Cherise Sinclair - This is who I am

She didn’t look back. No, not at all. Because if he saw how terrified she was, he’d never let her through the door.

* * *

“You look at me now like they did…showed more feeling to their dogs.” Sam walked through the Shadowlands as Linda’s words swirled through his memory. Painfully.

The club was coming to life. Cullen and Andrea were setting up the bar. At the sound system, Z was choosing the music for the evening.

Sam shook his head. It was a crying shame Z would play country-western music only on the rare western-theme nights.

Sam stepped up to the bar. “Got a water back there?”

Andrea’s whiskey-colored hair blanketed her shoulders as she brought him a bottle. She set it on the bar top. “You don’t look so great. Are you feeling all right?”

Cullen’s sub was almost as observant as her Dom. “Long week. And Z saddled me with the trainees again, damn him.”

Andrea grinned and looked past Sam. “Hear that, Master Z?”

“Oddly enough, the trainees say they enjoy having you as a trainer.” Z moved from behind Sam to take a seat on a bar stool. He gave Sam a long look. “Andrea is right. You don’t look up to par.”

Andrea turned at a call from Cullen and moved away.

“I fear I didn’t get a chance to warn you,” Z said. “I added another trainee to see how she’ll work out.”

Sam gave him a sour look. “I noticed. How’d that happen?”

“Perhaps submissives shouldn’t be allowed to fraternize.”

Sam snorted. “Good luck. What’s that got to do with Linda?”

“They discussed the spotter.”

Sam’s hand tightened on the bottle of water until the plastic crackled. “Jessica talked to them?”

“No. Linda did. Then Sally suggested a trainee position so Linda could meet all the members without being obvious.”

“That’s hogwash.”

“My first reaction. She’s been through too much already.” Z leaned one elbow on the bar, turning toward Sam. “Buchanan and Kouros found it an excellent idea. And she agreed.”

“Why is she so determined?” Sam remembered her panic during the scene last week. She’d scared the crap out of him.

“Mixture of reasons.” Z rubbed his temple as if his head hurt. “A bit of healthy payback motivation. I enjoyed that. Wanting to fight past her fears.” He sighed. “Mostly to protect the others.”

“That damned maternal instinct,” Sam muttered.

“Indeed.” Z stared across the bar at nothing. “Kim once mentioned how important Linda was to her and the other slaves. Apparently she mothered them all.”

Dammit.

“What happened between you two?” Z asked.

Sam gave him a cold look.

“Normally, your relationship wouldn’t be my business, no. But she’s now a trainee.”

And the Shadowlands owner stood as Master to the trainees. Sam drank some water, his throat desert dry. “She wanted more than I can give.” Wanted him to love her. Worse, to be able to say it.

“Yes? You have money enough to support a woman. You’re obviously adequate with both sex and scenes—submissives beg for your attention. You’re smart, careful, controlled.” Z tapped his fingers on the bar. “What aren’t you giving her?”

Sam stared at him.

Z’s lips twitched. “That says it all. You’re not talking to her?”

Goddamned psychologist. Sam thumped the bottle of water onto the bar top. “That’s not who I am, dammit.”

Z studied him as if he were a submissive. “You never told your mother that you loved her?”

“Of course I did.” Every bedtime. When leaving the house. Whenever she’d said it to him, and she had often. The words had come easily enough. “Love you, Mom.”

“When you were young, did you tell your girlfriend your concerns about school? Making ends meet?” Z waited for an answer.

Sam frowned, trying to remember. In the military. Complaining about a hard-ass lieutenant—one who reminded him of his stepfather. As a civilian, attending college at night. Telling…Tammy—that was her name—about how he worried over his grades. “Guess I did.”

“How about your daughter? Do you discuss your worries about the farm? Or tell her what she means to you?”

Sam opened his mouth. Closed it. How long had it been since he’d said anything like that to her?

Z straightened. “At one time, you were that kind of a person. Now you’re not. To me, that says you changed because of some experience.”

Sam frowned, knowledge getting a good clamp on his guts. He’d experienced Nancy.

“Think about it. Figure out if you want that experience to determine the rest of your life.” Z took a few steps away before glancing back with a slight smile. “Be nice to the trainees, please. There’s a new one tonight, and she’s nervous.”

Goddammit.

After stewing at the bar for far too long, Sam headed through the room to check on his trainees. He stopped near the back to watch old Gerald strapping his wife to a whipping post. At least seventy, Martha was what Sam would consider a lightweight masochist. But pain fulfilled something in her, both in her submission to Gerald and erotically.

Once Martha was restrained, Gerald swatted her ass with a narrow paddle, watching her as if she were a Playboy bunny. After a few blows, he leaned down and tucked a stray lock of gray hair behind her ear. He was speaking softly.

But Sam could hear him.

“I love you, Martha mine. Love seeing you wiggle. Love seeing you pant. Love you, period.”

The look in her eyes was…indescribable.

Sam walked away. That’s what Linda wanted. That baring of the soul. Emotions. Z hit the nail right on the head. Damn Nancy for messing with his mind. Damn himself for letting her and retreating so far he couldn’t give Linda what she needed. So far that she compared him to a slaver.

Near the end of the room, Sam saw a Dom considering some of the paddles hanging on the wall. Z didn’t bother with artwork—not when he had toys to display. Maybe Sam should decorate his walls that way too. He frowned, remembering the painting that used to hang over the mantel—one of the farmhouse when it was first built.

