An attempted smile was her response. He watched as she took the final few steps to stand in front of him. Body rigid. Cuffed wrists at her sides, hands fisted. Visibly fighting not to flee. It wasn’t him she feared. “Kimberly.”

“M-master?”

He sighed, hearing the return of the stuttered word. “Does the Overseer carry weapons?”

A blink of confusion. “No. I don’t think he’d want anything a slave might grab and use against him.”

“Will he have his guards at the Shadowlands?”

“You said only him.”

“Then, chica, if for some reason you couldn’t disable him—and you might do fairly well now—do you, by any stretch of the imagination, think he could beat me in a fight?”

“I—” Her gaze moved over him as if comparing their sizes, Raoul perhaps a couple of inches shorter, but far more muscular. A few lines eased from her face. “No. He couldn’t, could he?”

“No, I think not. So…we must suffer his presence and be polite, but cariño, no matter what happens, he will leave by himself, and you will still be with me.” Raoul tapped a finger on her chin. “I promise.”

Her lower lip quivered. When she tried to smile, her courage broke his heart. “Thanks. Master.”

He nodded. “Good. Now let’s get this done.” He picked up the black leather collar from the counter. The moment of revulsion and a memory of Alicia disappeared as he looked into Kimberly’s clear blue eyes. The disconcerting desire to have her kneel, to request his collar, to kiss it, was so strong his hands shook slightly.

No, this was merely part of the costume. Not real, Sandoval.

Her big eyes fixed on his face as he buckled the leather around her throat. Z had even provided a tiny gold padlock. Damn him. It snicked shut, the heady sound of submission much louder in his head than in reality.

As he stepped back, he saw her hands trembling. Apparently the collaring affected her differently. “Ah, gatita.” He tapped her nose, the teasing gesture enough to break her paralysis. He pressed the key into her cold little hand. “Your apron has a pocket. Put this inside it.” He leaned forward and whispered, “But don’t let Dahmer see it.”

Her fingers closed, and she gave him a jerky nod, and then slowly, a real smile appeared, like the sun from behind the clouds.

Alas, the smile didn’t last long, and the night drive to the Shadowlands seemed to drag as she became increasingly tense. All he could do was hold her hand and remind her of his presence.

In the parking lot, the headlights of Raoul’s car illuminated Dahmer. He stood beside his own vehicle, which was probably equipped with all the jammers that had frustrated the FBI. But the Feds would lie low now until the auction.

With an effort, Raoul pulled his emotions under control. He had a role to play: master of the slave who he would call girl and nothing else, reminding them both of their places.

He got out, nodding at Kimberly to follow. As he took his toy bag from the trunk, he worked a smile onto his face before turning. “Dahmer. Good to see you.”

“Thank you.” The man wore casual dom clothing. Black khakis, black T-shirt. He glanced up at the mansion. “Great place.”

“It is.” And you taint it with your presence. “Let’s go on in.”

Raoul headed for the building, glancing back once to check Kimberly. She followed a step behind him, eyes lowered, lovely in her silence and obedience. He could see the tiny tremor as she breathed. Hang in there, sumisita.

“No restraints or gags for your slave?”

“No need. She won’t try to run.” He gave Dahmer a cruel smile. “Not anymore.”

“Ah, yes. I heard about your methods of control. I’m surprised she healed so quickly.”

What methods? Raoul shrugged, not wanting to know. “I feed her well.”

“That’s a fine costume—although I’m surprised she’s not naked.”

“Only at home, not in public.” Raoul walked beside Dahmer up to the front of the Shadowlands. “I keep my toys to myself. But when we’re alone, I prefer naked—for the view, the access, and if disciplining is needed, it can be administered without any great effort.”

The Overseer barked a laugh. “You’re definitely experienced.” He stopped and looked around at the dimly lit grounds. “I like the isolation here.”

“No neighbors to complain about screaming.” Raoul turned his palm toward the ground, and Kimberly sank to her knees. “Very pretty, girl.”

She glanced up long enough to meet his eyes, his approval and acknowledgement lending her stability.

“You compliment her?”

