’t look, wouldn’t look at the Overseer or her bloody fingers. Could only think of Master R. He’d die because of her, because he’d tried to save her.
My fault
. “Please, don’t kill him. Please!”

Lord Greville tilted his head. “You
care
for him?” A cruel smile twisted his lips. “Oh, I like that. Yes.” He pointed his knife at her, then the cage in the corner. “In.”
A cage
. Her breath stopped.
Darkness, no light at all, the scent of a basement, excrement, urine, blood. Wire under her fingers, around her, she couldn’t stand, couldn’t straighten her legs
. An ocean pressed on her chest, flattening her lungs. Air gone.
No…
She felt a breeze from the open doorway behind her—she could run.
Run.
She edged toward the opening.
Master R was fighting madly, drawing everyone’s attention. His gaze caught hers, and he jerked his head toward the door. An order matching the one that every nerve in her body was screaming.
Run.
“Hold him, dammit.” Lord Greville sliced at Master R with the knife—the blade scraped over the leather vest on the left, then cut viciously over his right ribs. A huge, long gash.
He made no sound, but Kim saw him jerk. A trickle of red spilled over the edge of the gaping flesh; then blood flowed.
Sobs choked her; tears blinded her. He’d die; he was dying. “No, no please, oh God, no. Please.”
Lord Greville glanced over his shoulder. “The cage or I cut him into little pieces in front of you. Crawl, fuckhole.”
She did, her hands numb, her heart hammering too violently. None of it mattered. The cage surrounded her.
Lord Greville laughed, jagged and cold like a saw blade. He turned back to Master R and scowled at how the two men had to hold him up. “Hell, he’s out cold. That’s no fun.” He glanced at the water pitcher, hesitated, then motioned toward the cage. “Toss him in.”
As the guards dragged Master R over, Greville’s eyes met Kim’s. “If he’s still breathing when we get home, you can show me just how far you’ll go to keep him alive.”
She’d do anything, and her stomach tried to empty as she thought of the perversions Greville would demand.
The guards heaved Master R into the cage. She pressed against the wire, feeling the wire sides closing in on her. Just as small as the one in Lord Greville’s basement.
“Get that collar off her,” Lord Greville said.
One man grabbed her hair, yanking her far enough forward to unbuckle the collar with one hand. The feel of air against her bare neck was horrible—not like being stripped, but like seeing her house burn to the ground.
The guard stepped back; the other closed the door and snapped the heavy padlock, removing the key.
“Look, fuckhole.” Lord Greville waggled her collar and threw it out the door.
Kim stared after it, her life tumbling down the stairs with it.
Dreams die before people do.
Greville accepted the padlock key from the guard and put it in his pocket. “You’re mine, cunt, for as long as I let you live.”
No matter how many hours or days, it would be too long. Kim couldn’t stop shaking, her chest so tight no air seemed to get through. Red and black wavered in her vision—blood and death—and she wanted it, wanted the oblivion.
Lord Greville pointed to the moaning Overseer. “Haul him downstairs and have someone see to him. I need him able to sign the papers.” He turned to check his bodyguards. One had managed to stand. The other was…was dead.
Kim stared at Master R. He’d killed. And he was dying.
Her hands shook; her body shook.
Don’t die
. She tried to turn him.
Stop the bleeding
. No room to move him, no room. Her hands clamped into fists.
“I’ll clear us leaving with the front door attendants,” Greville said to the guard. “Get three more men to carry the crate—and something to cover it.” He laughed. “Good deal. Two slaves for the price of none.”
The door closed behind them with a solid thump.
A hand gripped on Kim’s arm, and she jumped.
“Cariño.” Master R looked up at her, brown eyes completely alert.
“Master R?” she whispered and stared at him.
The scum-sucking bottom-feeder… He’d been faking it
.
His eyes were filled with laughter. With pride. “So, gatita with sharp claws, what did you do to Dahmer?”

