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  Galen and Vance hadn’t been there that night. They’d had to deal with some problem in the northeast. But Linda had mentioned that the two men felt responsible as well. What a horrible, horrible feeling. How could they stand making those kinds of decisions?

  She stared at her drink, recalling the harsh lines in Galen’s face. He seemed so driven sometimes. At least Vance watched out for him. Funny that they were so close. She smiled slightly. She’d asked the other subs if the guys were gay. They weren’t—they just liked to share a woman.

  As Sally remembered the previous weekend, a slow slide of desire vanquished the last of the cold. They sure did a good job of sharing—and dominating—together. She’d never, never felt so totally at a loss, knowing she couldn’t…manipulate was a bit extreme…couldn’t influence the Dom’s decisions. But they hadn’t given an inch.

  And the way they’d watched her and touched her. Gentle and edging on cruel.

  As her core throbbed at the memories, she squirmed in her seat. Wasn’t it odd how she was just dying for them to play with her again and yet…uncomfortable…at the thought.

  But even beyond that, how awkward that the Feebies were in the Shadowlands at all. If they ever found out she’d hacked into the bad guys’ e-mail systems, they wouldn’t be happy.

  Unhappy Doms weren’t good for a submissive’s health, especially since Galen looked as if he had a bit of sadist in him. She sighed. Really, it would be smart to keep her distance from them.

  The decision was a relief, and then a letdown. Hart, you’re schizoid.

  Well, she didn’t have a choice in who joined the Shadowlands, after all, so she’d better be careful.

  She shrugged and drank her coffee. On her laptop, the display flickered to the screen saver and the flash of light sabers as Obi-Wan fought Darth. She grinned. Guess she’d never be a Luke Skywalker-type hero; she was more like R2-D2.

  But she was an amazing droid. She’d been hacking into computers since she was a teenager, and no one had caught her yet. Darned if she let any more women be kidnapped if she could prevent it. Besides, this was good practice for her forensic computer specialist career…kind of. Aside from being really, really illegal.

  Of course, that just meant she was playing a digital Robin Hood. Stealing info from the rich slave traffickers and giving it to the poor cops. Didn’t that sound nice?

  Remotivated, Sally clicked the keyboard and continued reading through the e-mails. Mostly junk until she ran into warning e-mails sent from an overseer to someone the next level up. A manager. The e-mails said a cop, Lieutenant Tillman who was working with the FBI, had ordered surveillance on a Harvest Association private investigator.

  And…Sally caught her breath. The manager had replied. Awesomesauce! She had her first hit on someone in the upper ranks.

  She slowly read the rest of the e-mail and frowned. Quite the sarcastic douche bag, wasn’t he? The e-mail concluded with Sarcastic Douche Bag telling the overseer to watch the news that night. Why would the douche bag expect something to be on the news? Sally lifted her hands from the keyboard, dread setting up residence in the pit of her belly. She couldn’t do anything about whatever had happened though; the e-mails were from last week.

  Biting her lip, she did a search for the name Lieutenant Tillman. Articles filled the screen. Her hands trembled. After a sip of suddenly tasteless coffee, she carefully set the drink back on the table. The news reports led to images and videos: the cop’s house, gutted by fire, black and smoking, covered stretchers carried out to the ambulances, and neighbors weeping as they watched.

  Tillman, his wife, and her mother had been chained and left to burn. Oh God.

  “Are you okay, miss?” A man’s voice broke through Sally’s fugue.

  She looked up.

  Rich brown hair, green eyes. Jake from the Shadowlands. Staying as discreet as the club rules required, he didn’t let on he recognized her. He simply acted like any guy checking on an upset woman.

  From the buzzing in her ears and nausea, she probably looked about ready to puke. “I’m okay. Just some bad news.” She pulled in a slow, calming breath and then gave him a nonchalant nod. You can leave now.

  He didn’t move. Doms. They displayed that overprotectiveness 24-7. He studied her for a second longer. “Maybe I should take you home. Do you live around here?”