“Of course.” Raoul told the man the absolute truth. “The mark of a true slave is her desire to please her master. If I don’t tell her when she’s done well, then how does she know to repeat it? She works hard to earn a ‘very good.’”

“I never thought of it that way. Then again, most buyers are into pain. They don’t care to train a slave for more than sex and screaming.”

“That’s a shame.”

With her legs feeling as spongy as a jellyfish, Kim was grateful Master R had ordered her to kneel. She felt safer with his legs shielding her. She stayed rigidly in position, taking slow breaths, trying to conquer the nausea and panic from seeing the Overseer, from hearing his horrible voice.

God, she’d known she’d be scared. But she hadn’t realized how her physical reactions— hands and legs shaking, cold sweat despite the muggy air—would somehow make her internal fear worse.

She sure hadn’t expected the anger that beat like a red-hot hammer against her chest. She stared at a white jagged-edged rock, the focus of a landscaped garden plot. Her fingers curled as she saw herself picking it up, slamming it down on the monster’s head. She tried to imagine how it would feel, the way he’d fall forward, the sound he’d make…

But then Master R would be furious she’d ruined everything, and—she sighed. He wouldn’t be furious, Kim. He’d be disappointed in her, and the thought of seeing unhappiness in his eyes calmed the storm inside her. Eventually the Overseer would get his due, but first they needed to save the others. Suck it up, wuss.

I want to go home . She pushed the longing away and concentrated on breathing. The smooth concrete was warm against her legs and Master R’s dark voice a calming touch on her fears. She kept her gaze down but her head angled so she’d see if he motioned for her to do something.

His tiny gesture had her standing before she even thought about it, and she realized the FBI agent had been correct. Anyone watching would notice how attuned she was to Master R. The time she’d lived with him, being corrected, learning to watch for the unobtrusive movements he used to direct her—none of it had been wasted.

As they took the last few steps to the Shadowlands, she chanced a reprimand and glanced around quickly, remembering the other submissives’ intriguing stories.

The lights from the landscaping smoldered against the thick stone walls. The black ironwork on the doors and the heavy wall sconces didn’t help lighten the effect.

Neither did the huge security guard inside the door, whose brutish features would be more suited to a medieval torturer. He glanced at her, then the Overseer. “Good evening, sir,” he said, his voice a match for his size. “Are you lost?”

Master R moved into the room from behind them. “Not lost, Ben. These are my guests for tonight. I cleared it with Z.”

“Master Raoul.” The man’s pleased smile turned him from terrifying to something entirely different, like a dog so ugly and sweet it was cute. “It’s been a while since you were here.”

Master R ran a finger along Kim’s collar, brushing her skin. “I had someone keeping me at home.”

“’Bout time.” The pleased look she got from Ben made her smile, before she remembered her place. She dropped her gaze.

“Dahmer isn’t participating, but Z wants them both to sign the papers.” He glanced at the Overseer. “As a guest, you’re not required to show ID, but you’re not allowed to play either.”

“Very cautious,” Dahmer said. He glanced through the papers Ben handed him and signed with a scribble. Kim followed suit. The releases were much like other clubs’, although more thorough, especially in the list of infractions and various punishments.

She looked up to see Ben studying her. “Great costume—and you may keep your shoes on too.”

Master R told the Overseer, “The owner likes submissives barefoot or in blatant fuck-me stilettos.”

No club she’d been to had been quite so strict. Then again, she’d never been in an exclusive club like this one.

They stepped through the inside door and into chaos. Kim froze at the sounds of pain and screaming and the slaps of implements on bare flesh. Perfumes had no chance against the scents of leather and sweat and sex.

A little ways into the room, a woman with her arms restrained over her head was being penetrated by two men. Kim swallowed. Oh God, obviously fucking was allowed in the club. The atmosphere thickened, affecting her air supply.

Master R wrapped his arm around her waist. “Relax, gatita,” he murmured in her ear. “The last dom who tried to force a submissive against her will was tossed out the door. I think someone busted his fingers with a cane before that—probably Z or Nolan. Everything here is consensual. Do you understand?”