Uncollared (18 page)

STOP HER, IDIOT! Stop her!

But Chess didn’t move.

She’s gone, asshole. Are you happy now?

No. He was miserable. His entire world had tilted and spun out of control. He was losing two of the people he cared most about in the world. Pain stabbed him. Philip was dying and would be gone in a matter of months, maybe only weeks. And Mia—well, he’d already lost her.

You didn’t lose her, shithead. You drove her away.

For a fact. He’d been a complete bastard, purposely humiliating her and belittling her feelings for him. Pretending what they had was only raw, impersonal sex.

But he had to let her go. And though it was cruel, doing it now just when she’d learned about Philip, it was better than letting her hang on to false hope. Now she hated his guts. Good. That meant she’d stay far away from him. There would be no possibility of him weakening and accepting the love she so generously offered.

Chess knew in his heart that she wouldn’t care that he’d lost the business and his properties. That he wasn’t who he pretended to be.

But
he
cared.

How could a man claim to be a Master at the club while his personal life was completely out of control? What kind of a Dom issued orders but couldn’t get his own shit together?

A fraud. A fake. A phony.

Mia deserved better than that.

Oh, you’re so noble. You’re doing this for Mia. Face the facts, Ryan—it’s all about you.

He was nothing but a self-centered son of a bitch.

Friday evening at Restraint. Mia sat at the bar, nursing a cranberry juice and surreptitiously eyeing the few people in the lounge. She’d purposely arrived early, before the crowd. She told herself she’d just play a little bit, start out easy, and get home in time to watch Letterman.

Venetia appeared at her shoulder. “Want me to top that off for you?”

Mia smiled at her. “Sure. Thanks.”

The bartender refilled the glass and lingered. “So. How are you doing?”

Mia knew what she was asking. The last time they’d seen each other was at Philip’s memorial service two weeks ago.

“I’m all right. I miss him, but part of me feels like he’s still with me. You know what I mean?”

Venetia nodded and smiled. She gave Mia’s hand a tiny squeeze. “Sure.”

Though Mia and Chess kept their promise to visit Philip often, only Carson was with him when he died. She thought he’d have a little more time, but he passed away only a few weeks after he’d told her and Chess about his illness. It was as though once he’d unburdened himself of that secret, he was in a hurry to reunite with his Elaine.

She couldn’t help but think of Serina now. Someone else who’d been taken from this earth much too soon. Mia was ashamed to remember how she’d tried to bully Chess into punishing her. How she’d tried to hold herself responsible, as though it was all about her. Making herself the focus instead of Serina. How arrogant.

Spending time with Philip before his death had been a humbling experience. He’d been so courageous, and she’d felt so helpless. She couldn’t fix him, couldn’t make him better. All Mia could do was show Philip how much she loved him. And he assured her that that was enough.

Even though Mia knew his death could come at any time, it had still been a shock. He’d changed her life, and she’d never forget him or stop being grateful to him for giving her the opportunity to learn about herself and who she truly was.

“Could you believe how many people showed up for the service?” Venetia asked.

“He touched a lot of people’s lives.”

Since he was not a religious man, Philip had arranged for his memorial service to be held at a funeral home rather than a church. It was a standing-room-only occasion. The man had friends from all walks of life who came to pay their last respects.

“That’s so true. He was an amazing man.” Venetia wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “Did you know he sent me a letter before he died?”

“A letter? No, I didn’t.”

“It was…it was the most incredible thing that’s ever happened to me. The letter said that even though he’d never experienced the struggle I’m going through, he respected my courage and—” She broke off and wiped more tears away. “It was a beautiful letter. And it included a cashier’s check to cover the costs of my gender-reassignment surgery.”

“Oh my God.” Now tears pooled in Mia’s eyes.

“I know. It just… There simply are no words to describe what it means to me. And the thing is, he was never pushy or nosy—I don’t even know how he
knew
—”

Mia smiled gently. “He had his ways.”

“I guess. Well, I—How’s Master Chess doing? I know he and Philip were tight.”

“Can’t say. I haven’t seen him since the service.”