* * * *

Sam knelt beside Linda. He’d released her, lowered her to a sitting position despite her groggy protest.
The scrawny attendant pulled the portable St. Andrews into the aisle and frowned at Sam. “Please step out of the display area, sir.”
“She needs a blanket and some water.” Abandon a sub who was coming out of subspace?
“She’s up for sale, sir. Your time to sample the merchandise is over.”
“I get it.” God blast these bastards. He couldn’t leave her so vulnerable. Sam slapped her face lightly. “Wake up, girl. Now.”
She blinked, eyes focusing on him, then looked around the room, and her fear yanked her out of comfort faster than anything he could do.
“That’s right. Come on back,” he said, smoothing her hair.
She pulled away from his hand, and her expression held…revulsion. Anger. “Damn you,” she whispered and shuddered.
Sam frowned.
What—why
? “Linda, what—” He saw the attendant signal for a guard and stopped.
Can’t draw that kind of attention. Or be forced from the vicinity
. He rose to his feet, bent, and patted her shoulder. “Hang in there, girl.”
She cringed away…from him.
He hesitated, then withdrew to outside the display area. That hadn’t been fear she showed, but anger. Disgust. His lips tightened. He’d stay close. She might not want help, but too bad.
Another buyer approached, looking almost mesmerized. No question as to why. The redhead might be older, but after taking what Sam had given, she had a…glow. Her lips were swollen, her face abraded, her breasts marked by his hands. Her eyes were heavy from how intensely she’d come. She looked like a wet dream in chains.
The buyer, middle-aged with a hefty paunch, stared at Linda and started to signal to an attendant. Leaning an elbow on the pedestal, Sam said quietly, “I’m buying that one. You can play, but if I find one mark on her body that I didn’t put there, I’ll take that whip and knot it around your neck.”
The man puffed up, trying to look bigger, and then yellow-dogged out. “Fine. If you’re going to purchase her, no need to waste my time.” He walked away, his attempt at dignity spoiled by a nervous glance over his shoulder.
Sam half-smiled, then looked over at Linda in satisfaction.
She stared back. Coldly.
He winced inside. Dammit, she hadn’t acted like that before he’d whipped her. Or when he’d been getting her off. She begged—he closed his eyes as the pieces started to fit. Dignified. Older. Not letting fear show in her manner. Controlled. Embarrassed by her own needs.
And he’d taken those needs and reduced her to begging—in front of others. The slavers who called her a slut.
Hell
. He should have stopped at the whipping. Getting her off had been a fucking major mistake. It had seemed like a gift he could give, to help her escape her awareness of this place for a bit, but…females were odd creatures. Emotional. Rather than a gift, he’d shown her how easily her own body would betray her.
He rubbed his hand over his mouth, wanting to swear up a storm. He’d sliced into her defenses with less finesse than a baby dom with a new whip. After a glance at the attendant who still hovered nearby, Sam knew he couldn’t explain to her, to apologize—not here—but when this was over, they’d talk. Damn straight, they would.

* * * *

Raoul struggled to reach down his leg but failed. With both of them stuffed in the cage, there wasn’t enough room. “Chiquita, get the tool out of my right boot. On the outside.”
“But I need to stop the bleeding.”
“Now.”
With her mouth set in protest, she squirmed around and did as he asked, his sweet, sweet sumisa.
She frowned at it. “What is this?”
“Safety tool. I always carry it if I’m doing a scene.” He twisted onto his right side. The pain ripped through him as his weight came onto his stabbed shoulder—
that knife-happy cabrón
. Sweat broke out on his forehead as tiny lights blurred his vision. “Madre de Dios.”
She examined the tool, opened the handles. “Like scissors?”
“Mini bolt cutter,” he said, taking them from her hand. Good for rope, wire, leather…
“But the lock’s too big.” The hope in her eyes died as she stared at the thickness of the steel padlock.
“It is, yes.” Raoul snipped the wire above the lock. Then the one to the side. She gasped as she understood—the lock need not be open if the wires around the latch were gone.
He clipped the last wire and shoved the door open, then pulled back. She scrambled out. He followed, muffling his groan as his back grazed the door frame. After a second, he pushed to his feet, her hand under his arm lending support.
Slow breath. He brought his body back under his control and then frowned at the unoccupied cage. “I was going to leave you in there for him to see, but I need your help out here. If you would—”
“You’re bleeding like a stuck pig, you idiot,” she said in a furious low voice. Such a temper, his tesoro. “Don’t move.”