Masters at Arms (9 page)

Sometimes rescuing women wasn’t all it was
cracked up to be.

His social worker had suggested he join the
Marines. They’d feed, clothe, and house him. Might get his fool
head blown off in the bargain. But maybe not. Whatever he was going
to do, he needed to come up with a plan and soon.

First, he needed to get this woman home
safely. But if home meant taking her back to Jerk-off, then what?
He couldn’t do that.

Another hour passed. Still no security or
police. What the fuck? Hadn’t the man reported him?

The woman slept in his arms as if dead. After
she’d turned toward him, she hadn’t moved again. If he didn’t feel
her breath on his chest at the vee in his shirt, he would have
tried to awaken her to be sure she was okay.

Damián was content to let her sleep. He’d
never again hold something so perfect in his arms. He closed his
eyes, giving in to exhaustion. She wasn’t going anywhere. Neither
was he.

She moaned and his eyelids opened in an
instant. What time was it? Still dark outside. He pulled back and
looked down at her. She grimaced. Without warning, she began
thrashing against him, one fist slamming into his eye socket.
Damián didn’t try to hold her captive because he didn’t need her
screaming rape. No way did he have the money or power to fight a
charge like that.

“Savannah, open your eyes.”

Surprisingly, she did as he ordered, blinking
several times as she stared at him. “Orlando?”

How did she know his name? His nametag only
gave his first name. When her blue eyes finally focused on him,
they opened wider and she scooted away to the opposite side of the
bed. Her movements were awkward due to the abuse her body had
sustained. She pulled the sheet with her and covered herself.

“Who are you?”

“Damián. Do you remember what happened?”

* * *

The man looked familiar to Savannah, but she
couldn’t place him. Why had she been sleeping with him? She never
slept with clients. But he certainly didn’t look like any client
she could recall either. And why, if she’d just been asleep, did
she want to curl up and escape into sleep once more?

The pain slowly registered. Her body burned
from the soles of her feet to her breasts, but she couldn’t
remember why. Savannah looked around the room. Opulent antique
French furniture. Her mother’s influence. Tears stung her eyes. The
penthouse suite. Familiar. She’d been here many times in the last
year.

Then the memory of her last two clients
returned.

Ropes. Quirt. Electricity.

Each time she’d managed to separate her mind
from the clients’ horrific scene, the two sadists had become more
relentless in torturing her with whatever device they were using at
the time. Sometimes two at once. They seemed determined to keep her
mind emotionally invested in the scene, ruthlessly pulling her back
into her body to feel each blow, each infliction of pain.

Then one of the men had pulled out his smart
phone, spread her private folds, and taken several photos of her
shame. They had known she’d been branded. Heat suffused her face.
She closed her eyes.

What now? Lyle and her father would be
furious. She’d never lost them a client before. Last night, she’d
lost two. Her punishment would be severe. She opened her eyes and
glanced toward the door. Where had Lyle gone? When would he be
back? She supposed her father would send a car for her. They knew
they didn’t have to worry about her running away. The threat of
living a hellish life as a street whore would keep her tethered in
her velvet chains.

Savannah began to shake.

“Shhh. It’s okay.” The man on the
bed—Damián—reached out a hand to her, but she pulled her body away.
He let his hand come to rest on the mattress between them, as if he
were training a dog to get used to him by small degrees. His brown
skin contrasted sharply with the white sheets. Exotic. So different
from the men who could afford her.

No, he wasn’t her client. That she knew. So
who was he? She shivered and returned his gaze, seeing regret,
pity. She didn’t want or need anyone’s pity.

“I don’t know you.”

“I work here at the hotel.”

Oh, Lord! The bus boy! She remembered him
from the restaurant. How had she come to be in bed with him? Had
anything happened? Clearly, she’d zoned out. Had he forced himself
on her while her mind was out of her body?

No. The concern in the man’s warm-chocolate
eyes told her he wasn’t a threat. She didn’t think so, anyway. His
pupils were so large, his eyes almost looked black. Her instincts
regarding men were more than a little warped. Still, something
began to melt inside her. The image of him barging into the room
last night carrying a…a fire extinguisher? She tried to keep from
smiling, but couldn’t help herself. So incongruous with the type of
rescue she’d needed.

