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“I’m so sorry. It’s going to be okay, honey.”
“Why was he mean?” Her teary eyes turn to me. “I wanna go home. Please.”
She’s trembling in my arms.
“What happened in there, honey?”
She looks away from me. “I… He… I said broccoli. I saidbroccoli. But he just…” Sobs wrack her, and any words she might be saying are drowned by the anguish in her tears.
Broccoli is her safe word. It should have stopped everything immediately. If the Dom didn’t respect the safe word, it was the Dungeon Master’s job to step in.
Damnit, Ruby? Where are you?
“I’m so sorry. That shouldn’t have happened.” I hold her close to me, knowing she needs the reassurance and the touch. “You can go home, okay?”
Hazel nods. “Thank you.”
I send her off to the staff quarters with one of our other subs, then look to The Underground door that’s hanging open, taunting me with what I have to face now.
I lean my mouth down to my collar com and press the button to talk. “Security to The Underground, please.”
As I head inside, my earpiece blares with the voice of our head security agent, Lourdes. “On our way.”
The Underground is too quiet, with only the sound of rattling metal chains wafting back and forth.
“Ruby?” I call out.
Nothing.
“Oliver?”
Again, nothing.
I take out my tablet to access the room reservations. I scan the list and find Oliver’s name. Room five.
I turn to the rooms.
All doors before me are closed, and the place is empty since it is still early.
You’re the boss around here, Sonia. No need to be scared.
I walk with as much purpose as I can to room five with my anxiety at a level ten. However, when I open the door, Oliver’s nowhere to be seen.
What the hell?If he changed rooms, that’s another rule broken.
Footsteps sound from behind me, and I breathe a sigh of relief. “Lourdes, thank god you’re –”
It’s not security. It’s Oliver. Completely clothed, thank god. And he’s smiling at me in a way I can only describe as grotesque, his whole body moving as if he’s standing on the deck of a boat in stormy seas.
“Looking for me, Sonia?”
My eyes fall to his hand. A flogger hangs between his fingers, a waterfall of leathery strips.
I look at his glossy eyes. “Where did you come from?”
“Around.”
He might be a creep, but I feel sorry for him. He probably doesn’t even know where he was a minute ago.
