Cherise Sinclair - This is who I am

Her chin tightened. Yes, it is.

He breathed out, then opened the water and wrapped her fingers around the bottle. “We’ll talk later.”

As he cleaned the equipment, she watched. Not young at all, older than her. But he moved with a rancher’s strength and a strong man’s confidence.

She didn’t have that kind of confidence. Not anymore. Hard to believe she’d run her household and a business. Now she was in a BDSM club. Asking to be beaten. She really was the pervert that a lover had called her. Or the dirty slut that the slavers had named her.

Her hands started to shake. She’d done what she’d set out to do. Broken through all the walls. Could feel again. But now she needed to leave. This wasn’t what she wanted in her life. With an effort, she looked around for Kim and Raoul.

They stood just beyond the rope beside Master Z. They’d all been watching.

A flush warmed Linda’s face. Kim might be submissive, but she wasn’t a…masochist. A pain slut. Humiliation swept through her as she set down the water and struggled to her feet. “Raoul, please. Can we go home now?”

A moment of confusion showed on Raoul’s face, and then he nodded. “If you want.” He gripped her arm, steadying her, as Kim went to get her shirt and bra.

Sam saw them and returned. “Raoul.” The anger in Sam’s voice was suppressed but present.

The way Raoul tensed showed that even a weight lifter didn’t want to take on an angry Sam.

Guilt made her shoulders hunch. She was causing a problem between friends. “It’s not his fault, Sam. I asked them to take me home.”

When he reached for her, she flinched back. His arm lowered. “You’re not ready to leave. You can barely walk…and we need to talk.”

“I’m…sorry.” She pulled on her bra, feeling the sweet tenderness of her back. Wanting more. “What you did helped,” she admitted. He’d earned her thanks. In a way, an ugly way, she’d used him. Except…he liked what he’d done, hadn’t he? Had he received as much pleasure from seeing her pain as she had from receiving it? “But I-I don’t do this…stuff. I was just here to learn to put it behind me.”

“Put it behind you?”

“Yes. This isn’t who I am.” She forced her chin up, her spine straight, even though she’d felt so, so much better on her knees. “Thank you for”— for hurting me. For making me cry, making me feel —“for your time.”

He lifted his chin in acknowledgment. But was that hurt she saw in his face for a moment? Surely not from this harsh man who’d called her “baby” and wrapped a blanket around her. Her eyes burned. Why had she ever wanted to feel? Her heart hurt, throbbing as if it had taken the beating instead of her back.

He shot Raoul an unreadable look. “Take care of her.”

Raoul’s fighting stance relaxed. “As if she were my own.”

I’m no one’s . The knowledge didn’t sound independent—just lonely. Linda pulled on her shirt and led the way to the exit to show Sam she didn’t need help. As his gaze burned into her back, she forced herself not to look over her shoulder, not to run and kneel at his feet. Why couldn’t she just have been a…normal person and him a normal person? Then, maybe…

NEAR THE far wall of the Shadowlands, the spotter watched Adrienne wipe down the sawhorse. Tears still ran down her face. Quite nice. Even nicer were the welts on her ass and thighs. Red marks over her hips showed where his fingers had dug in as he fucked her. Used and abused, just the way he liked them.

She hadn’t been a bad fuck, considering her youth. And getting off put him in an excellent mood, despite settling for a woman so thin her breasts were almost nonexistent. But the plumper women had already been picked. Perhaps he should speak to Z about getting a wider variety of submissives.

Or perhaps not.

He preferred to avoid the owner of the club, since the psychologist displayed a disconcerting competence at reading people. In fact, it was good that Aaron had joined soon after the Shadowlands opened. Over the years, the club’s application and interview process had grown more rigorous than he’d be willing to risk.

After all, a man who selected submissives to be sold into slavery must exert a modicum of caution.

Adrienne put away the cleaning supplies in the stand and then knelt at his feet.

“Good enough,” he said.

Biting her trembling lower lip, she gazed up at him. Probably hoping he’d hold her and pet her. Did he look like a pathetically weak-willed Dom?

“I told you before we started, I don’t do aftercare. Take yourself off.” Since he’d been clear about his inclinations, she could hardly bitch about the lack. Z couldn’t fault him if the sub knew the deal.

Without speaking, she scooped up her clothing and scurried away, probably to cry over her injured feelings. Or the welts. Given his choice, she’d be bleeding rather than welted, but she’d been about to use her safe word, so he’d throttled back. Because the Shadowlands had rules.

He smiled, remembering the last whore he’d bought. Paying for his fun annoyed him, but at least he wasn’t forced to stop. Not with fucking the slut, not with hurting her.

As he cleaned his toys, he glanced around the room and spotted the ex-slave leaving with Raoul. Yeah, maybe his next prostitute should be a redhead. Soft. Older.

Interesting that she was here. And wearing a mask, no less. He laughed. Did she believe hiding her face would conceal her identity? Hardly. Her hair and breasts were quite memorable. He ran his fingers over the cane he held. Smooth. Flexible. Would mark that pale skin nicely.

Now where had he seen her? He rubbed his finger over his upper lip. On the slave boat. Seems as if she’d been kidnapped a couple of weeks before, and the association had permitted select buyers to preview the merchandise. The redhead had been in one of the kennels, her head turned and eyes closed to shut out the leering buyers.

Strong woman. He’d liked that.

No one had bought her at the first auction—most buyers preferred the young ones—so he’d bided his time, waiting for her to be devalued and then used as a reward for spotters and guards. But the Overseer had insisted on putting her up for sale again, and Feds had raided the auction.

Stinking Feds . His source of cheap, disposable slaves had disappeared that night. With a grunt of annoyance, he tossed the thin cane into his bag.

As he strolled to the bar, he considered asking Cullen for the ex-slave’s name. No, showing interest in her would be unwise, at least until the Harvest Association ceased to be newsworthy.

He’d have to settle for whores. For now.

Tears prickled in Linda’s eyes as she drove down the cul-de-sac and pulled into her driveway. Home at last. And mercifully alone. She’d have no witnesses if she burst into tears.

At first she’d thought she’d have to spend a mint for a taxi to get to Foggy Shores, but Raoul had arranged for someone to bring her car to his house. Obstinate, overprotective Dom. Bless him.

Linda slid out of the car and regarded the pretty one-story house where she and Frederick had raised their children. Deep inside, she’d harbored fear that it might have been destroyed—like her life had been. Inhaling slowly, she wrapped the peace of the tiny coastal town and her quiet neighborhood around her like a blanket. So familiar. Next door, dolls and cars scattered the sidewalk like a toy explosion. Across the street, the Smiths’ impeccably trimmed yard made the Brendans’ appear even more straggly. Music trickled from Adele’s home where she gave piano lessons.

Not everything stayed the same though. A FOR SALE sign was planted in Myrtle’s front yard. Brenna had mentioned the old woman’s death.