  “Uh, no. I’m on my way somewhere and stopped to get coffee.” Kind of. She’d decided to never send Harvest Association e-mails from her home, so on her way back from Orlando, she’d pulled off I-4 near Plant City to do her checking. Sure, she could bounce her IP address around, but using the free Wi-Fi in a store added a bit of extra safety. “No need to worry.”

  His eyes narrowed. He was a newly titled Shadowlands “Master” and slightly younger than the rest, but he sure had the same instincts. To her relief, he didn’t push. “I’m across the room with friends. You call me if you feel worse, and I’ll take you home.”

  “I will. Honestly, I really am fine.” She would be. Maybe. “But thank you.”

  As Jake walked away, she sighed. Galen and Vance had been like that—all concerned about her. Not all Doms were. With Frank, she’d thought his dominant behavior meant he’d be as protective and caring as the Shadowlands Masters. Boy had she been wrong.

  Just as well she’d sworn off wanting a Dom of her own. Much safer to stick to lightweight scenes at the club.

  Safer. The word sent her gaze to the laptop, to someone whose world would never be safe. With a keystroke, she brought up the reports about the fire. Even as a quiver of fear ran through her, she straightened her shoulders. You just look out—I’m on your trail, you bastards.

  Chapter Three

  “Hey, Ben.” Along with Vance, Galen walked into the entry of the Shadowlands. “How’s it going?”

  The oversize security guard lifted his chin in greeting. “Going good. You two are running late.”

  “You suppose there are any interesting submissives left in there?” Vance asked.

  “For you two? You bet.” Ben grinned. “Hey, you ever hear Nolan grumble about how much work is it to say ‘Shadowlands submissives’?”

  “Christ, Nolan bitches about any sentence over two words long,” Galen said.

  “Yeah, well, Cullen started calling the submissives ‘Shadowkittens.’ Says even Nolan can spit that out.”

  “Shadowkittens?” Galen exchanged an amused glance with Vance. The term certainly fit one little sassy sub.

  “I like it,” Vance said.

  “Let’s see if we can catch one, eh?” Galen lifted a hand to Ben and opened the door. His ears were assaulted by dungeon music and the enticing sound of impact toys hitting flesh. The room held the distinctive sex and pain scents of a BDSM club with the added fragrance of leather. Z had a preference for expensive equipment. The ambiance of the Shadowlands washed over Galen, pushing him into a different zone. No longer an FBI agent, but a Dom.

  Near the front of the room, he spotted Nolan. His submissive—and wife—stood quietly in front of him as he tied her in an intricate rope bondage. The dark blue rope was a marked contrast to her fair skin. Her eyes were closed, an expression of peace on her face. Galen shook his head. Although many submissives said rope restraints could be as comforting as being wrapped in a toasty snug blanket, he didn’t have the patience for long, involved bondage sessions.

  Z was sitting on a bar stool. Galen and Vance joined him.

  Z’s wife, Jessica, was perched on the bar top. The submissive’s wrist cuffs were clipped to a leather waist belt, keeping her arms at her sides. The low neckline of her knit dress had been pulled down far enough to expose her full breasts. Brows together. Eyes filled with fire. Spitting mad.

  Galen felt grateful she was gagged.

  Out of kicking range, Z sipped his drink. “I expected you two earlier. Problems?”

  “The good kind of problem, but time-consuming,” Galen said. He rested his hip on a bar stool and lowered his voice. “A New York p
olice station got an anonymous e-mail tip with the name of a young woman targeted to be kidnapped.”

  “Interesting. Why not the FBI offices?” Z asked.

  Vance scowled. “The cop who’d been working the case died in an arson fire earlier this week. The e-mail was addressed to ‘Tillman’s Captain.’ And the sender went to considerable trouble to ensure he wouldn’t be traced.”

  “Do you believe the informant is someone on the inside?” Z set his glass on the bar.

  “Probably. The information seems accurate—the named woman fits their target parameters.” Galen rubbed his chin. “A New York special agent will see if she wants to help. Even if not, we might be able to discover if anyone has done a background check on her.” Every cog in the wheel called the Harvest Association would yield up more information. Galen was determined to get all the way to the top of the organization. And bring the bastards down.

  “Good.” Z eyed the agents. “But while you’re here, let go of the police work. Whatever submissive you play with deserves your complete attention. And you both need the break.”