Damián raised an eyebrow, then smiled back.
His white teeth against a bronzed face sent a flock of swallows to
flight inside her stomach. She giggled.

“What’s so funny?”

“You, barging in here last night carrying
that ridiculous fire extinguisher.”

“
Someone
yelled ‘fire.’”

“Well, I read once that no one comes when you
yell rape.”

His face grew serious. “They didn’t—?”

She shook her head. “No. Against the rules.”
Tears stung the backs of her eyelids. “No one’s ever come to my
rescue before.” She turned away.
Don’t let him get inside your
head, Savi
. This stranger was even more dangerous than the
sadists. He made her feel vulnerable. She needed to keep her wits
about her if she was going to keep the walls of her fortress
intact.

Until she could get home and put her final
plan into motion, she’d do well to remember that men weren’t safe
or honorable.

But Damián had held her for hours without
taking advantage of her. Amazing man.

She looked back at him. “Thank you.”

“
De nada
.”

Then she realized what his actions had cost
him. “Oh, God. Your job.”

A bus boy probably needed every paycheck just
to survive. She assessed him. He wore a polo uniform shirt—which he
filled out better than any polo she’d ever seen—and inexpensive
black jeans.

He shrugged, as if it didn’t matter. But she
doubted he was truly that nonchalant. He’d be fired, if he hadn’t
been already, all because of her. Unfair. Yet another victim of her
father’s and Lyle’s ruthlessness. His face blurred as tears welled
in her eyes. “I’m so sorry to have caused you so much trouble.”

He leaned closer. She didn’t back away this
time, but her heart began beating faster.

“I’d do it again,” he whispered. “No regrets,
Savannah. No one should hurt you like that.”

She closed her eyelids and swallowed.
Damián’s fingertip brushed away a tear that rolled from the corner
of her eye. His hand felt warm against her chilled skin. A jolt of
electricity zapped her clit—and not the kind of zap the sadists had
delivered, either. Her eyes opened wider. No man had ever caused a
sexual response in her.

When he pulled his hand back, she fought the
urge to lean toward him. How could she feel so safe with this
stranger?

Dangerous. She needed to get away before he
got under her skin. She instinctively knew that opening herself up
to his kindness would just result in even more intense pain when
she left him to return to Master. Her life, her body, were not
hers.

“I have to get home.”

Savannah didn’t know what would happen when
she got there. Her father would be furious when Lyle told him what
she’d done. She looked around the room. Where was the camera? Were
they watching her even now? Her skin crawled. Were they waiting for
Damián to leave so they could whisk her back to her prison on the
hill in Rancho? Her failure would be severely punished.

Again, for a man who espoused no regrets, she
did see regret in Damián’s eyes. “Why don’t you get dressed? I need
to go clean out my locker. Can you meet me in the lobby in
twenty?”

“Sure.” She pushed the sheet aside, but
groaned at the pain of moving.

“Are you okay?”

She nodded. “My legs are sore.”

“Damn. Let me run downstairs and get the
first-aid kit.”

“No, really! I’m fine.”

“Bullshit. Lock the door behind me and don’t
open it for anyone but me. I’ll be right back.”

He didn’t wait for her to agree, just left
the room. She hobbled over on her sore feet and locked the door
behind him, then went to the bathroom to relieve herself. She then
washed her thighs with soapy water. At least there weren’t any open
cuts. Just red welts. She rinsed the washcloth and wiped her legs
free of soap, then heard a knock at the door. Her heart thudded
until she heard a familiar voice.

“It’s Damián!”

She grabbed a towel and went to the door to
let him back inside. He administered first-aid efficiently, as if
he was used to taking care of others.

“Where’d you get your first-aid
expertise?”

“I have a niece who’s a tomboy. She’s always
in one scrape or another.”

She watched his brown hands against her white
thighs as he gently applied antibiotic cream before taping gauze to
the insides of her thighs. Then he washed her feet. She’d never had
anyone take care of her needs in such a long time. Not since
Maman.

