Her shriek of outrage made the windows rattle. He and Sam had enjoyed a conversation once about heartwarming screams. This one ranked near the top, he had to say. He leaned more weight on her ass to keep her from kicking herself off the counter.

To top off the lesson, he reddened her cheeks with a few more whaps of the wooden spoon, concentrating on the sweet crease between upper thigh and curve of the ass, judging carefully the effect. He wanted it to sting—didn’t really want her crying. But every time she kicked, he added an extra-vigorous smack. She figured that out within three strikes. Clever girl.

After he stopped, he ran his fingers between her legs. Nice and slick. She liked being spanked. Liked being under control. Some of her pushing was undoubtedly her way of getting more of that. He had a feeling some of it was sheer testing, her way of questioning if they’d still like her if she acted out. And perhaps if they’d manage the art of keeping control without making her feel insecure or unworthy. He stroked over her round ass, feeling her quiver under his touch.

There was nothing unworthy about this imp, but she wouldn’t believe the words. Just time and consistency.

So, to be consistent, should he have her finish the blowjob? No. He grinned. He didn’t want his pride and joys anywhere near a vengeful little mouth. It would be challenging to piss with a one-inch stub of a dick.

Instead he lifted her off the counter, set her on her feet, and pointed to the floor.

She dropped to her knees, expression fairly subdued. “I’m sorry, Master Galen,” she whispered. “I won’t do that again.”

“Probably a wise decision,” he said gravely. “We have the mold for making ice dildos, and from your response to a tiny cube, I think you wouldn’t enjoy a larger one.”

She actually cringed, and he had to cover his laugh with a faked cough.

“I’ll be good, Sir,” she promised.

Oh, he really doubted that. He pulled her to her feet and gave her a hug and a long, lingering kiss. Her stiff little body soon melted, undoubtedly like the ice in her hot cunt, and she softened against him. “I like you, Sally,” he murmured into her hair. “You’re a natural imp, and I like that part of you. We don’t want to change you—just keep you within a few bounds.”

Her head moved up and down on his shoulder.

He kissed the top of her head. “However, I was raised in Maine. Cold is not my friend.”

When she giggled into his shoulder, he grinned. Yeah, this one was special.

* * * *

Drew slammed the door of the rental jeep as he stalked to his brother’s cabin. Fucking Feds. Fucking cops.

He probably should shut everything down, but letting the assholes win made him want to kill something. Someone. More someones. And he didn’t want to lose a business that pulled in millions of dollars.

Nonetheless, he wasn’t stupid. Right after the first woman he’d sold, he’d set up backup plans in case things started going sour. Today, he’d sent off the e-mails to his handful of managers to put the entire business on hold. Hopefully that would be enough to throw the Feds off the scent.

His thin lips tightened. He’d taken precautions while setting up the network. Compartmentalization was the key. The lower levels were contracted hirelings; each knew the one overseer who hired him. The managers knew only the overseers in their area. In turn, Somerfeld contacted only the handful of managers and only through e-mails.

But he hoped to keep the nucleus of the organization intact and ready to rebound once the FBI turned their attention elsewhere. He’d also given the managers a big bonus as an incentive to remain quiet. That was the carrot. The stick was the knowledge of how the Harvest Association dealt with informants.

He grinned. Who would have thought his pyromaniac brother would prove so useful?

HEARING THE CAR door slam, Ellis snapped the chain on the slave. Drew must be here. Maybe he’d have some work in mind. Ellis grinned and rubbed his thickening cock. He really enjoyed meting out vengeance for his brother. So much that he would leave behind a battery-operated wireless video camera in the room so he could record their pleading, the crying, and the screams as their skin started to crisp. A shame the cameras usually died about the same time.

But he’d accumulated a good set of recordings. In fact, he’d viewed one last night. Oh yeah, indeedy yeah.

He stepped into the doorway, breathing in the tang of the forest, the silence. His twin’s face was tight, brows pulled together. “Is something wrong?”

