Cherise Sinclair - If only

She waited until her voice would emerge without quavering. “I understand. Lesson learned. I’m sorry, Sir, and I won’t do that again.”

“Good to know.” Vance had seemed the more even-tempered of the two, but boy, he changed when he was pissed off. His square chin looked like a chunk of granite. He still didn’t move.

Instead Galen came to stand in front of her. Although the sympathy he’d shown her before was gone, he wasn’t furious like Vance. He looked as if nothing would upset his confidence. His black hair in a conservative business cut wasn’t mussed. No wrinkles showed in his black shirt or slacks. Totally in charge.

The assholes. She never had any trouble with scenes until the Feds showed up. They made her feel stupid. As if she didn’t have any say over what was going on. Which seemed strange, because she wanted to give up control, but not to them. The other Masters, yes, but not to these two.

Two. Maybe she could deal with one—although she’d begun to wonder about that—but both of them? She closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind.

Gregorian chants drifted in from the main club room. Sweat was cooling on her body, and a trickle ran down the hollow of her back. Vance stood close enough she caught whiffs of his aftershave. Old Spice maybe. The one that smelled like the outdoors with sex added. He shouldn’t smell so good; one more strike against him.

Against them both. Galen wore something rich. Amber and sandalwood. Damn them.

Okay. She pulled in a breath. “I apologized to Casey and you. I did as you asked for my punishment.” Her voice came out level and reasonable. She couldn’t help the way her teeth clenched before and after.

“You aren’t a new trainee, pet,” Galen said. “Surely you’ve learned honesty is integral to a BDSM scene.”

“Yes. I know. And I messed up.”

He pinned her with those dark eyes again. “I’d like to hear why you weren’t honest.”

The two of them kept backing her into a corner, and she scrambled for a way to escape. One came to mind: fight back. “You’re not my Dom. Neither of you. I didn’t negotiate with you for a scene, and I wouldn’t have volunteered to do this.”

Vance narrowed his eyes. “You feel you didn’t earn it?”

“I did, but the punishment is over now. And I don’t know you. Or trust you enough to want to talk to you.” That was a hit. As new Masters, they probably wouldn’t push a trainee—and they were digging deeper than the others ever had. “I have some say in who I want to work with.” Kind of. Unless Master Z stepped in.

“Sally—”

She jumped off the table. “Thanks for the lesson. Sirs.”

In his New York condo office, Drew Somerfeld frowned at the e-mail from one of his managers. What the hell? Two of the women chosen for his Harvest Association summer auction had disappeared before they could be abducted.

Suddenly. Without any advance notice to their family or employers.

Could they have been warned?

He uncurled his fingers and forced them flat on the black desktop as he considered possible reasons. Complications. What his next step should be…

Perhaps one of the contract agents had talked or been compromised. The overseers occasionally hired less than ideal individuals, after all. Kidnappers weren’t exactly at the top of the character charts.

He’d have to play a wait-and-see game for now. Meantime, he’d put in an order with a different manager. He not only needed more women for the auction, but Ellis had used up his slave when he’d slaughtered that cop. His twin needed to be rewarded for his excellent work—and his favorite bonus was a new slut to play with.

A shame Ellis went through them so fast.

Sally parked at the side gate of the Shadowlands, turned off the car, and wearily leaned her head back against the seat. Maybe she shouldn’t have agreed to meet Jessica and a couple others for the afternoon. She was seriously short on sleep.

Why the punishment demonstration would give her nightmares all week, she didn’t know. Or perhaps the cause was the poor police officer that the Harvest Association had killed? She’d been unable to keep from watching the funerals for him, his wife, and her mother. At least he hadn’t left little children behind—but his boy and girl were about Sally’s age.

Damn the Association. According to their e-mails, they were still planning an auction. She’d sent a warning to the New York police about another woman targeted for kidnapping. Hopefully the cops weren’t blowing off her information.

This Robin Hood business wasn’t for the faint of heart.

Since she’d be working as a trainee tonight, she picked up her diet soda and finished off the last few sips. Come on, caffeine.

Her cell phone rang, startling her. After a glance at the display, she accepted the call. “Hi, Father.”