  Vance snorted. “I bet they call you Mama around here, don’t they?”

  “Not within my hearing.” Z rose and pulled his wife off the bar. “Perhaps you can speak in a polite tone now, kitten?”

  When she glared at him, he chuckled and fondled her breasts. The color in her cheeks heightened in a charming mixture of embarrassment, fury, and arousal.

  A loud laugh drew Galen’s attention.

  “’Tis our favorite Feds.” Behind the bar, Cullen grinned. “What’ll it be, gents? You playing or drinking?”

  “Play first,” Galen said. “Hopefully with a little brunette.”

  “Sally anywhere around?” Vance asked.

  “She was negotiating a scene with Casey,” Cullen said. “You might check the dungeon room.”

  Well, hell. He’d looked forward to taking her another step further this evening. “She’s obviously not jumping at the chance to play with us. You owe me fifty bucks,” he said to Vance.

  “Fuck. You’ve got the soul of a loan shark.” Vance rubbed his face. “Might as well go watch.”

  “Ayuh.” When Galen turned, he saw Jessica on her knees, delivering a sincere-looking apology to Z. Very nice.

  Vance grinned. “Aren’t spitfires cute?”

  As Galen led the way to the back and down the theme room hallway, he saw a Dom and short Uzuri cleaning the medical room. On the other side, violet-wand play cast intriguing lights and shadows in the darkened office theme room. The dungeon was the last room on the right.

  Vance stepped in beside him and leaned against the wall. After a few minutes, he murmured, “Well, damn.”

  Exactly so. Sally had her arms restrained above her head from the rafter chains, legs open. In between flogging sets, the Dom was finger fucking her. His face held the dark red of arousal, and a hard-on bulged the front of his jeans.

  Sally didn’t look excited. At all. Even worse, the flogging appeared to be hurting her. Over the last few months, Galen had observed that the girl wasn’t a masochist. She needed an erotic component to enjoy pain. And right now, the arousal wasn’t there.

  He saw her open her mouth, undoubtedly for one of her unsublike orders, but she said nothing. Weariness tugged at her features, then disappeared.

  The Dom was jamming his fingers into her cunt and rubbing frantically at her clit. Her movements—that he undoubtedly took to be of arousal—looked more like discomfort to Galen.

  “As Masters are we allowed to intervene in that debacle?” Vance asked in a low voice.

  “I prefer you leave that to me unless there’s some urgency.” The owner of the Shadowlands stood in the door, his face tight. “But it does need to be—”

  The moaning scream cut off his words as Sally had a noisy, obviously quite satisfying orgasm.

  A very, very fake orgasm. From the way the Dom puffed up, he’d been taken in completely.

  Z growled under his breath. “That I didn’t need to see.”

  “You plan to let her get away with that bullshit?” Vance’s lips pressed together. Galen knew dishonesty in any form eradicated his partner’s laid-back nature. Good thing Sally hadn’t faked an orgasm during their scene, or she wouldn’t have been able to sit down for a week.

  “No.” Z sighed. “But I prefer the newer Dominants not discover their shortcomings in such a public fashion…especially from a trainee.”

  Yes, that would hurt.

  The grinning Dom finished freeing Sally and ran his hands over her body. She had a sweet smile on her face. Wasn’t mouthing off. What was wrong with the girl?

  Z walked forward. “Casey, I’m afraid we have a problem.”

  Galen leaned a shoulder against the wall.

  As Casey turned, Sally saw Z, and her face turned white.

  “Sally, explain what you did and apologize to the Dom.” When she seemed paralyzed, Z added coldly, “From your knees, trainee.”

  She dropped to her knees and stared at the floor. Her voice shook as she said, “I didn’t get off. I faked it. I’m very sorry.”

  Casey’s mouth fell open, and the flush of arousal faded from his face and left him looking as if he’d been punched.

  Galen felt a fair amount of sympathy for him. They’d all been inexperienced at one time, and it took a while before a man’s cock didn’t lead him around. Casey had been a sloppy Dom for not paying attention, but Sally had been a worse submissive for not simply telling him she wasn’t getting anywhere.

