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For a remarkable second, it was just the two of them in the room, all the danger, blood and restraints gone. Then they came back, as Violet shifted her attention to Kiera. "The dungeon is only one part of it, Kiera, as Mac told you. You had one situation that went bad. You could have found someone else if you hadn't given up."
"He won't accept you that way. He's a cop. He can't take you out into the light of a normal relationship."
"Wrong," Mac said. "I can, and I have."
"Your shirt," Kiera snapped. "Now."
"You don't have to do this," Violet said, slowly toeing off her shoes, pulling her shirt out of her waistband of her jeans. "This can't end well, Kiera. It's gotten out of your control."
"Oh, please," Kiera chuckled. "If there's anyone who understands the presence or absence of control, it's Mistresses like us. I've been neck deep in the practice of it since I was a teenager. You're a rank amateur."
"A Mistress is born, not made," Violet returned. "You're not a Mistress, Kiera. You never were. You're your sister's sub, which makes me the one in the room with the true control. If you give me the gun, it will be over and there won't be any more hurting."
"This is the last time I'm going to tell you. Take off your shirt," Kiera snapped. "And save your pathetic two-hour class in police psychology."
Her finger had moved off the guard back to the trigger. Mac heaved against the bench, heard wood groan.
Kiera shot him a glance. "Give it up, Mac. This is over. If she hadn't been a cop, if she hadn't known, we could have had so much fun with you gagged. I was going to let her play, let her get you and her off one more time. We might even have let Jonathan do you like I promised. You don't understand. But you will. You'll understand when I shoot. I'll see it in your eyes, and we'll all know I've done the right thing. Now, Violet," she snarled.
"Fine." Violet yanked the shirt over her head, pulled it off her arms and flung it into the air between them, a projectile of cloth aimed for Kiera's face.
Kiera's trigger finger jerked, and the gun went off. Eyes locked on the muzzle, Mac saw the gun kick high. She was going to miss. Violet rammed into the taller woman, sending them crashing over a heavy wooden chair, taking it with them in a tangle of arms and legs. The bullet hit the wall as the gun spun away out of Kiera's hands.
Violet had police training, but Kiera worked out in a gym regularly and had her in strength and weight. When she rolled to her feet and took a martial arts stance, leaped forward and tackled Violet before she could go for the gun, she demonstrated she'd had contact training as well. The two women made it to their feet. Violet landed a punch, but Kiera knocked her back with a hard kick. Undeterred, his fiery Mistress rolled, rammed forward, slamming them against Jonathan's cross. Powell grabbed a generous handful of Kiera's hair, and she screamed, turning on him as Violet yanked a gun out of an ankle holster.
Kiera shoved her elbow into Powell's stomach, gaining her release, and flung herself on Violet before she could get the gun up. She rolled Violet over with another hard kick to her midsection, taking her wind and making her drop the gun. Violet spun and grabbed her, and they went over Mac, tumbling to the other side of him. Violet landed on the bottom, her head hitting the wall. Kiera struck her, rolled off and scrabbled away.
When they rolled over, the bench groaned, and the significance of that exploded in Mac's mind. As Kiera scrabbled for the gun and Violet tried to orient herself, he heaved against the bench. Not up and back this time. Left, then right, left, then right.
The anchoring had been designed for the pull of an aroused sub, resistance anticipated forward and back. He snarled, heaved again, side to side, fast as the pumping of a piston, every muscle screaming, demanding release, despite the awkward positioning of his legs. The floorboard cracked, twisted.
He roared, using the sound to galvanize him to further action. The floor ripped in response. The right side of the bench came loose abruptly, unbalancing him. Mac rolled with it, using the momentum to tear the bench free and coming to his feet, face to face with Kiera, who had just claimed the gun and leveled it at Violet. The roll put him squarely in the middle of them. He kept going, a forward charge, the bench anchored to his front like a Roman wooden shield.
Violet screamed his name. The gun fired. Kiera shrieked as he took her down under him. One wooden leg drove into her left breast, the other under her right arm. The impact to the breast caused a scream of pain. Still manacled to the bench, he had no mobility in his hands, and she still had the gun, but then Violet was there, stomping on her wrist, knocking it away, while Kiera abandoned all training and went after his face with teeth and nails.
"Roll off," Violet shouted. Mac obeyed slowly, fighting through a haze of pain roaring through his body as if his insides were on fire, but his sense of self-preservation galvanized him to get him away from those wicked nails. Violet swung down with the P99 and clipped Kiera's temple, stunning her, but the woman lunged forward nevertheless.
"Watch your feet," he managed hoarsely, but it was too late.
Kiera caught Violet's ankle, yanked, making her land with a heavy thud on her back. Violet's foot caught her squarely in the mouth, snapping her head back, and then Mac was back on her, adrenaline filling in as his body weakened. He aimed better this time. When he landed, the four-by-four solid polished leg of the bench went directly into Kiera's face, caving in her skull with a sickening crunch.
There was no finesse to it, nothing but clear, brute strength, messy and final. Kiera's body went slack. Mac closed his eyes as the burning in his back merged with the burning in his gut. God, he was going to throw up after all.
"Let me out of here!" Powell screamed.
"Shut up," Violet snarled, not bothering to look at him while she freed Mac from his manacles and chains and moved him off the mangled bench onto his back. Onto blissfully cool tile that gave him a second's respite from the fire in his gut.
"Mac. Oh, Mac."
Fuck. He hurt. His hands automatically went to his abdomen, where the bullet had punched through the board and into his body.
He heard a heavy thud above them and started up, but she slid her arms around him. "That will be the local police. We're here!" she shouted as the footsteps continued above them.
"Likely... soundproof," he reminded her.
She bounced up, loosed Jonathan with three quick jerks, threw a robe at him. He caught it automatically, but before he could bolt, she caught his cock barehanded and twisted hard enough to turn him white, a maneuver Mac remembered had been very effective on him.
"You go up and show them how to get down here. Tell them we have an officer down and we need EMTs now. Right now, you're just an idiot on a questionable kidnapping charge. You run, and I'll have you marked on the attempted murder of two cops, you got me? I'll make sure you get a prison cell with the meanest son of a bitch Master you've ever met in your life, whose idea of a bedtime lullaby each night is making you scream in pain."
