To Command And Collar

“Still leaves me without a slave.” Master R pulled, and Kim rose to her feet, staying a step behind him.

“The hell with this. Just take her.” Lord Greville motioned to his men.

Master R dropped the leash and shoved her toward the door. “Run!”

She scrambled away, expecting him behind her-only he wasn’t. He’d charged the bodyguards. She hesitated and-

The Overseer slammed into her, knocking her into the wall. He grabbed her hair and yanked her back against his body.

No! She jammed her elbow into his gut.

He folded over but still clung to her hair.

Screaming, she ignored his grip, curling her fingers into claws.

Two against one. Dios. A big fist grazed Raoul’s face, leaving a burn in its wake. He spun and kicked the other guard in the gut, knocking him on his ass. Spin back, block another fist, try for a knee. Missed. The guards were both damn good fighters. Scarface’s return punch nailed him in the jaw, stunning him.

Raoul shook his head and half-blindly punched back, feeling the impact and crunch as his fist hit a nose. A bellow. Hot spray of blood. He twisted to check the other.

And then something punched him from behind, high on the right shoulder. He jerked around to see the Greville bastard jump away.

The skinhead swung. When Raoul blocked with his right arm, pain sheeted into him like all of hell had opened. He grunted and continued, but his block held no power, and the man knocked him into the wall. As he hit, fire ripped through his shoulder. His knees gave, dropping him to the floor.

“You knifed him good, Lord Greville.” Scarface stepped sideways as Raoul pushed to his feet.

Greville. He’d attacked from behind like a feral cur.

The two guards had him bracketed, his back to the wall. He could feel the knife, still stuck in his shoulder. Pain shot through him with every movement.

As the two glanced at each other, trying to synchronize their attack, Raoul darted a look across the room. Dammit, Kimberly hadn’t run, and Dahmer had grabbed her.

Still looking, he faked a grin, and Skinhead fell for it, glancing over his shoulder at Kimberly. Raoul stabbed rigid fingers straight into the bastard’s throat and felt the cartilage break.

Scarface yelled and lunged. Raoul tried to block, but his right arm failed-fucking knife- and a roundhouse knocked him sideways. He staggered, fell onto his hands and knees.

“Use the knife and just kill him, you incompetent turd,” Greville said coldly. “I’ve got better things to do.”

When two more men ran into the room, Raoul knew his-and Kimberly’s-chances of survival had just died. Run, gatita, dammit, run.

Scarface jumped forward and ripped the knife from Raoul’s shoulder. Pain burst like fireworks. Before the guard could step back, Raoul slammed his fist straight up into his balls.

With a choking gasp, Scarface fell to his knees, grabbing his groin. The knife clattered to the floor. A fucking steak knife from the dinner tray.

Raoul tried to snatch it and got kicked in the ribs. New guards. His hand skidded on the blood on the floor.

Heart battering at the inside of her ribs, Kim stared across the room at the group of men. Lord Greville’s bodyguards were down, one on his knees moaning. Between two new men, Master R pushed partway up and dived at Greville, hitting him in the stomach, knocking him down.

Swearing, the new men grabbed his arms, tearing him off Greville, holding him between them.

Face dark with rage, Greville staggered to his feet. Using a handkerchief, he wiped blood from his mouth, looked at it. He bent and picked the knife up. “Hold him good-I’m going to gut him like a trout.”

“Nooo!” Her shriek stopped everything.

Lord Greville turned, taking his time, Kim could tell. Playing her. He glanced at the Overseer who lay a few feet away, moaning, hands over his face. “Worthless bastard.”

She didn’t look, wouldn’t look at the Overseer or her bloody fingers. Could only think of Master R. He’d die because of her, because he’d tried to save her. My fault. “Please, don’t kill him. Please!”

Lord Greville tilted his head. “You care for him?” A cruel smile twisted his lips. “Oh, I like that. Yes.” He pointed his knife at her, then the cage in the corner. “In.”

A cage. Her breath stopped. Darkness, no light at all, the scent of a basement, excrement, urine, blood. Wire under her fingers, around her, she couldn’t stand, couldn’t straighten her legs. An ocean pressed on her chest, flattening her lungs. Air gone. No… She felt a breeze from the open doorway behind her-she could run. Run.

She edged toward the opening.

Master R was fighting madly, drawing everyone’s attention. His gaze caught hers, and he jerked his head toward the door. An order matching the one that every nerve in her body was screaming. Run.

“Hold him, dammit.” Lord Greville sliced at Master R with the knife-the blade scraped over the leather vest on the left, then cut viciously over his right ribs. A huge, long gash.

He made no sound, but Kim saw him jerk. A trickle of red spilled over the edge of the gaping flesh; then blood flowed.

Sobs choked her; tears blinded her. He’d die; he was dying. “No, no please, oh God, no. Please.”

Lord Greville glanced over his shoulder. “The cage or I cut him into little pieces in front of you. Crawl, fuckhole.”

She did, her hands numb, her heart hammering too violently. None of it mattered. The cage surrounded her.

Lord Greville laughed, jagged and cold like a saw blade. He turned back to Master R and scowled at how the two men had to hold him up. “Hell, he’s out cold. That’s no fun.” He glanced at the water pitcher, hesitated, then motioned toward the cage. “Toss him in.”

As the guards dragged Master R over, Greville’s eyes met Kim’s. “If he’s still breathing when we get home, you can show me just how far you’ll go to keep him alive.”

She’d do anything, and her stomach tried to empty as she thought of the perversions Greville would demand.

The guards heaved Master R into the cage. She pressed against the wire, feeling the wire sides closing in on her. Just as small as the one in Lord Greville’s basement.

“Get that collar off her,” Lord Greville said.

One man grabbed her hair, yanking her far enough forward to unbuckle the collar with one hand. The feel of air against her bare neck was horrible-not like being stripped, but like seeing her house burn to the ground.

The guard stepped back; the other closed the door and snapped the heavy padlock, removing the key.

“Look, fuckhole.” Lord Greville waggled her collar and threw it out the door.

Kim stared after it, her life tumbling down the stairs with it. Dreams die before people do.

Greville accepted the padlock key from the guard and put it in his pocket. “You’re mine, cunt, for as long as I let you live.”

No matter how many hours or days, it would be too long. Kim couldn’t stop shaking, her chest so tight no air seemed to get through. Red and black wavered in her vision-blood and death-and she wanted it, wanted the oblivion.

Lord Greville pointed to the moaning Overseer. “Haul him downstairs and have someone see to him. I need him able to sign the papers.” He turned to check his bodyguards. One had managed to stand. The other was…was dead.

Kim stared at Master R. He’d killed. And he was dying.

Her hands shook; her body shook. Don’t die. She tried to turn him. Stop the bleeding. No room to move him, no room. Her hands clamped into fists.

“I’ll clear us leaving with the front door attendants,” Greville said to the guard. “Get three more men to carry the crate-and something to cover it.” He laughed. “Good deal. Two slaves for the price of none.”