Make Me, Sir

them?”

Well, that hurt. Maybe it shouldn’t, since she knew she wasn’t especially pretty, but still… She bit back her first response. As a social worker, she’d learned that calling someone a sorry-ass loser tended to screw up any chance of cooperation. A shame the scum-sucking dipwad couldn’t grasp the concept. “I understand,” she said sweetly. “But bear in mind if I’m too badly behaved, they’ll wonder why Z doesn’t boot me out of the trainees. But I’ll try to be louder tonight.”

“You will damn well be louder.”

Or what? You’ll take me off this job and get a person with no clue of how to behave in a club? She changed the subject. “Do I have someone watching me during the day?”

“Of course. There’s always one agent somewhere near you. Just go about your business and leave the work to us.”

Her hand clamped on the phone. Work, huh? She’d far rather serve as the backup. Maybe she should stick clamps on his dick and let him discover the joys of decoy duty…if anyone could find what was probably an itty-bitty dick. She grinned. “Will do.”

She snapped the phone shut. He sure hadn’t changed since last year. She grimaced. After a school shooting in Tampa, the authorities had called in victim specialists from other areas, including her Miami office. Dickhead had headed up the investigation, and they’d butted heads over his crass behavior toward women, like the sisters of the shooters-ones who felt they couldn’t say anything. Due to his high connections, her complaints got ignored. He was such a bastard.

But right now, the bastard had a point. She needed to ramp up her bratty act.

She rolled her eyes. To think she had competition for the brattiest in the club. Unfortunately the most disobedient sub wouldn’t receive a trophy, but slavery instead. Her amusement died.

She had agents watching her back, but the other two submissives in the Shadowlands didn’t. If the kidnapper took those women because Gabi hadn’t made a good enough effort… How could she live with that?

So…must be louder, nastier. She flipped the phone open and shut, trying to think of showy ways to demonstrate she was a badass submissive. Rude attitude, check. Insults? Hmm.

She smiled. The teenage victims she counseled sure had good ones. Maybe make a list and memorize some.

What else could she do to show her brattiness? She slid into her car, then giggled, remembering one of Marcus’s orders.

She hadn’t wanted to shave down there anyway.

* * *

After lifting weights for an hour, Marcus walked into the locker room of the fitness club. He nodded at the lanky college student changing into a karate uniform. “Tim, how are you doing?”

“Good, man, good.” Tim finished knotting his brown belt. “Sensei asked if you’d arrived yet. He wants you to mentor a couple of new boys.”

“Ah.” Marcus frowned. He’d cleared some of his cases, had a closing argument to prepare, another court date after that. As a prosecuting attorney, he never lacked for things to do, but he’d much prefer to guide the next generation in the right direction rather than skewering them in court. He’d find the time. “Please tell him I would be happy to help out.”

“Good deal. Their mama brought them in-sounds like they’re sliding into a gang.”

“Got it.” As the young man headed out, Marcus shook his head. Damn gangs. Well, he’d give the sensei a hand with getting the boys onto a better track.

Pulling on his gi, Marcus glanced at the wall clock. After class, he’d have just enough time to shower and change before heading to the Shadowlands.

He smiled, looking forward to the evening. He enjoyed working with the trainees and doing scenes with the various subs in the club, but Gabrielle had added a sense of challenge he hadn’t felt in a long time. Hadn’t realized he missed.

And yet he didn’t like misbehaving submissives. As he tied his black belt, he pondered on his anticipation. The new trainee had an appealing little body, soft and curvy. Her face had character, which he believed more attractive than mere beauty, although she was pretty too, with those rich brown eyes and the pale skin warmed by her red hair. So yes, her appearance attracted him.

Her personality? She had a quirky sense of humor and a soft, sultry giggle that made him laugh. Definitely smart. And she had an easygoing charm-at least when she wasn’t trying to be obnoxious.

She’d tested him all evening. But the few times he’d seen her submit had been heady. He’d wanted more. Wanted her in bondage, with willing surrender in her eyes.

What would she be like in bed? When she’d kissed him, she’d focused her entire attention on him. Not worrying about other people, her clothes, her hair-just giving her all. That kind of concentration was as sexy as it was compelling.

A man had to wonder if she’d concentrate on fucking as completely.

He started to harden and gave an exasperated snort. Having a woody in a karate class? Bad idea. Besides, it was too early to think about taking the little sub. Too soon to even make solid plans on how to train her. As unpredictable as she was, he’d need to play it by ear. Hopefully he’d figure out why she had such a rebellious attitude, and then he could center some scenes around the problem.

Smiling, he slammed his locker shut and snapped on the padlock. Any way he looked at it, he doubted he’d be bored tonight.

* * *

Boot camp, Shadowlands-style. The wood floor hurt Gabi’s knees as she knelt in the entryway with the other trainees for Master Marcus’s inspection before the evening began. As he strolled down the line, she kept expecting him to bark out, Is your rifle clean, Private? She stared at the floor. Don’t giggle, dummy.

Shoes appeared, nice charcoal gray slacks, a suit coat, and… When she met Marcus’s intent gaze, her amusement disappeared-along with the rest of her mind. He held her, frozen in place, with only the power in his eyes.

Then he smiled. “Welcome back to the Shadowlands, Gabrielle. Stand yourself up now.”

Feeling gawky after the smooth grace of the others, she scrambled to her feet and imitated the stance they’d taken. Feet shoulder-width apart, hands clasped behind her back, straight posture, chin up. Sir, yes, Sir. But as his razor-sharp gaze scrutinized her body, she flushed and her nipples contracted into peaks, thankfully concealed by her vest. Surely that wasn’t supposed to happen in boot camp.

“You look very nice,” he said in his deep, molasses-slow voice, and his approval made her feel as if she’d gotten a gold star on her spelling paper. Of course, she deserved a gold star for her attire. She’d gone for a barbaric appearance with a laced-up leather vest and matching short leather skirt. Knowing she’d be barefoot, she’d painted her toenails a garish red. Temporary tattoos of swords and thorns circled her upper arms.

He ran his hand over one tattoo, and his eyebrows quirked. As his calloused palm continued down her arm, her knees weakened. How could a man’s touch-just his damned touch-mess with her like this?

His gaze intent on her face, he lifted her hand and nibbled her fingers.

When her toes curled, he smiled slowly. “Tonight you’ll waitress on the dance side of the room. Remember, you may not play with anyone without my permission, but you’re encouraged to stop and talk.” His bourbon-smooth voice spiraled around the top of her spine and slid straight down to her groin like a sip of hundred-proof sex. “With all the instructions you had last night, I’m not sure I explained this well. Master Z could easily hire waiters, but serving drinks means you meet the doms without the pressure of finding something to say. Make sense, sugar?”

He paused. Unfortunately she wasn’t here to meet doms, except for one kidnapper. “Yes, Sir.”