If only

stand making those kinds of decisions?

She stared at her drink, recalling the harsh lines in Galen’s face. He seemed so driven sometimes. At least Vance watched out for him. Funny that they were so close. She smiled slightly. She’d asked the other subs if the guys were gay. They weren’t—they just liked to share a woman.

As Sally remembered the previous weekend, a slow slide of desire vanquished the last of the cold. They sure did a good job of sharing—and dominating—together. She’d never, never felt so totally at a loss, knowing she couldn’t…manipulate was a bit extreme…couldn’t influence the Dom’s decisions. But they hadn’t given an inch.

And the way they’d watched her and touched her. Gentle and edging on cruel.

As her core throbbed at the memories, she squirmed in her seat. Wasn’t it odd how she was just dying for them to play with her again and yet…uncomfortable…at the thought.

But even beyond that, how awkward that the Feebies were in the Shadowlands at all. If they ever found out she’d hacked into the bad guys’ e-mail systems, they wouldn’t be happy.

Unhappy Doms weren’t good for a submissive’s health, especially since Galen looked as if he had a bit of sadist in him. She sighed. Really, it would be smart to keep her distance from them.

The decision was a relief, and then a letdown. Hart, you’re schizoid.

Well, she didn’t have a choice in who joined the Shadowlands, after all, so she’d better be careful.

She shrugged and drank her coffee. On her laptop, the display flickered to the screen saver and the flash of light sabers as Obi-Wan fought Darth. She grinned. Guess she’d never be a Luke Skywalker-type hero; she was more like R2-D2.

But she was an amazing droid. She’d been hacking into computers since she was a teenager, and no one had caught her yet. Darned if she let any more women be kidnapped if she could prevent it. Besides, this was good practice for her forensic computer specialist career…kind of. Aside from being really, really illegal.

Of course, that just meant she was playing a digital Robin Hood. Stealing info from the rich slave traffickers and giving it to the poor cops. Didn’t that sound nice?

Remotivated, Sally clicked the keyboard and continued reading through the e-mails. Mostly junk until she ran into warning e-mails sent from an overseer to someone the next level up. A manager. The e-mails said a cop, Lieutenant Tillman who was working with the FBI, had ordered surveillance on a Harvest Association private investigator.

And…Sally caught her breath. The manager had replied. Awesomesauce! She had her first hit on someone in the upper ranks.

She slowly read the rest of the e-mail and frowned. Quite the sarcastic douche bag, wasn’t he? The e-mail concluded with Sarcastic Douche Bag telling the overseer to watch the news that night. Why would the douche bag expect something to be on the news? Sally lifted her hands from the keyboard, dread setting up residence in the pit of her belly. She couldn’t do anything about whatever had happened though; the e-mails were from last week.

Biting her lip, she did a search for the name Lieutenant Tillman. Articles filled the screen. Her hands trembled. After a sip of suddenly tasteless coffee, she carefully set the drink back on the table. The news reports led to images and videos: the cop’s house, gutted by fire, black and smoking, covered stretchers carried out to the ambulances, and neighbors weeping as they watched.

Tillman, his wife, and her mother had been chained and left to burn. Oh God.

“Are you okay, miss?” A man’s voice broke through Sally’s fugue.

She looked up.

Rich brown hair, green eyes. Jake from the Shadowlands. Staying as discreet as the club rules required, he didn’t let on he recognized her. He simply acted like any guy checking on an upset woman.

From the buzzing in her ears and nausea, she probably looked about ready to puke. “I’m okay. Just some bad news.” She pulled in a slow, calming breath and then gave him a nonchalant nod. You can leave now.

He didn’t move. Doms. They displayed that overprotectiveness 24-7. He studied her for a second longer. “Maybe I should take you home. Do you live around here?”

“Uh, no. I’m on my way somewhere and stopped to get coffee.” Kind of. She’d decided to never send Harvest Association e-mails from her home, so on her way back from Orlando, she’d pulled off I-4 near Plant City to do her checking. Sure, she could bounce her IP address around, but using the free Wi-Fi in a store added a bit of extra safety. “No need to worry.”

His eyes narrowed. He was a newly titled Shadowlands “Master” and slightly younger than the rest, but he sure had the same instincts. To her relief, he didn’t push. “I’m across the room with friends. You call me if you feel worse, and I’ll take you home.”

“I will. Honestly, I really am fine.” She would be. Maybe. “But thank you.”

As Jake walked away, she sighed. Galen and Vance had been like that—all concerned about her. Not all Doms were. With Frank, she’d thought his dominant behavior meant he’d be as protective and caring as the Shadowlands Masters. Boy had she been wrong.

Just as well she’d sworn off wanting a Dom of her own. Much safer to stick to lightweight scenes at the club.

Safer. The word sent her gaze to the laptop, to someone whose world would never be safe. With a keystroke, she brought up the reports about the fire. Even as a quiver of fear ran through her, she straightened her shoulders. You just look out—I’m on your trail, you bastards.

Chapter Three

“Hey, Ben.” Along with Vance, Galen walked into the entry of the Shadowlands. “How’s it going?”

The oversize security guard lifted his chin in greeting. “Going good. You two are running late.”

“You suppose there are any interesting submissives left in there?” Vance asked.

“For you two? You bet.” Ben grinned. “Hey, you ever hear Nolan grumble about how much work is it to say ‘Shadowlands submissives’?”

“Christ, Nolan bitches about any sentence over two words long,” Galen said.

“Yeah, well, Cullen started calling the submissives ‘Shadowkittens.’ Says even Nolan can spit that out.”

“Shadowkittens?” Galen exchanged an amused glance with Vance. The term certainly fit one little sassy sub.

“I like it,” Vance said.

“Let’s see if we can catch one, eh?” Galen lifted a hand to Ben and opened the door. His ears were assaulted by dungeon music and the enticing sound of impact toys hitting flesh. The room held the distinctive sex and pain scents of a BDSM club with the added fragrance of leather. Z had a preference for expensive equipment. The ambiance of the Shadowlands washed over Galen, pushing him into a different zone. No longer an FBI agent, but a Dom.

Near the front of the room, he spotted Nolan. His submissive—and wife—stood quietly in front of him as he tied her in an intricate rope bondage. The dark blue rope was a marked contrast to her fair skin. Her eyes were closed, an expression of peace on her face. Galen shook his head. Although many submissives said rope restraints could be as comforting as being wrapped in a toasty snug blanket, he didn’t have the patience for long, involved bondage sessions.

Z was sitting on a bar stool. Galen and Vance joined him.

Z’s wife, Jessica, was perched on the bar top. The submissive’s wrist cuffs were clipped to a leather waist belt, keeping her arms at her sides. The low neckline of her knit dress had been pulled down far enough to expose her full breasts. Brows together. Eyes filled with fire. Spitting mad.

Galen felt grateful she was gagged.

Out of kicking range, Z sipped his drink. “I expected you two earlier. Problems?”

“The good kind of problem, but time-consuming,” Galen said. He rested his hip on a bar stool and lowered