Cherise Sinclair - The Dom's Dungeon

Mac glanced around. Over by the fireplace, Peter and Zachary shook hands with Steel, while Tess sat nearby listening.

“Thanks.” Mac dropped down on the couch beside Hope. “I-I don't know why that man is here. Alex didn't even know him until…” How could she ever explain what had happened in the club?

“Until he attacked you. Peter told me. He said all the Doms are furious about it, and that's why that guy is here.”

“I don't understand.”

Another knock on the door. Alex strode across the room to answer it.

Mac shook her head, a little dismayed. “Alex called this a really little party, just you guys and—” Her mouth dropped open when Cynthia walked in, hands cuffed in front of her. A man in a black silk suit followed. Probably a few years older than Alex, his black hair was shorter, and gray flecked his neatly trimmed mustache.

“My God, that's Drake,” Hope whispered.

The man named Drake removed the long coat draped over Cynthia's shoulders. He tossed it over the table by the front door and pointed to an empty corner. Eyes down, the tall brunette walked over and knelt, facing the wall.

He and Alex talked for a moment, and then they both crossed the room toward Mac.

When Hope slid off the couch onto her knees, Mac gave her a puzzled look but did the same. Don't look at strange Doms . Mac remembered that rule, so she kept her gaze firmly on the floor. A pair of dress shoes and black trousers stepped into her narrow focus. Alex wore boots. This must be Drake, standing over her.

He'd brought Cynthia. Why? And why did everyone—including Alex—look so grim?

“Hope, return to your master.” Drake's voice was as deep as Alex's, but with a faint European accent and as smooth as cream. Yet the smoothness was like a film of snow over a mountain range, barely covering the power.

Hope scrambled to her feet and escaped, for escape was totally what it looked like.

“Permission?” Drake said.

“Granted.” Alex's voice. Mac's hands fisted at her sides. Cynthia, Steel, and Drake, who frightened sweet Hope. What was going on?

“MacKensie.” That ever-so-suave voice gave the end of her name a slight fillip. “Eyes on me.”

She looked up. Drake held his hand out to her. After a second, she let him pull her to her feet. He stood a couple of inches taller than Alex, and with a man on each side of her, she felt far too much like a bug about to be squashed.

“My name is Drake.” His eyes were as black as his hair. She wanted to step back, but he still had her hand. She glanced at Alex helplessly.

He stepped to her side as if hearing her plea for rescue. “Shhh, little cat. Drake isn't here to upset you.” He scooped her up in his arms, pulling her away from Drake, and sat down on the couch. “So stop upsetting her, you intimidating bastard,” he said.

Rather than striking Alex dead somehow—she didn't know how, but he looked like he could—Drake gave a deep laugh and took the other end of the couch. Her sigh of relief faded when he held his hand out to her again. He waited, palm up in a silent demand, until she'd given him hers. But Alex held her now, and somehow that made everything better.

Drake's hand was warm and dry, firm, with oddly placed calluses. “MacKensie, I own Chains.” He glanced at Alex with a glimmer of a smile. “A few friends invested, but the ultimate authority is mine. You were victimized in my club. Although I can't remove the memory, I must try to make it right.”

He nodded toward Cynthia, who still knelt in the corner. “After the barmaid identified her, a friend in the police force matched her fingerprints to the ones on the note. I wanted to turn her over to the police, but…” He sighed and rubbed his chin.

MacKensie tried to pull her hand away. Obviously the rich, beautiful Cynthia had either cried or bought him off or—

“The club operates under very stringent rules of privacy,” Drake said, interrupting her unspoken tirade. “To convict her would require a trial and witnesses. You would have to take the stand.”

Mac's mouth dropped open. “Me?” She hadn't thought it through at all.

Drake tilted his head. “Alex said you're starting a career here. He doubted you'd want to be identified as having visited a BDSM club, let alone having had an altercation like this one.”

“Oh God, no.” A whole new life and reputation ruined.

“Good call, then.” The black gaze flickered to Alex before returning to her. “So we were left in a quandary. To have undermined the lifestyle in such a calculated way and to have instigated such a cruel act—such behavior cannot be permitted. So Cynthia received a choice.”

Mac could feel her hand trembling in his grasp; so could he, for he covered her fingers with his other hand.

“Either arrest and prosecution to the full extent of the law—or she could receive exactly what she had planned for you. Willingly.” His eyes rested on Cynthia for a moment, and Mac shivered at the merciless look in them.

He gave Mac a faint smile. “Cynthia has no idea that you wouldn't enjoy publicly shaming her in court and destroying the social standing that means so much to her. So she signed not only a confession but an agreement to make things right. She and Steel are here tonight so that you, as the injured party, as well as Alex, can bear witness.”

“ She could receive exactly what she had planned .” Mac didn't want to think about Steel's actions, but would he have stopped at whipping her? What would have been the inevitable conclusion of that scene?

“No,” Mac whispered. “No rape.” She tried to straighten up against the painful clenching in her stomach. “I don't want that for her. Not for anyone.”

“You know your sub well, don't you?” Drake nodded to Alex, a glint of amusement in his eyes. Lifting Mac's hand, he kissed her fingers. “You have a soft heart, chérie . It shall be as you wish.” His mouth thinned. “However, the whipping is nonnegotiable.”

His little sub was warm and soft in Alex's arms, content to be held as Drake walked over to Steel and spoke with him briefly. When Steel crossed the room and grabbed Cynthia by the hair, Mac's eyes went wide with distress.

Alex tightened his arms. “Shhh.”

Steel pulled Cynthia to her feet, and the brunette cringed when she realized who would dispense her punishment. “No!”

“'Fraid so, girl. Let's get this over with.” Steel marched her to where Drake held open the door to the small dungeon. After nodding at Steel, Drake closed the soundproofed door behind the two and walked over to join the other Doms.

“MacKensie,” Alex said quietly, “I didn't think you'd want to watch. But if you do—”

“No.” Mac shuddered and buried her head in his shoulder.

Satisfaction washed through him like a warm wave; she had learned to look to him for comfort. He stroked her fair hair, silky strands over satin skin. “Then there is nothing we need to do now.” But from the continued tenseness in her body, he realized she was listening, fearing to hear the whip or Cynthia. “The room is soundproofed, little cat. You can't hear anything.”

“Oh.”

But she'd listen anyway. Carrying her in his arms, he joined the group around the fireplace and took the empty chair across from Drake. Every sub had reacted in exactly the same way as his. On the couch, Peter held Hope in his arms, and Tess sat on the floor between Zachary's legs with his hands massaging her shoulders. The Doms all had the same grim look in their eyes, even Drake.

The punishment had to be done, but no one was pleased about it. And everyone was listening.

“Little cat,” Alex murmured. “Would you put on some music for me? Maybe Enya? I'm going to serve drinks.”