Cherise Sinclair - This is who I am

That night, when Sam had stepped up to her, she’d trusted Kim’s approving nod. He’d told Linda she could have him or another buyer. If she chose him, he would hurt her, and he’d known she was a masochist. He’d driven everything out of her mind except him, the sensations he gave her, and the sound of his growling voice.

The Overseer had called her a slut and whore. Sam had made her feel like one in an emotional rape far worse than the physical ones.

Earlier today—although months had passed—her body had still reacted to his voice, craving the safety he offered. The rest of her had wanted to hide in a cave.

With a happy bark, Ari ran back and shook, sending water and sand over them both. Kim gave a token grumble. “Stupid dog.”

Panting, Ari dropped down over her feet. His wagging tail thumped on Linda’s ankle like a metronome.

After ruffling the dog’s fur, Kim gave Linda an irrepressible grin. “So about Master Sam. Do you suppose he got so good at a whip because he’s a rancher, or did the sadist come first?”

Linda choked. She remembered all too well how competent the man had been. “You know, a few months ago, you’d never have made a joke about a whip.”

“I’m better. Not all fixed, but better. Raoul made a huge difference.” She tugged at her shepherd’s ear. “Ari helped too.”

“Nice to have a four-footed counselor.” Kim had been kidnapped off the street, and afterward she’d panic if outside alone. Raoul had bought her a doggy escort.

Kim gave her a worried frown. “I figured you’d come back all tan and happy after being at your sister’s in California, but you look exhausted. Not sleeping?”

“Not much, no.” Linda managed to smile. “Maybe I should buy a dog. At least I’d have something to keep the bed warm.” But no pet would solve her problems.

“Well, maybe that guy you were dating last fall will want to heat up your sheets.”

The thought made her skin crawl. “Not going to happen.”

“Yeah, I’m not surprised. I felt like that too. Did you get counseling in California?”

“Um-hmm. It helped.” At least at first. But now the ice encased her more each day, no matter what she did. Over the past few weeks, she’d tried journaling, talking. Screaming.

Needing something to do with her hands, she pulled some grasses up, weaving them together in patterns she’d learned as a teen. Basketry had given her an escape from rigid, fanatical parents, given her a world she could control and a way to make beauty. Later, in college, she’d discovered running and how the throbbing of exhausted muscles could break through her stress and help her reconnect with her own feelings.

She’d needed that help then. Occasionally since.

Because I’m a masochist . What an ugly label, though, with its implication of perversion. Last fall, when she’d realized she needed something more in her life, she’d wanted to experiment. Why not? She was a widow. Her children grown. No real partner.

But she should never have taken that first step, never have visited a downtown kink club to learn if her fantasies and needs had any basis in reality. They did; they did . She stared down at her hands, remembering the wonder of that discovery. Even as part of her was horrified that she’d actually asked to be flogged, she’d embraced the pain. Had flown with it, and for a brief period she’d felt…whole. Alive.

Her throat tightened. Then she’d walked out of the club. Night air, so clean and salty, so quiet after the sounds of the club. In the parking lot, a low cry. Racing over. A woman, unconscious, being tossed into a van . Linda had run, screaming, and everything had gone black.

She’d been kidnapped herself. Right into slavery, rape, and abuse.

Now she wanted to feel whole again. To feel alive. She knew one way to accomplish that, but no matter how wonderful that brief experience of pain had been in the BDSM club, how could she let anyone hurt her again? She’d panic…wouldn’t she?

Yet how could she go home like this? So different from who she really was, with as much emotion in her as a wooden post. Her children would be horrified. And Lee, the man she’d dated off and on? What would he think?

Every day was growing worse. Recently, she had trouble even laughing. She couldn’t continue like this. With a shuddering breath, she rubbed her hands over her face. She knew what she had to do.

That night at the slave auction, she’d been more closed off than now, yet Sam had blown her walls wide open, as if his cruel whip had cut fissures to relieve the pressure.

Maybe if I…if I could get help one more time, then I’d be all right. Back home, with life returned to normal, I’d never need it again.

She couldn’t allow herself to need it again. When she returned to Foggy Shores, she would need to go back to being normal. To pick up her life and habits and keep everything quiet. Sane.

But she wasn’t home yet.

If she could just find someone to…hurt her. Just one time. If she could endure it. Her stomach turned over as she thought of returning to the Tampa club, the one where she’d been kidnapped.

She realized her hands had clenched into tight balls. Finger by finger, she opened them. Earlier, Kim had mentioned that she and Raoul belonged to a BDSM club. A private one.

No one would know her there. And she wouldn’t be alone. If Kim was there—and Raoul—maybe she’d feel secure enough to…do something.

Slowly she turned to face Kim. To meet her compassionate eyes. To force out the request. “Would you and Raoul take me to the Shadowlands?”

Flanked by Raoul and Kim, Linda walked into the exclusive BDSM club known as the Shadowlands. Light from wrought-iron sconces flickered ominously over the dungeon equipment lining the walls. The overwhelming scents of leather, sweat, and sex slapped into her and stole her breath. The sounds of pain were like a kick to her stomach. Even the music held a savage bite.

At least no one would see her reactions—or who she was. The black mask she wore concealed her face, leaving only her lips and eyes revealed. Now, if she could only get her feet to move. The little voice inside her screaming get me out of here grew louder.

When Raoul put his hand on her shoulder, she jumped. “ Chiquita .” His dark brown eyes were worried. “You would be safe in the Shadowlands, no matter what. But you’re also with me.”

“Thank you.” Considering the man had more muscles than the beach had sand, he was a reassuring presence.

“Linda, let’s go home,” Kim said. “We don’t have to stay.” Her blue corset matched her eyes, and her black collar held a silver engraving: Master Raoul’s gatita . Of all the women in captivity, Kim had seemed the least likely to want to be a slave. But the love between her and Raoul was so strong it almost shimmered. Somehow, Kim had moved on and found happiness.

Linda hadn’t. Even worse, she was unraveling as emotions ripped through her. She cringed at the sound of a paddle against flesh. A woman’s screams made her hands turn cold and numb. As the trembling in her belly worked outward, her knees started to shake. She couldn’t escape the memories of horrors. This was the stupidest thing she’d ever done.

“Raoul.” A gray-eyed man blocked their way, and his gaze swept over her face, her shoulders, her hands. “What are you doing? She’s terrified.”

Well, sheesh. She could have sworn she’d hidden her fear fairly well.

“She wanted to come,” Kim protested, then closed her mouth when Raoul tugged her collar.

The stranger was lean and graceful, wearing all black as a Dom would—only he had no need to wear black to establish his authority. Power surrounded him like the scent of aftershave. “You must be Linda. Little one, you should go home.”