“How does that feel?”

“Better.” She smiled. “Thanks, Damián.”

“
De nada
. Let me help you get dressed.
I’ll carry you down the back stairs so we can get out without
alerting security.”

“You don’t have to carry me.”

He glanced at her feet, then back at her
face. “I’m carrying you.”

He retrieved her black dress, bra, and
panties from the chair in the corner and helped her dress. She felt
like a child, and blushed knowing she wasn’t. She lifted her arms
and he slipped the dress down her torso as she sat on the edge of
the bed.

Damián stood back, looking down at her. “Hope
you won’t mind riding on the back of my Harley.”

An image of her legs wrapped around him
caused her nipples to harden. She watched him glance down at them,
which caused them to grow even harder. Her face reddened, then he
raised his gaze to her eyes. His grin caused her clit to throb. Oh,
Lord. Her breasts had done the talking for her.

“Good,
querida
.”

Oh, Savannah, you’re so close to ending your
suffering.

Don’t do anything stupid and screw it up.

* * *

Damián throttled the engine and peeled out of
the parking lot. The feeling of control the hog gave him as it
responded got the blood rushing through his body in a way nothing
else could. Okay, maybe there was something else that could charge
his engine. Like the beautiful woman plastered against his back and
hips right now. He grinned.

The Harley was the only thing he’d ever been
able to call his own. He’d worked for a Harley-Davidson repair shop
and saved every penny until he could buy his own used chopper. It
had been a total piece of crap when he’d bought it, but he’d
restored it himself over the past year and could now interpret
every rumble the engine made. He hoped he wouldn’t have to sell his
baby to make ends meet, not after all the time and money he had put
into her.

Savannah’s arms held him tight around the
waist, her hands pressing into his stomach. He tried not to think
about her sexy legs molded against his hips and thighs. His dick
hardened. That she’d been game to ride on his bike surprised him.
She didn’t seem like the type who’d want to get her hair mussed.
And she sure as hell wasn’t dressed to ride. He’d made her wear his
leather jacket, but it barely covered her black cocktail dress.

Savannah sure was full of surprises.

The pre-dawn traffic was light as he rode
down Marine Street in La Jolla. Savannah was a natural on the bike,
leaning with him as he made turns and lane changes. Now if only he
could curb the ache of wanting to bury his dick deep inside her.
Between the vibration of the machine and her body pressed against
his back, ass, and legs, he felt like he’d explode.
Mierda
.
He rolled on the throttle and catapulted them onto the 5. When she
grabbed his waist even tighter, he grinned. Damn, she felt good
against him.

Palm trees and scrubby evergreens dotted the
sides of the road. The Pacific stretched out forever to the west.
She’d given him her father’s address in Rancho Santa Fe. Not that
it was any of his business, but he couldn’t help but wonder why
someone from a rich neighborhood like Rancho would let men treat
her with such disrespect.

He lived in La Colonia where he’d grown up,
the Solana Beach neighborhood now known as Eden Gardens. It had
sprung up in the shadow of Rancho to house the workers for the
wealthy Rancho residents. His Chicano grandparents and father had
immigrated from Mexico in the 1930s and worked for Rancho
millionaires for decades. His mother, a sixth-generation
Californian, had been a housekeeper behind the gates of one of the
Rancho mansions. He’d lived in the shadow of the Rancho decadence
all his life.

Now he had one of their daughters on the back
of his Harley. Wasn’t that a pisser? What would her family think
when he rolled up at their door to drop her off? He grinned. As
much as he couldn’t wait to see that, he’d much rather enjoy their
brief time together staying in the moment.

She laid her helmeted head against his
shoulder and his dick jerked.
Mierda
. Yeah, he definitely
needed to stay in this moment. But he couldn’t help but wonder what
the hell she was doing trusting him, a freakin’ stranger, like
this. How did she know he wouldn’t just take her to some isolated
place to rape and kill her? He remembered the torture she’d
undergone yesterday. This
chica
had some serious problems
with setting boundaries and making healthy choices about men.