The Dom's Dungeon (13 page)

“My God,
that's Drake,” Hope whispered.

The man
named Drake removed the long coat draped over Cynthia's shoulders. He tossed it
over the table by the front door and pointed to an empty corner. Eyes down, the
tall brunette walked over and knelt, facing the wall.

He and
Alex talked for a moment, and then they both crossed the room toward Mac.

When Hope
slid off the couch onto her knees, Mac gave her a puzzled look but did the
same.
Don't look at strange
Doms
. Mac remembered that rule, so she kept her gaze
firmly on the floor. A pair of dress shoes and black trousers stepped into her
narrow focus. Alex wore boots. This must be Drake, standing over her.

He'd
brought Cynthia. Why? And why did everyone—including Alex—look so grim?

“Hope,
return to your master.” Drake's voice was as deep as Alex's, but with a faint
European accent and as smooth as cream. Yet the smoothness was like a film of
snow over a mountain range, barely covering the power.

Hope
scrambled to her feet and escaped, for escape was totally what it looked like.

“Permission?”
Drake
said.

“Granted.”
Alex's voice.
Mac's hands fisted at her sides.
Cynthia, Steel, and Drake, who frightened sweet Hope.
What
was going on?

“
MacKensie
.”
That ever-so-suave voice gave
the end of her name a slight fillip.
“Eyes on me.”

She looked
up. Drake held his hand out to her. After a second, she let him pull her to her
feet. He stood a couple of inches taller than Alex, and with a man on each side
of her, she felt far too much like a bug about to be squashed.

“My name
is Drake.” His eyes were as black as his hair. She wanted to step back, but he
still had her hand. She glanced at Alex helplessly.

He stepped
to her side as if hearing her plea for rescue.
“
Shhh
, little cat.
Drake isn't here to upset you.” He
scooped her up in his arms, pulling her away from Drake, and sat down on the
couch. “So stop upsetting her, you intimidating bastard,” he said.

Rather
than striking Alex dead somehow—she didn't know how, but he looked like he
could—Drake gave a deep laugh and took the other end of the couch. Her sigh of
relief faded when he held his hand out to her again. He waited, palm up in a
silent demand, until she'd given him hers. But Alex held her now, and somehow
that made everything better.

Drake's
hand was warm and dry, firm, with oddly placed calluses. “
MacKensie
,
I own Chains.” He glanced at Alex with a glimmer of a smile. “A few friends
invested, but the ultimate authority is mine. You were victimized in my club.
Although I can't remove the memory, I must try to make it right.”

He nodded
toward Cynthia, who still knelt in the corner. “After the barmaid identified
her, a friend in the police force matched her fingerprints to the ones on the
note. I wanted to turn her over to the police, but…” He sighed and rubbed his
chin.

MacKensie
tried
to pull her hand away. Obviously the rich, beautiful Cynthia had either cried
or bought him off or—

“The club
operates under very stringent rules of privacy,” Drake said, interrupting her
unspoken tirade. “To convict her would require a trial and witnesses. You would
have to take the stand.”

Mac's
mouth dropped open. “Me?” She hadn't thought it through at all.

Drake
tilted his head. “Alex said you're starting a career here. He doubted you'd
want to be identified as having visited a BDSM club, let alone having had an
altercation like this one.”

“Oh
God, no.”
A whole new life and reputation ruined.

“Good
call, then.” The black gaze flickered to Alex before returning to her. “So we
were left in a quandary. To have undermined the lifestyle in such a calculated
way and to have instigated such a cruel act—such behavior cannot be permitted.
So Cynthia received a choice.”

Mac could
feel her hand trembling in his grasp; so could he, for he covered her fingers
with his other hand.

“Either
arrest and prosecution to the full extent of the law—or she could receive
exactly what she had planned for you.
Willingly.”
His
eyes rested on Cynthia for a moment, and Mac shivered at the merciless look in
them.

He gave
Mac a faint smile. “Cynthia has no idea that you wouldn't enjoy publicly
shaming her in court and destroying the social standing that means so much to
her. So she signed not only a confession but an agreement to make things right.
She and Steel are here tonight so that you, as the injured party, as well as
Alex, can bear witness.”

“
She could receive exactly what she had planned
.”
Mac didn't want to think about Steel's actions, but would he have stopped at
whipping her? What would have been the inevitable conclusion of that scene?

“No,” Mac
whispered. “No rape.” She tried to straighten up against the painful clenching
in her stomach. “I don't want that for her. Not for anyone.”

“You know
your sub well, don't you?” Drake nodded to Alex, a glint of amusement in his
eyes. Lifting Mac's hand, he kissed her fingers. “You have a soft heart,
chérie
. It shall
be as you wish.” His mouth thinned. “However, the whipping is nonnegotiable.”

His little
sub was warm and soft in Alex's arms, content to be held as Drake walked over
to Steel and spoke with him briefly. When Steel crossed the room and grabbed
Cynthia by the hair, Mac's eyes went wide with distress.

Alex
tightened his arms.
“
Shhh
.”

Steel
pulled Cynthia to her feet, and the brunette cringed when she realized who
would dispense her punishment. “No!”

“'
Fraid
so, girl.
Let's get this over with.”
Steel marched her to where Drake held open the door to the small dungeon. After
nodding at Steel, Drake closed the soundproofed door behind the two and walked
over to join the other
Doms
.

“
MacKensie
,” Alex said quietly, “I didn't think you'd want
to watch. But if you do—”

“No.” Mac shuddered
and buried her head in his shoulder.

