Her breath hitched. Swinging the heavy lamp, fury and terror filling her, feeling the shattering sensation. The indescribable sound he made, the thump of his body hitting the floor. Her eyes welled with tears, and she let them this time. “I killed him.”
Master R’s hand stroked down her arm. “I know.” Another stroke. “The only choice was his death or ours. Galen says I killed several as well.”
She sniffled, her tears dampening his chest. He was a man. He probably—
“I have killed before, and it’s never grown easier to handle afterward. There will always be a part of you that feels guilty. Blackened.”
“You too?”
His bitter laugh teased her hair. “I’m not God, and killing another is wrong. We will both mourn the deaths we gave and be angry and want to yell at the bastards for forcing us to it.” He nuzzled the top of her head. “And since I am a man, I would appreciate it if you would cry for us both, gatita.”
Wrong. Mourn. Anger. Grief. A sob choked her, and then it all spilled out, just tears after all, in safety with someone who could take comfort from her in return.
* * * *
Sunday afternoon, Kim sat beside the hospital bed and watched Master R’s face as he slept. His color had improved, and the frown had disappeared from his forehead. The nurse had given him a gown this morning, and again, he’d tossed it at the foot of the bed. But this way, Kim could see the bandages on his bare chest. The white gauze showed only a few red splotches rather than being blood-soaked.
She grinned. He’d be growly when he woke and realized the pain meds had knocked him into sleeping again. And he’d blame her, since she’d gotten good at detecting when he was hurting, and cajoling him into using the button. A shame she didn’t have the nerve to push it herself like Master Z would.
Earlier she’d sent Gabi and Marcus home since her so very polite master wouldn’t let himself fall asleep if he had visitors. Obviously he didn’t consider her company. The thought set up a glow inside her. And he slept better if he was holding her hand. She’d pulled away a few times, and he’d awoken within a minute. Some sort of dom radar, maybe.
She slept better beside him too. After returning to the room full of women, she’d spent a sleepless night and sneaked back here before dawn. Master R had been reading. She’d pulled up a chair and rested her head beside his hand…just for a second…and had woken up a couple of hours later when Cullen and Andrea arrived. He’d been sleeping too, his fingers tangled in her hair.
God, she loved him.
He’d risked his life for hers. “Run,” he’d said and taken on everyone to let her get away. He could have let Lord Greville have her, but he wouldn’t. Not her master.
Master . Dammit. Every time she thought about staying—if he even wanted her to stay— the word bubbled up inside her with its sweet, terrifying sound. Master. And she was a slave.
Only he’d said she wasn’t. Submissive. She still didn’t want him to take her decisions away, to control her. Why didn’t I ever ask him what he wanted from a…person? A lover? Would he be happy with her love and what she would give him? How much of her, of her life and her soul, would he demand?
They’d lived like Master/slave, but that was to get her ready for the slavers. And yeah, she’d begged for him to continue as her master. He had. She’d knelt at his feet. He’d fed her from his hand, even during the briefing.
She scowled. Surely she’d just needed that extra week of security because of her kidnapping.
He didn’t seem to think so.
Could she be happy living the lifestyle? God, I don’t know. She stared at him. When he looked at her in a certain way, she’d do anything. His voice could take her anywhere.
He had powerful hands, gentle and unyielding, the same as he was himself, compassionate with a solid core of…honor. Like her mother would say, “This man has character.” She could lean on him; he’d keep her safe. How could she leave?
“Here, Mamá.” A female voice with a light Spanish accent.
Kim turned as two women entered the room. One older and slightly stooped in a floral dress. Her face was wrinkled with age, hands gnarled with arthritis, and she possessed the dignity of someone who’d worked all her life.
The other was around Kim’s age, an attractive woman with a sturdy, big-boned body in jeans and a loose top. She appeared familiar… Black hair, chocolate brown eyes, Hispanic coloring, and Master R’s strong jaw in feminine form.
“Are you Mas—Raoul’s family?” Kim asked, flushing at her wayward tongue.