Her heart squeezed in pain as she remembered how Chess looked that day, so pale and somber. His eyes had been red-rimmed, and for once he looked disheveled, his tie slightly askew, his hair less than perfectly coiffed. She’d wanted to find him after the service, speak to him. Philip’s death dwarfed whatever anger or bitterness she felt toward Chess. How petty to hold a grudge now, of all times. Perhaps they could reach some kind of closure. She’d hoped they might at least comfort each other over Philip’s loss—after all, they both had loved him.

Though she’d waited for him outside the funeral home, somehow she missed him. Had he purposely avoided her? She’d been angry that Philip hadn’t been honest about his illness, but she’d forgiven him. It was harder to forgive Chess for the way he’d demeaned their relationship. She just didn’t understand why.

But she wasn’t here tonight to obsess over Master Chess. Tonight she wanted to spread her wings. Philip had helped her discover her submissive nature, and he’d led her to Chess, who allowed her to explore it in depth. But up to now, she’d only explored her sexuality under the tutelage of a man. She had a responsibility to herself to claim her submissiveness proudly and without shame.

Come on, Mia! This is your chance. Play with a few Doms. Find out what flips your switch.

Chess’s face flashed through her mind.
He
flipped her switch. But he did more than that, much more.

Venetia’s voice came from behind her. “He hasn’t been here lately. At least not when I’ve been around.”

Mia jumped and swiveled on her stool. “What? Who?”

“Sorry.” The bartender looked abashed. “It seemed like you were looking around for him. Master Chess. I figured you two were, you know, an item.”

“No, no. It was just a short-term thing.”

“Uh-huh.” Venetia didn’t sound convinced.

Mia set her empty glass down and pulled her shoulders back. “I’m just here to play tonight. Check out the possibilities.”
That’s right, Mia. It’s the new you. Bold and assertive.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed a man staring a hole through her. She swallowed hard and quickly looked away.
Chicken
. “Uh, how about a refill?”

As Venetia poured a fresh drink, she said, “Hey, you know Jenelle? You met her the first night she was here; the three of us were talking, remember?”

“Oh yeah. What’s up with her?”

“Well, she’s got herself a Dom. Seems pretty intense, and she sure looks happy.”

“Oh, that’s great.” Mia was glad for Jenelle even as she felt a twinge of self-pity.
Snap out of it. If a newbie can spread her wings, so can you.

Once again she peeked at the Dom sitting in the corner of the lounge. He wore a black leather vest and pants, with heavy boots that could easily stomp furniture into toothpicks. A barbed-wire tattoo twisted around the bunched muscles of his biceps. His hair was as black as his garments and slicked back from his forehead. He fixed his laser-beam gaze on Mia. Her heart thumped as she once again looked away.

“No, honey,” Venetia said. “He’s not for you.”

“Who is he?”

“That’s Master Marcel. He’s an extreme player. You don’t want to get involved with him, not your first time here solo.”

“Extreme?” She glanced his way. A woman approached him, a submissive Mia recognized from previous visits to the club. She came within three feet of him and paused, as though waiting permission to come closer. Permission was denied with a few words that Mia couldn’t hear. Drooping visibly, the sub retreated, never having earned a single look from the dark-haired Dom.

Mia’s lips flattened. “That wasn’t very nice,” she murmured.

“Sweetie, subs don’t go to Marcel for
nice
. A lot of them get off on his attitude.”

“But if he’s allowed here—”

“He’s allowed here, but just by the skin of his teeth. He’s been put on warning.” Venetia’s lips curled. “
Warning
. If it was up to me, he’d be out on his ass.”

The bartender’s contempt was so intense Mia wondered if there was more to the story. “He’s a prick. Has no regard for hard limits and thinks a
true
sub doesn’t need a safe word. Only he, the Master, knows what she can handle. Well, in this club, hon, we
respect
safe words.”

Venetia scrubbed the bar with a cloth, rubbing fiercely enough to strip its finish. Mia didn’t dare turn her head. “Is he still looking this way?”

Venetia’s eyes flashed in Marcel’s direction. “You bet he is. You’re fresh meat, baby.” She abruptly stopped wiping down the bar. “Don’t go anywhere, all right? There are just a few things I need to take care of in back.”

Before the bartender slipped into the back room, she drifted down to the other end of the bar and murmured something to Master Damien. He eyed Marcel and moved down next to Mia.