So stiff a word. Father. Back before she was ten, she’d called him Dad. But then her mom died and the world changed. Darkened.

She shook her head at the maudlin thought. Gonna get all self-pitying now? But…it was true. That year, the sky over the cornfields had seemed to turn from an Iowa royal blue to a cold gray.

“Sally.” Her father’s voice was as frozen as usual. “I received the message about your graduation. I will attend the ceremony.”

Very dutiful. God, but it hurt to know he only came because his absence would look bad to the people in their small Iowa town. They’d undoubtedly told him: Take lots of pictures at her graduation.

Everyone else in the town liked her. Just not her father. Because she wasn’t supposed to have been born. Because it was her fault Mom died. Sally closed her eyes and pulled in a slow breath. “Would you like directions to—”

“No need. I can find my way to the ceremony.”

They weren’t alike at all; she could lose herself walking around the block. Thank God for GPS and smartphones.

“Then I’ll see you there.” She ended the call. With a gentle hand, she opened her car door and slid out. The Confederate jasmine covering the fence was in bloom, the white flowers scenting the air with sweetness, dispelling the bitterness of the conversation.

Inside the gate, in Master Z’s private backyard, she hesitated. No one was on the veranda behind the mansion. Would the others be on the third story where Z and Jessica lived or…

Laughter came from the other direction. Back somewhere in the extensive gardens. Sally turned and followed the sound.

Under a huge umbrella, three women—all Shadowlands submissives—sat around a patio table. Jessica, blonde, short, and curvy. Kim, black-haired and slender with a day collar around her neck. Linda, probably in her forties, fair-skinned, with red hair. A slight silvering showed at her temples.

“There she is!” Jessica held up a glass. “Finally!”

“Sorry about being late.”

“Girl, you look overheated and tired.” Jessica pointed to the pool. “Jump in before you join us.”

Jessica knew her too well. Veering toward the pool, Sally shed shirt and shorts, leaving on her bra and thong. She dived in. Clear and cool—not the bathtub temperature it would reach later in the summer. Just right. The whoop she gave as she surfaced shattered the unhappiness that lingered every time she talked to her father. Put him out of your mind, girl. She swam a couple of laps to wash away all the nightmares and sadness and anger.

Maybe after she graduated and got a good job, she could afford a place with a pool. A small one would be okay. After climbing out, she squeezed the water from her hair and left it to hang in tangles down her back.

A glass pitcher, beaded with moisture, sat on the table. She eyed the contents warily. Jessica often got pretty creative with beverages. “What are we drinking?”

Jessica poured and handed the drink over. “This, my child, is a screaming orgasm. And Z says to be sure to sober up before the Shadowlands opens. I heard him leave a message for Ben to not let us in if—how did he put it?—‘if he doubts our sobriety.’”

“Only Master Z could say that with a straight face.” Too thirsty to sip, Sally drank about half before slowing and savoring the flavors. Yum. “I’m tasting Kahlúa and amaretto and…?”

“Baileys and vodka. Be warned—the drink packs a kick,” Linda said.

“A kick is good.” Sally dropped into a chair and considered the older woman.

Linda’s creamy sundress was the perfect backdrop for her thick, shoulder-length hair. Her toenails were painted a sparkling raspberry color that seemed to match the glow of happiness about her.

“I think living with Sam agrees with you, although I’m not sure how. Sadists are just plain scary.” Sally shook her head.

“I like his brand of scary.” Linda gave the others a slow smile. “Besides, I always wanted a cowboy, even if my rancher considers himself a farmer.”

“Ugh. I grew up on a farm.” Sally leaned forward and refilled her drink. “Cornfields and beans and pigs.”

Kim toasted her. “And now you’re a city girl getting a master’s.”

“In what?” Linda asked.

The alcohol buzz had hit already—maybe because she hadn’t had any lunch. Stupid, but she’d relish the feeling for a few minutes before digging into one of the deli sandwiches piled on a platter. “Computers. Digital forensics, actually. Does that sound sexy or what?”

“What—like crime stuff?” Linda tilted her head.

“Kinda. Like if someone’s dead, I do an autopsy on his hard drive instead of his body. So much more sanitary, right?” But she could still do good. Be a hero, even if a nerdy one.