“Yes. Thank you, Master Sam.” The submissive kissed his hand. “That was wonderful. I feel all…open…again.”

As she nibbled the chocolate, the dom wiped down the play area and packed away his tools.

Kim concentrated on him, trying to ignore the Overseer’s discussion of the scene. Trying to ignore that it would soon be her turn to be watched. And Master R had never told her what he planned.

“All done?” Sam asked the submissive. He helped her to her feet, ran his hand over her abused back, and grinned at her flinch. “Off you go then.”

She kissed his hand again and walked away, only a slight wobble in her gait.

“Will she be all right?” Master R asked, the concern obvious in his voice. Kim wanted to hug him. If he could, Master R would probably take care of the whole world.

Sam looked at the pale man sitting next to his Raoul. Like a vampire, the asshole Overseer apparently didn’t get out in the sun much. “She’ll be fine. She likes to unwind in the sub’s area, listening to the women chatter.” He grinned. “She’s a gay switch, so she’ll probably end up taking one of them upstairs.”

He spotted one of the Shadowlands trainees and held up a finger. The brunette nodded and reversed course to get him a drink from the bar.

Grabbing a towel from his toy bag, Sam wiped the sweat from his face and neck and dropped into a chair across from Raoul’s guest.

“Sam, this is Dahmer,” Raoul said.

The man leaned forward to shake hands and said, “You’re quite skilled. That was a pleasure to watch.”

Sam shrugged. “It was okay.” He’d deliberately picked a real screamer. Although some tops preferred their subs to control themselves, his bottoms knew he enjoyed the sounds of pain. This time, he’d drawn as much noise as he could get out of her. “But the slut went into subspace too quickly. And if she doesn’t, she’ll safe-word out.” He snorted. “They all do.”

The Overseer nodded, as if he now understood why Sam might want a slave. “There are ways around the problem, you know.”

“So I’m hearing.” Sam glanced at his friend’s little slave and caught a flicker of blue eyes before she looked back down. Brave woman, and pretty as hell in the French maid costume. “But I’m not interested in one like Sandoval’s. I don’t need someone to cook or clean, and with what I like to do to them, I wouldn’t trust one wandering around.”

“Actually, the majority of our…clients…have the same idea. Although Raoul’s results with his slave are quite impressive, we have many satisfied sadists on our buyer list, and they tend to keep their toys locked up. Closet or spare rooms work if the windows and doors are remodeled.” The man smiled and added, “Or even dog cages.”

When the girl visibly flinched at the Overseer’s words, Raoul put his hand on her head, and Sam noted a disturbing look in his eyes. The dom was too tenderhearted for his own good. Be hell of a thing if he got attached to an ex-slave. Don’t be an idiot, man. No kidnapped slave is going to want a master afterward.

“Dahmer.” Hoping to pull the asshole’s attention from Raoul, Sam leaned back in his chair and said, “I’m rather interested. What’s involved?”

The Overseer’s smug expression would turn a man’s stomach. “First—”

“Excuse me,” Raoul interrupted. “I’ll leave you two alone now. I reserved the office room for my scene and should get set up.” He rose, picked up his toy bag, and tugged at the leash for his slave to follow.

The Overseer nodded. “I’ll be along shortly to watch.”

The girl cringed. When she bravely squared her shoulders and followed Raoul, Sam had to stomp on the urge to backhand Dahmer onto the ground.

The Overseer watched them walk away and commented, “She was a pleasure to fuck. Never stopped fighting, and I do enjoy a battle. The cage is what finally broke her to heel, no matter what your friend thinks.”

“He’s a fine trainer, but not particularly into pain…unlike me.”

“So I understand.” The Overseer went silent as Sally delivered Sam’s drink.

“Thank you, girl,” Sam said, smiling as the trainee trotted away. Her short skirt bounced over her round ass with every step.

“We almost picked that one up”—the Overseer nodded toward Sally—“but she left town that week. May still get her later, but she’s not suitable for this auction. Did I mention this one is for sadists? All the slaves offered will be masochists.”