Damien’s arm bumped hers, and he gave her a grin. “A hottie like you shouldn’t be sitting here all alone.”

She responded with a small smile. “Did Venetia tell you to come over to babysit me?”

“Not at all.” He answered so smoothly Mia knew he lied.

“I’m a big girl. I can totally take care of myself.”

“Sure you can, honey.” He smoothed a strand of hair back from her face. His hand drifted lightly down her arm to settle on hers.

She looked at him sidelong. Was he coming on to her? He’d always been friendly before, but this was a little
too
friendly. Though Damien had none of Chess’s graceful, effortless style, he had his own handsome, rough-hewn appeal. Plenty of women wanted him. Mia was pretty sure one of them worked behind the bar.

Master Damien’s pale blue eyes were kind. Master Marcel’s dark stare held no kindness whatsoever. She couldn’t shake the pull of it, even with Damien right beside her.

“What if he comes over here?” she wondered, the hairs on her arms standing on end.

She realized she’d spoken aloud when Damien replied. “Not his style. You’d have to go to him. That’s how he plays it, like a king granting permission to his lowly subjects.” Damien’s mouth formed a grim line. He apparently disliked Marcel as much as Venetia did.

Mia wanted to get her feet wet tonight, not dive headfirst into the deep end of the pool. And hooking up with Master Marcel would be like swimming in shark-infested seas.
Come with me, girl, and I’ll give you more trouble than you could ever handle.

She was just chum to him. A minnow to his barracuda. Why, then, was she tempted by the lure he cast?

Venetia reappeared, ready to top off Mia’s beverage. “A little more?” she asked quickly. Too quickly.

“No, thanks.” Try as she might to ignore him, Mia found her gaze sliding back toward Master Marcel.

All right, he was a prick. But in a twisted way, she’d be safer with him than she’d been with Chess and Philip, because her heart wouldn’t be involved. How could Marcel hurt her more than they had?

A touch on her arm pulled her out of her thoughts. Damien rumbled, “If you’re looking for someone to play with tonight, I’m available.”

Mia’s glance flashed to Venetia, very thoroughly drying a glass behind the bar. Her face was a mask, stiff and devoid of expression.

“In fact,” Damien went on, “it would be my pleasure. And, I hope, yours.”

A wash of apprehension, not entirely unpleasant, rippled through her. What was happening here? Both Doms eyed Mia like a couple of hungry pit bulls licking their chops over a sirloin steak. She couldn’t deny there was something thrilling—and frightening—about being the center of their focus. But did either of them really want her, or had she simply landed in the middle of a pissing contest?

Dizzy with excitement and fear, Mia floundered, not knowing what to do. But she had to make a decision, didn’t she?

A cell phone hummed, and they all went still.

“It’s not mine,” Damien said.

Venetia shook her head. “Mine neither.”

Mia opened her purse, her fingers clumsy. “Oh, it’s…it’s mine.” When she checked her phone, what she saw made her even more disoriented. Someone had sent her a text. Her heart stopped.

Bella Mia…the Victorian Room…10 minutes…by yr Mstrs comnd.

The Victorian Room upstairs was like The Office, a private spot where people could play. But where The Office had only the few sticks of furniture necessary for interrogation scenes or punish-the-naughty-secretary games, The Victorian Room was opulently furnished. The walls were dusty pink, and the room held a large four-poster bed with soft coverings embellished with cabbage roses. A tufted pink satin settee sat flanked by a pair of gilded chairs while knickknacks and heavy draperies completed the scene.

But the knickknacks were sexually suggestive, the books on the shelves vintage erotica, and the four-poster bed just perfect for restraining a sub. Not to mention the large mirror on the ceiling to remind one that the bed was not intended for sleeping.

Chess had no interest in his surroundings as he paced the room like a caged animal. He’d texted Mia to meet him here twenty minutes ago. Her allotted ten minutes had expired, along with another ten. And while he paced like a tiger, he sweated like a horse. Where the hell was she? Had she really gone with Marcel? Or Damien?

The door opened, and Mia stepped in. Chess’s sweat cooled on his skin as relief washed over him. Then he was on fire again. She’d kept him waiting on purpose. She’d wanted to scare him.