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The only thing he would remember was seeing Regina for one more brief second. When he emerged from the locker room, she was at the bar. As her eyes turned to his, he was going to fall in, get lost and do the wrong thing. He couldn't do the wrong thing with her. She pushed inside him too far. He wouldn't let himself hurt her.
The cute sub wasn't in danger. She didn't watch him the way Regina did. He needed to get out of here. Get out of his head. Give his dick a workout, and she'd do.
If that didn't help, he knew one other way. He'd heard somewhere that blood was gray until it hit the open air. Fucking poetic. He was ready to liberate some blood. His own or someone else's; it really didn't matter.
Fighting was the only thing that was going to bring back the color. Even if the only color it brought was red.
Chapter One
Eight months later
"You're smirking at me? You want me to break you, you goddamn asshole? Is that it?"
He started to laugh at her, the muscular man built like a gladiator. He was chained, his arms above his head, yet his laughter snapped something, forcing her into a place where she was the one without control. Her white-knuckled grip on the whip only drove the rage. She wanted to make him bleed, make him scream with the kind of pain that brought bowel-loosening fear, not pleasure. "You piece of shit, you arrogant, adolescent--"
In some tiny corner of her mind, the Mistress knew she should have ended this forty-five minutes ago. It had stopped being fun, it had gone over a line, and he'd dragged her past it, into this place with him. Somehow, he'd known where to press every trigger she had.
The thought increased her fury and she cranked the chains, yanking him off the ground. His feet dangled, his weight suspended brutally by his arms. It ended the laughter. If she kept him in the position long enough, his shoulders would dislocate. His muscles had to be screaming in agony already.
The snap of the dragon tail caught him mid-body, then lashed at his testicles. The blows wrested grunts from his throat, and his strong form writhed like a snake speared by a hook. Yet the light of challenge didn't die in his far-too-steady gaze. He was still sneering at her, the son of a bitch.
"Use it," she snarled. "Use it."
"You use it," he said in a soft voice. Almost pitying. That, and the contempt beneath it, dug into her like barbed claws. In a calmer moment, she might realize the infuriating pity was sincere, but the contempt was a goading tactic.
She was far from calm, however. Logic would return when she found herself again, the Domme she normally was. Not this Hyde-like monster he'd yanked out of her soul, twisting her mind and heart as if he were Lucifer in the desert, bringing out the worst and darkest parts of herself she'd never wanted to know were there.
Even while bound and seemingly helpless, a predator could take down a victim. She hadn't known that. She was destroying everything she cherished about herself, and he was reveling in watching her bleed. She hated him. She was going to make him suffer, goddamn it. If she was being dragged into hell, he was going with her.
Regina propped a booted foot on the lowest rung of the chair in front of her and sipped her drink. She had the tables in this section of the mezzanine to herself. On a weeknight, it was a quiet, less popular spot at The Zone, backed up to the executive offices and not as close to the public play areas.
She'd come ready to play, clad in latex from hip to ankle and calf boots. A sheer black shirt in a flowing fabric was held in place over her black bra by nothing more than a couple of buttons. Her lovingly cultivated locs, grown down past her shoulder blades, were loose, with a bit of corkscrew curl to them. The shimmer of the auburn highlights amid the black was accentuated with a scattering of sparkling silver and red beads.
She looked like a Mistress ready to kick and cherish some fine sub's ass. Once she'd hit the floor, though, nothing had grabbed her. Some nights were like that. She'd removed herself from the anticipatory gazes of unattached male submissives and come here. Many of them had been pleasant playmates on other nights, but right now she wanted to experience the club like the beach. By closing her eyes and absorbing it through all her senses, rather than actively seeking the waters.
It put her in a position to witness some club drama. She opened her eyes as Alex, one of the Dungeon Masters on duty, took the stairs to the mezzanine three at a time and put his head and broad upper torso into the open door of the floor manager's office. "Terry, we've got a problem in Room 7. I need backup to end it now, or he's going to do her real damage."
"Goddamn it." Along with the expletive, Regina heard a chair roll back and Terry emerged. The rangy woman with a blonde bob shrugged out of the fuzzy lavender cardigan she wore over her corset, snug jeans and stilettos. Regina was sure it kept her warm while she was sitting at her desk. Lower temps were a necessity in a club that generated a lot of body heat, particularly in the playrooms, public dungeon and on the dance floor, which even at this muffled distance was sending pumping bass through the table surface beneath Regina's fingertips.
"If you're calling for reinforcements, we're already too late on the damage part," Terry added in a clipped tone.
"Nobody has safe worded," Alex said. "And it's...well, fuck."
"Never mind." Terry brushed his shoulder with her own as she passed him, giving the long black braid down his back a tug. "It's not your fault. We both know what the problem is. Or who," she added darkly. "Let's go shut him down."
All Regina had to hear was a woman was in danger, and she was on her feet, following in their urgent wake. She wasn't staff, but she was a volunteer DM and gold star member of The Zone. The safety of a sub was everyone's responsibility. She wouldn't get in the way, but she'd be there to help. If Alex needed to contain an asshole, Regina had three years of past experience as a correctional officer to lend him a hand. Or they might require a skilled Domme to help calm and care for the sub.
It pissed her off, thinking a Dom had let things get out of hand and wasn't caring for his bottom. But it was an unusual occurrence at The Zone, which vetted its members carefully and had a diligent monitoring staff, so her curiosity was roused. Alex was a competent and experienced DM. What kind of situation could have escalated so far, and in such a way, that he'd called on Terry rather than defuse it himself?
Alex had left backup outside Room 7. The hallway was quiet, the open doors and dark interiors of most of the private rooms suggesting the bulk of tonight's play was happening in the public areas. Otis offered a short nod, arms crossed over his beefy chest. His n
eck was permanently brick red. While it was thanks to his fondness for fishing the Florida Gulf with no sunscreen, he claimed it showed Southern redneck was permanently baked into him.
"Still hasn't safe worded," he grumbled. "Was about to go in anyway, fuck it all. She's crying."
"I'm making the call. We're going," Terry said, and punched in a master code. "Head back to the main floor and keep an eye on things there with Georgia, Otis. Regina will be here with me for additional backup."
She tossed a glance over her shoulder, telling Regina she'd been aware of her presence. Regina wasn't surprised. Terry didn't miss much. She was a submissive herself in her off time, but Regina was sure that helped relieve the stress of her highly detail-oriented day job, that of a prosecutor with the Tampa DA's office.