The older woman hadn’t seen her, her gaze only on Master R, and she jumped. As the two women turned toward Kim, horror filled their faces.
What? Then she remembered her banged-up face. “Sorry about the—”
“We shouldn’t have come,” the younger one interrupted and walked out of the room.
What the heck was that about? “Wait,” Kim said. The older one hesitated, and Master R awoke.
“Mamá,” he said, his voice more of a rasp than smooth. “What are you doing here?”
The old woman took a step forward, wringing her hands. “The hospital called. I am listed as your family.”
How could a mother be so stiff with her son? With Master R, who was never cold with his friends?
“Ah. I’m sorry, Mamá. I didn’t realize you were—” He broke off, his jaw tightening. “Mamá, this is Kim. Kimberly, my mother, Anna Sandoval.”
“Are you all right?” Mrs. Sandoval asked Kim.
“I’m fine, thank you.” Why didn’t she ask Master R how he was? No one could miss the bulky bandages taped to his ribs. This was too awkward. Kim squeezed Master R’s hand. “I’m going to get some coffee. I’ll be back in a bit.”
She stepped out of the room and came face-to-face with the other woman.
“Uh, hi.” God, no two strangers looked that much alike. “Are you his sister?” Kim asked.
When the woman’s mouth tightened, she looked so much like Master R that Kim almost laughed.
“Yes, I’m Lucia. Are you his slave?”
What the—Kim felt the flush run up into her face. “Ah, not really. I’m Kim.”
“He is my brother, but I cannot let him…” The woman straightened her shoulders. “Maybe you think it’s all fun, but it’s not. It isn’t safe to be with him. He’ll hurt you, beat you so badly you cannot walk. Don’t stay with him.”
“What?”
His sister nodded, her mouth tight. “He likes to hurt women. To make them scream. To keep them as slaves and not let them leave.”
His mother walked out of the room, closing the door behind her. She’d obviously heard the last part of the sentence. Tears filled her eyes. She nodded.
Kim stared. The two women believed that garbage. A shiver ran through her as her own nagging fears stepped into the light. Not Master R. “Why would you say such a thing?”
“It’s true,” his mother said. She looked at her daughter helplessly.
“His wife,” Lucia said. “They broke up so suddenly. Got a divorce.”
The mother touched her lips. “Raoul would not talk about it.”
“Alicia told me”—Lucia nodded at her mother—“showed us both what he had done to her. She had welts and bruises and bleeding places all over her body. Her wrists were ripped from being chained to a wall.” Her gaze fell on Kim’s wrists, which bore the light abrasions from the rope Master R had used on the sailboat.
“What they did, was…something they both wanted,” Kim said, trying to think of Master R hurting someone so badly. His wife. “It’s called consensual.”
“No,” his mother said sharply. “No consent. Alicia said she screamed and begged, and he wouldn’t let her go. He made her his slave, and she didn’t want that. She hated him.”
“When she got free, she ran away. Divorced him,” Lucia said. “She lives somewhere else now.”
His mother turned her face toward the wall and whispered, “Alicia said he let others…have her. Abuse her. I love him, but I cannot act as if he is my son.”
“No—”
“He admitted it. Leave him while he’s here in the hospital,” Lucia urged.
His mother touched the bruise on Kim’s cheek and shook her head. The two women walked away, the younger supporting the older.
“No,” Kim whispered. “He didn’t. He couldn’t.”
* * * *
Raoul closed his eyes, grief filling him faster than the returning pain. Mamá. He hadn’t seen her in almost three years. She’d come because he was hurt, but had taken one look at Kimberly and known he was still in the lifestyle.
Raoul tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling, the taste of bitterness familiar.
Why hadn’t Alicia settled for being unfaithful? That had been enough of a blow. A horrible one—coming home early to find his wife tied to a sawhorse bench, covered in welts and stripes, her brother-in-law fucking her in the ass.
Raoul had taken a step forward, thinking Randolph had whipped her, was raping her—he’d kill the man. But he heard Alicia demanding for more pain, for him to fuck her harder.