  Odd she hadn’t. He’d seen her ream out Doms if they botched restraints, flogging, or other BDSM techniques. Yet he couldn’t recall her complaining about sexual techniques or saying she wasn’t aroused. Galen frowned. Had she ever shared how she actually felt?

  She was so mouthy he might have missed those times. He rubbed his chin.

  Casey started to speak and then bit the words back, taking the time to think first. Two points to the lad. “I’m disappointed in you, Sally, both for faking and for not telling me your head wasn’t in the scene.” He said to Z, “I screwed up, obviously, in not paying closer attention.”

  “Let’s go talk about that now.” Z’s voice chilled. “Sally, remain there without speaking until someone returns for you.”

  Her shoulders hunched slightly, but she didn’t move otherwise.

  As the Dom cleaned the equipment, Z rejoined Galen and Vance. “Masters, I think it’s time to put you to use. Do you feel up to giving a class on how to detect if a female is faking an orgasm?”

  Vance shrugged. “Sure. Just let us know when and the location.”

  A slight smile appeared on Z’s face. “The when is now. The medical room has the best lighting.”

  A theme room? Galen stiffened. “I take it this isn’t a whiteboard and lecture venue?”

  “No. A demonstration.” Z glanced at Sally. “Use her.”

  Vance smiled slowly. “We can do that.”

  * * * *

  “Sally.”

  Sally looked up to see Uzuri in front of her. She didn’t know how long she’d been kneeling in the dungeon room. After a few minutes, misery had simply swarmed up and buried her. Faking an orgasm was one of Master Z’s crash-and-burn offenses. The time Andrea had pretended to get off, she’d been forced to ride the fucking machine.

  Unfortunately, Master Z would know that getting off with a machine wouldn’t be much of a punishment for Sally. “Hey. What did Master Z choose to do to me? A whipping?”

  Uzuri’s gentle brown eyes filled with sympathy. “You might like that better.” The trainee held her hand out.

  Sally winced as Uzuri pulled her up. Her knees hurt like hell. She stretched and worked the kinks out, wishing she could just go home. At one time, she’d have been excited and scared about what might happen. Now…now her punishment was just something to suffer through.

  She had a feeling she was nearing the end of her time as a trainee. The Shadowlands Masters had been almost the only o
nes who could give her what she needed—who were dominating enough to compel her surrender. Now they all had their own submissives, and any hope Sally had was gone.

  Of course, the Feds weren’t attached. Doubtful they’d ever be, considering what the other submissives had said. Players. She huffed a miserable laugh. At least they were new enough that Master Z wouldn’t use them to punish her.

  She pulled on her short, stretchy minidress—she hadn’t had the enthusiasm to come up with flashier attire—and followed Uzuri into the hallway.

  Uzuri stopped at the medical room.

  Surprised, Sally bumped into her. “Here?”

  The beads in Uzuri’s braids clattered softly as she nodded. “Good luck.”

  This really didn’t look good. There was already a crowd in front of the oversize window into the room. And the window had been opened so everyone could hear. Sally pushed her way through and stopped two feet inside the room. She felt the Masters’ eyes even before she saw them. No. No no no. It wasn’t fair.

  Vance and Galen were waiting for her.

  She took a step back.

  Galen shook his head and held out his hand. “Come here, trainee.” His gaze was…direct. Firm. But she saw sympathy in his expression.

  However, Vance’s eyes held the warmth of a frozen lake. He’d never looked at her like that, and the loss hurt her inside. “I’d thought better of you,” he said.

  She pulled in a miserable breath, wanting to run. Knowing she wouldn’t. A trainee knew the rules. She’d lied to a Dom; no matter what nasty punishment the Feds’d planned, she deserved it.

  Her feet took her forward, and she set her wrist in Galen’s grasp.

  Palm under her chin, he studied her face with a frown. “I don’t know what’s bothering you, but you should’ve discussed it with your Dom. Or refused the scene. Lying—verbally or physically—isn’t permitted.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “Me too.” Somehow his words—no matter how soft—were like a slap in the face. He pulled her dress over her head, then patted the table. “Put your bare ass here.”