Going Down (25 page)

E
xcept for the collar and chain, Saree was free. She was also dressed, albeit in a skirt that barely covered her ass and a plunging blouse, items he'd found in the master bedroom. They'd debated her doing her hair and putting on makeup but had nixed that idea because they didn't want anyone thinking she enjoyed what was happening to her.

As per their instructions, Reeve had driven to Segun after dark and they'd waited out in the parking lot until a black SUV with tinted windows rolled up. Two men they hadn't seen before had ordered them into the backseat. There'd been no inside door handles, and they were still putting on their seat belts when a partition between the front and backseats slid into place, blocking out the world. The trip to wherever they were going had taken the better part of an hour, much of it on a road with countless turns. Saree couldn't be sure but thought the air had a salty tang to it.

Reeve hadn't spoken to her the whole time, not that a
slave
would expect a
master
to carry on a conversation, but after enduring his moody silence for more than twenty-four hours, she'd give anything to know what was going on inside him.

Of course then she'd be expected to do the same in return.

The SUV eased to a stop, the engine a low hum. Both front doors opened. Suddenly everything seemed to stop for her.
This
was really going to happen. If only she knew what that entailed, if only she had confidence in the tracking device imbedded in her collar.

The door on her side opened, and a long male arm reached in. Snagging her hair, he hauled her out before switching his hold to the chain dangling nearly to her knees. The sound of male voices, one of them Reeve's, told her that he too had been let out.

“Smoothly done,” Reeve said as he and the other man walked around the front of the vehicle to where she and her handler waited. “I take it this isn't the first time you've transferred people.”

“It's among our many talents,” the strangely young-looking man with him said. “Top of the list, ensuring the safety of our bosses.”

“Thanks for the warning. Nice place.”

Looking in the direction Reeve was, she took in a house nearly large enough to qualify as a mansion. It was on a slight rise, and the circular driveway they were on curved below and in front of it. Going by the sounds and smells, she guessed it overlooked the ocean. Her mind boggled at the thought of how much this piece of real estate cost. Although the mansion was well lit, the horizon was dark, proof that they were far from the city. She couldn't say whether they were north or south of the L.A. area. She hoped that those tracking the GPS knew.

If Reeve was impressed by the building, he gave no indication. Instead, he held out his hand, the gesture plainly saying he wanted responsibility for her turned over to him. She relaxed a little when he was holding her chain, but only a little. Mentally reaching out to him, she sensed nothing in return. This was business for him, only business.

“They're waiting for you,” the man who'd gotten her out of the car said. “We'll be back when and if we get word that you're ready to leave.”

“If?”

“You never know. Plans change.”

When the two men headed back toward the SUV, Saree wondered if she would have stood in place forever if Reeve hadn't tugged on the chain. Mindful that they were surely being watched, she clasped her hands in front of her and tailed after Reeve with her head downcast. He didn't so much as acknowledge her presence.

Although the front of the house was already bright, another light, powerful enough to illuminate the whole area, came on the moment they reached the bottom step. Reeve's grip on her chain tightened.

“Welcome,” someone said from inside the opening. “I trust you had a pleasant ride.”

“A bit over the top with regards to security, but that's a fine vehicle. Great suspension.”

“And lousy gas mileage. Come on in, Reeve. The bar's open.”

Stairs, four of them—made, she thought, from granite. Then there was the door that had to be fifteen feet high and so solid it could probably survive dynamite. Once inside, she found herself in a wide entryway with a number of impressive seascapes on the wall. The oils had been done in pastels, peaceful colors at odds with her pounding heart. Recognizing the speaker as Paul, her mind immediately went to her last glimpse of the man's caged slave. Would she see her here, and would she be in another cage?

“What's this?” Paul indicated her. “Clothes on a slave?”

“If it suits me, yes. Besides, if someone is denied all modesty, after a while there's nothing left to take away.”

“Whatever. We have a full house tonight, and the booze is flowing. You a whiskey man?”

“Within limits. I don't believe in doing anything that might blunt my mental faculties.”

“Suit yourself. Follow me.”

When Paul turned his back on them, Reeve fell in line behind him. She had no choice but to do the same, aching for any sign from him, the slightest indication that he was thinking about her. When it didn't come, she clenched her teeth. After this nightmare was over, she'd let him know what he could do with his indifference!

Or would she?

Reeve stopped, causing her to nearly run into him. Mindful of her role, she kept her eyes downcast instead of trying to see around him. Music from an incredible stereo system drifted out to her. The air was fresh, making her wonder if windows were open, and the dense, lush carpet was off-white.

“So, what do you think?” Paul asked.

“Who's your interior decorator? Nice furniture.”

“We think so.”

A light jerk on the chain let her know she was expected to stand beside him. Only then did she risk looking around. They were in a massive living room occupied by a number of men. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over a cliff to the ocean below. A rock fireplace took up the better part of one wall. Like the carpet, much of the furniture was white, although there were several dark brown leather recliners and couches. The bar was to her right, a chess table to her left. If she didn't know better she'd conclude this was the home of a man with exquisite tastes and refinement. The women crouched in a corner made a lie of that.

From what she could tell—she didn't want to stare and risk angering someone—they were waiting for their orders. Naked and wearing collars, they put her in mind of dogs who might but might not be let out to exercise. Because they were in a part of the room with little illumination, she couldn't tell whether they sported bruises or whip marks. Despite the terrible lessons to be learned in their cowed demeanor, the peaceful instrumental and mind-stealing view lulled her.