“The Feds haven’t stopped. I shut down the network.” Drew shoved past him to enter the cabin.

Ellis scowled. That meant no nice fires in his future. “That sucks.” He leaned against the door, watching Drew unbuckle his pants. “What are you doing?”

“Got rid of my slave. Just in case.”

“And you didn’t call me to kill her?” Anger welled up in him.

“You only want to burn them, and I didn’t have time for that. She’s at the bottom of the ocean instead. And I’m without a fuck toy.” Drew nodded to where Slut knelt with her forehead pressed to the ground, ass in the air. “I came to use yours.”

“Whatever.”

“Thanks. And don’t break this one for a while. You’ll get no new ones until I start the network back up.”

All bad news. He wanted a fire, to sweat at its nearness, hear the roar as it caught and grew, watch the victim’s eyes widen. The struggle. The itch was under his skin, pulling at him.

Chapter Eleven

“Hey guys.” Sally walked into their home office, her clothing soaked from the rain, her backpack dripping, her feet dragging. Sometimes the world just sucked. And this had been one of those days.

“You’re running late,” Vance said without looking up from the paper on which he was making notes. The classic heavy metal of Deep Purple played in the background, showing he’d lost the toss for music selection to Galen.

“It’s almost seven.” Galen turned from his computer, saw her, and narrowed his eyes. “What’s wrong, imp?”

Vance spun his chair around.

She looked at them, one on each side of the room. Unsmiling, lines cut into their faces. They looked as grim as she felt. “Just a bad day.” She dropped her backpack on the floor and wrapped her arms around herself. Could she really smell death on her clothes, or was it her imagination? “I don’t think I like reality.”

“C’mere.” Vance opened his arms, and she walked into them. He tucked her down on his lap, cradling her to his big chest. Over the past few weeks, she’d come to realize he gave excellent hugs, engulfing her in the wonderful feeling of being cared for. She pressed closer and rubbed her cheek on his soft T-shirt. His clean scent erased the horrible stench from her mind…at least for a moment.

“What happened?” Galen leaned forward with his forearms on his knees, his attention completely on her. The way he so readily put aside his work to focus on her was a little disconcerting. He made her feel…special. “Sally?”

“Nothing that bad.” She sighed. “I just don’t like dead bodies. Or violence.”

Galen’s smile held sympathy. “I’ve heard police stations tend to have a bit of those.”

“So it seems.” But she had her heart set on law-enforcement support. “Maybe Illinois will be quieter. I got an interview request from a sheriff outside Chicago.”

Galen’s mouth tightened at her reply.

“So how’s your case against the Harvest Association going?” she asked, hoping to take his frown away.

Vance tilted her so he could see her face. “How do you know about that?” He glanced at the papers on his desk. “You can’t look through—”

“Oh please. I have never, ever touched your desks.” Or even hacked into their computers, which she thought entitled her to a halo, for sure. “You do realize the Shadowlands submissives always learn what’s going on. Which means the trainees eventually know.”

Vance’s smile turned rueful. “Should have known. Sorry, sweetheart, I wasn’t thinking. You’re not the kind of person to sneak.”

Oh, that hurt. Under the guise of being insulted, she pushed to her feet. God help her if they found out she’d snapped pictures of documents on Dan’s desk. But that had been different, after all. Her name had been on those papers. “So, can you tell me anything?”

“Although this isn’t classified, you may not discuss it with anyone.” Galen gave her a stern look.

“No problem.”

“We’re in a foul mood because the activity in the Northeast territory has halted. Accounts we were monitoring have been closed.”

“They stopped?” she asked. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Vance took her hands. “We wanted to arrest the ringleaders, not have them go to ground like hunted foxes. The chances of finding them went down; the search will take longer.”

“Oh.” The bastard who killed that nice cop wouldn’t pay for it? And he’d start running auctions again. Anger flared inside her. “That would make anyone mad.” She twisted and squeezed Vance around the waist, wanting to give some comfort back. The way his arms tightened around her said he’d needed a hug.