Master of the Mountain

the secrets they'd shared over the years, this might be embarrassing. “You pretty much know everybody in the city.”

“Well, duh. I run a bar. Of course I know everyone.”

“Um.” Rebecca turned the bottle in her hands. “BDSM. You know anyone who's into it? I want to go to one of the clubs and thought a…guide would be nice.”

“Holy mother. You are absolutely not telling me that you've gotten into bondage and-” Pepper's light blue eyes widened as she stared at Rebecca. “You did. You are.” She fell back onto the sofa, laughing so violently, she choked, coughed, choked again.

Rebecca scowled. “You know, all this shock is pretty insulting. I'm not exactly a virgin.”

“No but-” Grasping the back of the couch, Pepper pulled herself to a sitting position. “Okay, okay, let me think. Angela. Yeah, she'd get a kick out of showing you around. You met her. Lew's Christmas party, remember?”

“Tall blonde, spiked heels, and a skintight dress?”

“That's her. She's a Domme, so if you go with her, no one will hassle you. Unless you want them to.”

Rebecca bit her lip and then nodded. No point in making a journey of discovery and stopping halfway. “Call her.”

* * * * *

Not dawn yet. Logan opened his eyes a slit, keeping perfectly still. What had awakened him? No noise except the ever-present rumble of traffic in the fucking city.

A cool draft of air brushed across his cheek, although he'd closed the windows before retiring. And there was too much light.

Ah. The door to his hotel room stood ajar with the hallway light spilling around the edge. He heard the slight scrape of a shoe on carpet, coming from behind him.

Well, hell, he had a burglar in his room.

Adrenaline surged through his body as he forced his lungs to breathe long and slow. Still asleep, see? Come closer…

Another breath of a noise. Logan jackknifed off the bed, tossing the covers over the intruder's head. He came up behind him, grabbed, and-

“Fucking A.” Jake's voice. Under the quilt.

“What the hell are you doing?” Logan smacked the top of his brother's head before yanking the blankets back off.

“You asshole,” Jake growled. “Don't you ever sleep?”

“You've lost your touch, bro. I could hear you from the minute you started on the door,” Logan lied. “What are you doing here?”

Jake dropped into the chair beside the small table. “Thought I'd give you one last chance to do a freak-out.” He flicked a finger in a token salute. “You passed with flying colors, soldier.”

“Dammit. I thought I'd get one good night's sleep, at least.” Over the last few weeks, he'd been woken up every night. Jake had done the honors at first, and then every vet in the Yosemite area had shown up to help.

And here Jake had always said he wasn't into sadism. With a grunt of annoyance, Logan dropped down on the end of the bed. “You sticking around?”

“I rented a room down the hall, but I'm heading back in the morning. I wanted to make sure you were all right somewhere besides your own bed.”

“Good point. Thanks.”

“My pleasure. Not.” Jake rubbed his head and grimaced. “Why aren't you in bed with Red?”

Logan growled. “What kind of person disconnects their phone without leaving a forwarding number?”

“She did what?”

“Yeah. And her mail now goes to a PO box.”

“She took a powder? Why?”

“Don't know.” Logan prowled across the room, too revved to sit. “I'm damn well going to find out. When you get home, dig up the numbers for the rest of the swingers. One of them must know something, probably the asshole boyfriend.”

“No problem.” Jake glanced at his watch. “I should be there sometime early afternoon.”

“Good enough.” Logan dropped onto the end of the bed and looked at the clock. Two o' fucking clock in the morning. “And, Jake? The wake-up calls? Do this again, and I'll bust your face. And it won't be because of a fucking nightmare.”

* * * * *

“Whoa.” Rebecca walked into Dark Haven and stopped dead as a naked woman trotted past. Hard, nasty music came from the back of the nightclub. Couches and chairs scattered here and there formed tiny secluded areas. More tables and chairs sat off to one side near a long metal bar. People everywhere, the Goth look prevalent. A man walked by dressed only in tattoos and a loincloth. Lots of wrist cuffs, handcuffs, and ankle cuffs on both men and women. Some women wore getups like Angela's. Thigh-high latex boots with stiletto heels, skintight latex that pushed boobs up, metal arm vambraces. Not women you'd want to meet in a dark alley, no matter how short they were. One carried a whip clipped to her belt. Other women wore nothing but cuffs. Some went topless. There were bustiers and see-through clothing and miniskirts.

Angela laughed and slung an arm around Rebecca. “Welcome to the weird and wonderful.”

“No kidding.” Rebecca shook her head. “I feel like Alice in Fetishland.” Thank God she'd asked for a guide. Otherwise this place could totally overwhelm her. She'd definitely received a wonderful guide. After arriving at Pepper's with a bunch of clothing for Rebecca to try on, the Domme had dispensed fashion advice and then moral support after hearing Rebecca's story.

Rebecca smoothed down the pleated vinyl skirt, wishing it were two or three inches longer. But at least the full skirt hid her hips fairly well, and the black corset pulled her stomach in nicely.

Angela ran a hand down her arm. “You look divine, and I still think it's a shame you don't walk on my side of the street. Now you're going to wander around. I'm going to stand off to one side so people don't think we're together. Otherwise no Dom will approach you.”

Rebecca glanced at the bar. A couple of beers would go down really well right now.

Angela followed her gaze. “No alcohol for you. BDSM and impaired judgment do not go well together. Especially if you and your top don't know each other.”

Two women brushed past, one a step behind wearing a big, buckled leather collar like Thor's. Huh. Rebecca frowned. An amazing number of people-submissives-wore collars, usually the ones accompanied by Doms. Studded leather, wide leather that kept the person's head held high, thin steel. Most had O-rings; some had chains that went to nipple clamps or wrist cuffs. Rebecca's eyes narrowed.

That night in Logan's rooms, Jake had said something… “Gonna collar her, bro?”

“Those collars,” Rebecca said to Angela abruptly. “What do they mean?”

“It varies.” Angela grinned at a woman chained to the wall. “Sometimes they're just plain useful.” Then she nodded toward a gay couple. “But for people like Alan and Peter in a full-time, master-slave relationship, a collar is equivalent to a wedding ring. Or sometimes it can mean you're in a Dom/sub relationship, and you're not available. Meggie wears my collar when we come here.”

Relationships. What had Logan said? “I'm no full-time master.”

“It can just mean commitment. You know, going steady.”

“Enough, asshole,” Logan had growled. “Not going to happen.”

Rebecca fingered her neck, remembering how Logan would close his hand over her throat, never enough to cut off breathing, just enough to show his control. A collar would be a symbol of that. His control. And commitment. Why hadn't he-