Someone asked Reeve how he liked his whiskey. Then someone else said that they'd be turning on the big-screen TV soon so they could watch a particular news program. Once that was over, everyone was expected to participate in a bidding. “The rules are pretty simple,” said a fifty-something man dressed all in black. “The slaves will each perform a little act they've been working on. If it's something you're interested in having performed on you, you place a bid. The proceeds go for a good cause.”

That caused several of the maybe dozen lounging men to laugh.

“The reason for the levity,” the man in black said, “is that we employ a lobbyist whose function is to monitor and deal with any bills in opposition with our policies and bylaws. We're particularly cognizant of anything the so-called moral majority or religious conservatives might try to ram down lawmakers' throats.”

“What kind of opening bid are we talking about?” Reeve asked as he accepted a glass with whiskey over ice.

“Depends on how much we feel we'll be asking of our lobbyist in the foreseeable future. Right now except for a lackluster attempt to find a way to verify the ages of those who access adult Web sites, it's pretty quiet. To keep us from getting bored, we
asked
our slaves to come up with activities calling for two slaves and one master. Since yours was unable to participate in the rehearsals, we were debating how she could participate just before you arrived.”

Reeve gave her a dismissive glance. “I'd say it depends on what the activities are. She does have a fair amount of acting experience, something I'm sure you're all aware of.”

“Indeed, indeed. And that's why we anticipate that any bidding she's part of will be vigorous. A master can bid on his own slave, but he seldom does because the opportunities to enjoy other slaves is limited.”

She was going to be sick, damn it! If that disgusting man with the too-white capped teeth and surprisingly big hands didn't shut up, she'd either vomit all over his shoes or attack him. Expecting to see the other women looking as disgusted as she was, she stared at them. Not a single emotion played in their expressions. Didn't they care what happened to them or were they afraid to give away anything?

Someone must have shown Reeve where he could sit because he was heading toward a large leather chair not far from the women. With his hands around her chain, she had no choice but to trail along. Settling into the chair, he jerked down on her chain, and she sank to her knees. He sipped on his drink as the man to his right said he'd been looking forward to seeing her in the flesh after months of
taking in her charms
on his monitor. For the first time, she was grateful because she was expected to keep her head down and her mouth closed.

“I prefer her without the false nails,” Reeve said, “which is why I ordered her to remove them. Takes away a possible weapon. She's rather plain without makeup, but those boobs always at attention make up for it.”

Why did energy continue to arc from him to her? Damn it, she should absolutely hate his every word. She did, but that didn't stop her from feeling his tense heat. As for the source of his tension—

“Saree?”

The question was so soft that she wasn't sure she'd heard it. Just the same, she looked in the direction she thought it had come from. As far as she could tell, none of the women had moved. Only one stared at her instead of the floor.

Amber! She was thinner than when she'd last seen her, and her hair was longer and lifeless. She wore no makeup, and her shoulders slumped instead of the proud breast-out stance Saree was accustomed to. Most chilling, Amber's eyes no longer danced with mischief. Instead she reminded Saree of a lost and frightened child.

Not giving herself time to think, Saree yanked the chain from Reeve's hand and scrambled over to Amber. Throwing her arms around the slight form, she held her tight. “My God, you're alive! You're really alive!”

“Don't, please,” Amber begged but didn't try to break free. “They'll hurt—”

“What is this?” a male voice demanded.

“Damn it, slave!” Powerful hands yanked her arms off Amber. A moment later she was hauled to her feet and spun around. Reeve's fury-filled eyes bore down on her. She'd never seen him look like that, never. “What the hell are you trying—”

“My friend.” Despite her shock, she tried to pull free.

“That's my friend! Let me—”

“No! Damn it, no!” Reeve slapped her cheek. She tried to straighten only to have him strike the other cheek.

“Hit her again. Make her understand who is her master.”

“You call that a trained slave? If she were mine, I'd beat her into unconsciousness.”

When Reeve wrenched both arms up behind her and forced her to lean over, she half believed he was going to do what someone had just suggested. Instead, his body as taut as tightly strung wire, he kept the pressure going so she couldn't straighten. He'd positioned her so she faced the obviously terrified slaves. Amber, who'd rejoined them, was crying, and yet a new energy pulsed around her. Seeing someone from her old life had pulled her out of her lethargy.

“I'm sorry, gentlemen,” Reeve said in a smooth and controlled tone. “I must ask all of you to remember what it was like before your possessions were well trained. Believe me, she'll be punished.”

“That goes without saying. The question is, what's the most effective technique?”

“She's my slave. I'll determine that.”

“Not here you won't,” the man who'd wanted Reeve to continue hitting her insisted.

Why had she given away that she and Amber knew each other? If only she'd held onto her self-control, done whatever she needed to do in order to stall for time so whomever Reeve was depending on could get here. Instead—

“Slave, who is she to you?” the man who'd just spoken demanded.

Before she could decide what, if anything, to say, a crying Amber spoke up. “We worked together,” she managed. “At The Dungeon. She was—we were friends.”

“Were you? So you wouldn't want anything bad to happen to her, would you?”

Although she couldn't see anything except the floor, Saree knew the man had forced Amber to stand close to her because she could now smell Amber's fear. “No, Master,” Amber whimpered. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—”