Cherise Sinclair - This is who I am

Raoul squeezed her shoulder. “Linda, this is Master Z. He agreed to give you a temporary membership, and he’s the reason you are safe here.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Master Z.” So this was the infamous Master Z who owned the Shadowlands. She swallowed. Kim hadn’t come close to describing how intimidating the man was. “Kim’s right. I wanted to come.”

He lifted an eyebrow in an unspoken command to continue. In just one night at that other club, she’d discovered how a Dom in full command mode could turn her spine into jelly.

“I wanted…” Why had it been easier to explain to Raoul, even if she hadn’t explained everything? “Wanted to remind myself that people do this for fun. Consensually.”

“You want to replace the images in your head with better ones,” he said gently.

“That’s it.” And maybe find someone to hurt me . God, that sounded so sick.

He held his hand out, and her fingers were in his grip before she realized she’d moved. He studied her for a minute, then nodded. “All right, Linda. I think you have the strength, but don’t push yourself into a panic attack.” He arched a brow at Kim. “Your companions are quite familiar with the symptoms.”

Kim actually giggled. The beautiful sound showed that healing could happen, even after horrors.

“I’ll be careful,” Linda said.

“Very good.” He released her hand and moved off with the lethal grace of a big cat.

Linda blew out a breath and glanced at Kim. “Well. You tried to warn me.” If nothing else, Master Z had broken into her nightmare and got her moving again.

Kim grinned. “And you didn’t believe me.”

Linda laughed and looked around. The place was certainly different from the one she’d gone to before. True, her single visit to a BDSM club hardly made her an authority, but she’d spent hours there before doing anything. This place was more expensive. The equipment was padded with leather, the burnished hardwood floors reflected the flickering of the wrought-iron sconces. The general populace was older and quieter, although—she enjoyed the spectacle of a woman in a full catsuit followed by a naked submissive—the costumes were just as outrageous.

“Do you want to wander around or settle somewhere?” Kim glanced over Linda’s shoulder, and her eyes widened. “Uh, let’s just go to the bar.”

Linda turned. The nearest scene was a man on a St. Andrew’s cross with a Mistress putting clamps on his nipples. The spiderweb next to it held a restrained submissive struggling to evade the flick of a crop. Then a spanking scene. Then several people watching a Dom with a flogger.

When the Dom turned slightly, Linda’s lungs felt as if they were being pinched in wickedly tight clamps. Sam . Sam was here. She’d forgotten the dangerous vibe he gave off in dominant mode. Almost half a foot taller than her five-seven, he wore black jeans, black boots, a black belt, and a black flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His silvery hair didn’t make him look old—just really, really experienced.

He was using a full-sized, heavy flogger with brown leather strands. No fancy colors for him. The woman on the cross was in tears, her back reddened. As Sam flogged the blonde with a smooth rhythm, Linda wanted to hate him for inflicting such pain.

Yet, as the woman went up on tiptoes, she pushed her bottom back to get more. Her face gleamed with sweat and tears, but her half-agonized, half-blissful expression was that of a masochist getting what she wanted.

I want it too . Linda felt like a shaken soda with the cap screwed on too tightly to let out the increasing pressure. Pain might give her a way to open up and spew everything out. I need that.

Not with Sam though. No no no . And yet… She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself over her silky shirt. Watching him with a woman made her feel odd. Wanting and angry and unsettled. After a minute, she forced herself to turn away. Thank heavens she’d worn a mask.

Raoul was watching her, his dark eyes narrowed. “Shall I find you a Dom to play with?”

How had Kim found someone so sweetly protective? But she wouldn’t—couldn’t—have another person make those choices for her again. “Thank you, but I’d rather choose my own if I decide to…do anything.”

And she’d be very careful. She’d pick a sadist, but not one who was also a Dominant. During her night at the club, the Dom she’d spoken to had told her she was submissive as well as a masochist. As if one perversion wasn’t enough, I’ve got two.

But it had been Sam who had showed her how a powerful Dom could push her limits—could go past her limits. At the auction, she could have handled being whipped, but he’d done…more. Damn him.

“As you wish. Then let us have something to drink while you decide.” After pulling Kim to his side, Raoul guided them to the bar.

Linda glanced longingly at the bottles of tequila, scotch, and rum.

Raoul shook his head. “You may have water or a soda.” He turned to Kim and settled her on a bar stool, kissing her hair lightly.

But I want a drink . Linda sighed but had to admit he was right. Alcohol, in this place, might do as much harm as good. She needed to stay on top of things. In control.

The bartender’s assistant came over to get their orders. As Kim talked with her, Linda looked over her shoulder at Sam. Again.

He’d finished the scene. The blonde with spiky hair who might have looked tough at one time was trying to bury herself in his chest. When he rubbed her undoubtedly tender back and she cried harder, he grinned. Definitely a sadist. But a caring one. And strong. She remembered the steel-like feeling of his arms. He might be in his fifties, but he was all bone and muscle.

A shiver ran up Linda’s spine. Don’t look.

Turning away, she let herself sink into the sounds of the place. The slap of paddles and floggers and canes. Moaning and groaning. A shriek. Low conversation. A half-heard man’s laugh—the sound familiar and horrible—sent memories oozing through her. Caged on a boat. Men talking about—

She shook herself loose, feeling cold sweat trickle down her back. I’m free. At the Shadowlands . And as she listened, she realized the noise was different from the slave auctions. The sobbing was that of a release; the shriek had excitement accompanying the pain. There were none of the hopeless cries, the pleading, and the screams of pain that wouldn’t end. She shuddered.

“Linda. Look at me.” Raoul’s gaze was watchful. Measuring.

“I’m okay.” And she wasn’t lying. His voice, his steady eyes had settled her. She gave him a shaky smile. “Thank you.” Her deep breath calmed her further as she carefully cataloged more differences. She’d thought the downtown BDSM club smelled of leather, sex, pain, and fear. Now she knew fear stank of piss and blood and sour sweat. Nothing like here.

The Shadowlands held laughter, and not only from the male Doms. There were women laughing. To one side, some submissives giggled as one negotiated with a Dom. Linda took a quick survey of the room before turning to Kim. “The percentage of Doms to submissives seems pretty even.”

The bartender’s submissive grinned at her. “Good eye. I’m Andrea, by the way.” She glanced around the room and answered Linda’s unspoken questions. “Master Z keeps the membership balanced, no matter how long the waiting list gets. It’s nice. I’ve visited clubs where I felt like a sheep surrounded by a pack of wolves.”

“That’s it,” Linda agreed. “There’s no sense of being stalked.” In fact, the unattached subs were having a good time with each other. More weight lifted from her shoulders. She’d be safe here, if… Could she really do this? Let a sadist hurt her? Her fears and needs seemed to twine together, creating a macramé of self-loathing. Why couldn’t she be normal?