Satisfaction
washed through him like a warm wave; she had learned to look to him for
comfort. He stroked her fair hair, silky strands over satin skin. “Then there
is nothing we need to do now.” But from the continued tenseness in her body, he
realized she was listening, fearing to hear the whip or Cynthia. “The room is
soundproofed, little cat. You can't hear anything.”

“Oh.”

But she'd
listen anyway. Carrying her in his arms, he joined the group around the fireplace
and took the empty chair across from Drake. Every sub had reacted in exactly
the same way as his. On the couch, Peter held Hope in his arms, and Tess sat on
the floor between Zachary's legs with his hands massaging her shoulders. The
Doms
all had the same grim look in their eyes, even Drake.

The
punishment had to be done, but no one was pleased about it. And everyone was
listening.

“Little
cat,” Alex murmured. “Would you put on some music for me?
Maybe
Enya
?
I'm going to serve drinks.”

“Yes,
Sir,” she whispered.

He held
her still so he could smile at her. “I like the way that sounds. You please me,
MacKensie
.”

A flush
bloomed in her pale face in response to his approval.

By the
time he'd finished making up everyone's usual drink, the soft sounds of
Enya
filled the room.

Drake
smiled slightly when Alex handed him the scotch he favored. “You're a good
host, and this is an excellent diversion. Thank you.” He took a small sip,
then
put the glass down.

Alex took
the last two drinks off the tray and reclaimed his chair. He set the drinks on
the small table and held his arms out, pleased when
MacKensie
burrowed back into his embrace without hesitation. He handed her a gin and
tonic and picked up his scotch, then glanced at Drake. “You think this will be
the end of it?”

Drake
frowned. “As far as copycats, yes. I gave Steel a camera for before-and-after
photos. Although I'll black out her face, Cynthia's body is quite recognizable,
and the story of what she did is making the rounds. When the pictures from
tonight are posted over the bar, I doubt anyone will consider duplicating what
she did.”

The talk
turned general, and the
Doms
encouraged the subs to
join in to keep their minds off the scene being played out in the dungeon.

Zachary
told how his new ram had butted him off his feet; Tess teased the rancher about
the dungeon he'd built in the barn. Hope had several troublesome students
creating chaos in her classroom. Peter suffered from a backlogged caseload that
kept him working late each night.

“You know,
we never asked how you met,” Hope said, smiling at Mac.

MacKensie
stirred in Alex's arms. “We exchanged houses. Butler needed someone to care for
him while Alex attended some conference close to my hometown.” She frowned and
looked up at him. “After seeing your house, I couldn't believe you wanted to
use my little place.”

“I've
found staying
in a real house—even little ones—
more
comfortable than any motel room. And it's worth the drive if I can get out of
the city and enjoy a smaller town.”

“Oh.”
MacKensie
returned her attention to Hope. “Anyway, he
missed his flight and returned to the house.”

And found her in a wonderful position
. Alex
grinned as red streaked across
MacKensie's
face. She
obviously hadn't forgotten either. “She was nice enough to let me stay in my own
home.”

He heard
the little sigh of relief that he hadn't gone into detail.

With a
little
click
, the music came to an
end. Mac turned toward the dungeon. “Why isn't he done?”

“Steel was
furious he'd been used in such a way,” Drake said. “And he's a master with the
single tail. He won't break skin, but she will be marked for quite some time.”

“You must
love
her a
lot to punish her like this,” Mac said.

Alex
frowned at the peculiar statement and realized there was something odd in her
voice.
Wistfulness?
Envy?

His glance
at the others silenced them. “What other punishment could we have used, little
cat?” Alex asked softly.

Her hand
resting on his chest curled into a small fist. “If you didn't like her, you'd
put her out of sight. Send her where you didn't have to look at her.”

Such
a matter-of-fact statement.
A reality to
MacKensie
.
Alex frowned as dawning
comprehension created a knot in his stomach. “So Cynthia knows we love her,
since we're whipping her raw?”

Her cheek
rubbed against his shirt as if she were the little cat he called her. Even as
she snuggled, a frown formed between her brows. “I don't know about whipping.
It seems awfully harsh.”

“I guess
we could have flogged her.” He paused. No response.
“Or caned
her.”
Paused.
“Or spanked
her.”

MacKensie's
breathing increased, and the tiny muscles in her lips quivered for a second.

“Yes,
maybe a hard spanking.
Would she know what it meant, though?” He threw
that out blindly and got more than he'd anticipated.

“Only
girls who are loved get spanked. She'd know that.”
Again, a
reasonable tone.
Spanking and love went together in
MacKensie's
world, a thought pattern probably established so young, she didn't even realize
it. He'd dig further. But for now she needed to know she was valued as
much—more—than Cynthia. He could give her that.
With a little
help.

He glanced
at Peter and Zachary, saw the understanding in their eyes, and received nods.
Experienced
Doms
could no more ignore a need like
this than a doctor could ignore a bleeding wound.

The
dungeon door opened, and Steel walked out, his hand wrapped around Cynthia's
upper arm, giving her support enough to walk, but from the repugnance in his
face, he didn't want to get closer. Steel's mouth was tight; he obviously
hadn't enjoyed the punishment, but he'd done a masterful job.

Red welts
covered Cynthia's body, front and back, shoulders to calves, only the areas
around her kidneys and spine left unmarked. Her tear-streaked makeup splotched
her face like
camo
paint, and her eyes were glassy
with pain.