Nancy had destroyed it in a tantrum. With the talent of a manipulator, she’d destroyed anything they loved. Sometimes just objects, other times nonphysical prizes—memories and emotions. Whatever she discovered about a person, she later used as a weapon. He’d learned to keep everything to himself.

Sam’s throat tightened. How had that affected his little girl? After a minute, he realized Nicole had bottled up her emotions, but just with her mother. She still talked with others, laughed, showed how she felt. Nicole pushed away only Nancy.

Sam had locked all the doors with himself inside. Nicole was stronger than he was.

“Sam?” A light touch on his arm. “I mean, Master Sam?”

He straightened and looked down. Linda.

“Are you all right?” Concern filled her gentle eyes. For him. He’d been rude to her, had pulled away, and she still worried about him. The woman hadn’t a clue how special she was. Or what she meant to him. His fault.

“Linda—”

“I don’t know what you’re thinking about, but stop.” Her expression showed only sweetness as she put her arms around him. “I love you, Sam. It’s okay if you don’t feel the same, but honey, I do love you.”

Warmth spread through him, dissolving the ice that had started to grow. He put his arms around her and pulled her closer. She didn’t know what she was offering. She shouldn’t love a person so messed up.

“Figure out if you want that experience to determine the rest of your life.” Did he let Nancy win, or did he fight? He swallowed. “I told you that my ex-wife is a drug addict. She always needed drugs, and she’d use anything I told her as ammunition to get what she wanted. I stopped sharing.”

Linda didn’t look up, just tightened her grip.

His mouth flattened. “Nancy came to the farm last Sunday. That’s why—” Hell, how did people do this? He couldn’t. He pulled her closer, not wanting to let her go. But he must. “I’m sorry. I’m not good for you, girl.” He gently set her from him and walked—fled—toward the dungeon.

LINDA SAGGED AGAINST the back of a couch, staring after Sam. She’d said she loved him—and he’d hugged her as if it meant something to him. And he’d apologized and shared. His ex sounded purely horrible.

He’d held her before pushing her away. Her lips curved. He’d said one thing—his hug had said another.

“Whoa, what was all that about?” Sally slipped an arm around her and leaned her hip on the couch. “He sure didn’t look happy with you.”

Linda shook her head. “He told me something about his ex. She sounds like a real bitch.”

“Seriously? He never talks about his wife. Or much of anything else, come to think of it.”

But he’d opened up for her, cracked his wall of silence. I love you, Sam, and I see you’re trying. Don’t give up—we can do this. “He’s definitely confusing me.” She huffed a sigh. “But I can’t think about it now. Time to get to work.” She had a slaver to find.

“I’m on the other side of the room,” Sally said, “but I’ll try to keep an eye on you.”

Linda gave her a squeeze. “Thanks.” And Sam would watch over her. She never doubted that for a second.

* * *

See who was now a trainee. The spotter pretended to watch a girl-on-girl scene as he studied the redheaded ex-slave. Quite interesting that she’d become one of Z’s trainees. He could see her getting involved with a Dom—after all, the Association “harvested” women in the lifestyle. But the trainee duties seemed rather beneath her.

He wasn’t complaining though. Now he’d have a chance to enjoy her. A pale- redhead whose skin would mark up beautifully. He liked seeing the results of his efforts.

He also preferred the older women, who were less brittle than the young ones, more adaptable, with a stronger core.

And he loved breaking masochists. If they were terrified enough or the pain was the type they hated, he could keep them out of subspace. Hurt them in ways that made them scream.

He was uncomfortably hard as the redhead walked past the bar. Unfortunately, since she was a new trainee, he’d get no chance at her tonight. But eventually? Most definitely.

Maybe he could talk her into meeting him somewhere. He needed some relief. His kills had been discovered, and the reporters were having a field day announcing a serial killer who chopped off his victim’s hair. And that the women were all prostitutes. Last night in the red-light district, he’d spotted four plainclothes officers. Even worse, the whores weren’t getting into cars.

As he watched her talk with people, he frowned. Her demeanor seemed…off. After greeting a Dom, she’d tilt her head as if listening intently and the man would get a careful study. Her attitude wasn’t that of a submissive looking for a master.

Uneasiness made him stiffen as she walked past. Her gaze flickered over him. When her body language didn’t change, he relaxed. She didn’t recognize him.

She would though.

He’d enjoy reminding her of where they’d “met.” Right before he started on her with his knife.

Later that evening, Sam released the first shift of trainees and put the second shift to work as barmaids. After matching Dara and Sally with Doms who fit their interests, he saw Linda moving toward the bar.

She walked past the two FBI agents who were—apparently—arguing the merits of a female president, and set her tray of empties in front of Cullen.

“Thank you, pet,” the bartender said. As he tugged her hair, she gave that low, open laugh that always lifted Sam’s spirits.

Damn, he’d missed her.

A Dom seated at the bar chatted with her and ran his hand down her bare upper arm. Her back muscles tightened. She didn’t like the guy’s touch.

Sam stalked over. “Trainee. Come with me.”

She glanced over her shoulder, and her eyes widened. “Yes, Sir.” To Sam’s satisfaction, she obeyed instantly, pulling away from the Dom.

Sam closed his hand around her nape, enjoying the shiver she gave at his touch, then guided her to a quieter place in the room. “You got any idea of what you want to do now, girl?”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“It’s my job to see that you meet Doms and explore the areas you’re interested in.” Z, with typical thoroughness, had made Linda complete the trainee paperwork, including a limits list. Earlier, Sam had checked the file and noted activities they hadn’t tried.