“Sounds perfect.” Sam kept his voice level, although the thought of the bastards getting their hands on Sally was like hearing about a puppy being kicked to death. “I enjoy taking a masochist to her limits…and further.”

Dahmer leaned forward and started outlining how the procedure worked.

Sam listened, his face calm, even as anger burned in his gut. When Raoul had asked for help, Sam had agreed simply because the idea of slavery offended him. Now, after meeting Dahmer, his interest had turned purely personal. He wanted to put the guy away for years. Better yet, he’d take a bullwhip to the asshole and leave only a pile of shredded flesh.

Kim obediently followed Master R across the room, and the tiny tugs on her leash were a lifeline in a sea of fear. Yet the choppy waves quieted as the distance from the Overseer increased. She glanced back. People had obscured the sight of him.

If only his existence could be obscured as well. She sighed.

Somehow Master R heard her above the music, conversations, and sounds from the scenes. After setting his bag down, he tilted her face up and studied her for a minute, then unclipped her wrist cuffs. As he wrapped his arms around her, his faded leather vest was soft under her cheek, his body solid. Strong. He rested his chin on top of her head. “You did well, cariño. I’m proud of you.”

Oh, the way her heart leaped at those simple words was worrisome. Very. Once this was over, she’d go back to her own life—yet how much would she be missing this man, this master who held her emotions in his grasp as easily as her body. I don’t care. Think about it later.

Right now, she needed all her worry efforts for the scene. A real scene. In the last few days, he’d played with her in his dungeon, just a little, letting her get used to his style, to the feeling of helplessness, and to the sounds and scents again. Her panic attacks had eased off, so he could restrain her—usually—without her screaming and losing it. But he hadn’t told her about this scene. “What are you planning, Master?”

“So nervous.” The sound of his voice was sexy and low with her ear against his chest. He didn’t seem worried at all, and his sheer self-confidence was something else she leaned on. “We’re doing a fireplay scene, gatita.”

She stiffened. No way. Absolutely not. She realized with a sinking feeling that she hadn’t added fire to her limit list as something to avoid. And she didn’t really have a hang-up about it, just the normal dislike of getting Set. On. Fire. Drown the man.

He picked up his bag and started walking again, this time with his arm around her, which was good since her balance had gone somewhere. Probably back to Savannah. I need to go there too. Anywhere but here.

“It’s what Dahmer wanted.” He touched the end of her nose with his forefinger. “The good news is I won’t restrain you.”

“No restraints? Really?” A horrible fear tumbled off her chest. The thought of being helpless anywhere around the Overseer had…had been awful.

“Yes. Since this is the only scene we’ll do in public”—he smiled at her—“you might as well have one you will enjoy.”

Enjoy? “Um. Master. No restraints—that’s good, but I’m not so sure about having you set me on fire.”

He laughed. Hearing the rich sound was like being in an outside elevator, rising out of the building into the light. “I don’t intend to scorch you, Kimberly.” He continued walking toward the far end, exchanging greetings with the club members. Was there anyone who didn’t know and like him?

Near the end of the room, Kim saw Master Z. His dark gaze met hers, and he smiled slightly, lifting his chin as if giving her courage.

He had. She took a breath and followed Master R down a hallway. Large glass windows on each side let people observe scenes in the various rooms. He pulled a reserved sign off a door on the left and walked in.

The room pretended to be an office with a six-feet-high filing cabinet on the near wall, a large oak desk in the center, and a couch and coffee table on the far side.

“Remove everything, including your cuffs, and kneel beside the desk, please,” Master R said. He waited, eyes on her, overcoming her hesitation with his certainty she’d obey.

Her hands had gone numb, her mouth dry, but she did as he ordered, folding her apron and dress, removing her stockings, and setting them on the coffee table. She knelt on the glossy hardwood floor in his preferred position, hands behind her back, knees parted. She lowered her head reluctantly.

“You may watch, gatita,” he said quietly.

He pulled a sturdy square table from the corner to beside the desk. Supplies came from the filing cabinet drawers. A wooden skewer with a ball of gauze wrapped around one end came from his bag. Three more followed. He poured a clear liquid into a high-sided metal bowl. A fat candle went into another heavy metal dish.