Now, about seventy-five miles east of the Cascade Mountains, he enjoyed a life he’d almost forgotten how to live. His subjugation under Darla Cain had been total and brutal, but Monica’s home was a paradise in comparison, and without the multiple daily injections of the drug, much of his self-confidence had returned. That was the best part about coming to live here. He could be himself again, do things he enjoyed, like creating beautiful things that would last and caring for the animals. Feeling like a man again—a respected and liked human being—was more heartening than he could ever convey. Despite his leeriness and temporary position, he couldn’t deny he felt safe here with these people. They accepted him, and though he understood this reprieve would end in the fall, he couldn’t help but enjoy the new friendships he was building with the other members of the ranch. His wariness around the women remained, but lessened significantly with the kind treatment he received from almost everyone.
Two days after Shawn’s last prank on him, Jake stood in Monica’s dooryard, supervising the installation of a new, enormous picture window. Jake felt comfortable and confident, more like himself than he had in a long time.
“Why don’t you get up here and help us,” Shawn joked without looking Jake’s way, as he and three others maneuvered the frame into place.
“Then who would direct you?” Jake asked with a smirk and glanced at the drafted drawings in his hands. “You really want to do the installation by brail?” He didn’t mind the ribbing, and he understood Shawn wasn’t serious; neither was he. As soon as they had the heavy glass pane lined up in the opening, Jake would be up on the partially completed deck, working alongside them again.
“Hello, Jake,” a female voice said from somewhere behind him, and he froze. The paper in his hands crinkled as he inadvertently crushed it in his fist.
His whole body tensed.
Sweat started along his tingling spine.
He tried to breathe, but his throat seemed to have closed after his first shocked inhalation.
He knew that voice; it haunted his nightmares. What’s she doing here?
“Looks like they didn’t exaggerate your skills,” Darla Cain said as she drew nearer.
An almost overpowering desire to run, to hide, to get away struck Jake, but his feet remained rooted in place.
“Don’t you have anything to say?” Darla questioned from directly behind him, a very real threat ringing in her voice.
“Thank you, Mistress,” he muttered, still unable to move and falling into the submissiveness she had beaten into him long ago.
He couldn’t see her, but he felt the superior smile that pulled at her lips. An unwanted picture of her filled his mind: long red hair, cruel gray eyes, pale skin, a pretty face with more than a hint of age lines around her eyes and mouth, and an evil smirk intent on making him squirm.
“Are you doing your best work for Miss Avery?” she asked, and a new threat laced her tone.
“Yes, Mistress,” he replied without thought, ashamed that even without the fear drug he still wanted to cower in her presence. Her feigned interest in the job didn’t fool him; she had no interest in his work. She was there to terrorize him and make sure he remembered his life belonged to her.
“Is that all you’re doing for her?” she probed sweetly, but the question was anything but sweet. Darla was a jealous woman, and though she sold her breeders’ services to others, she always made sure her slaves understood that she held their chains.
Jake’s muscles tensed further.
“Yes, Mistress,” he murmured.
“Good,” she said, and he nearly sagged with relief.
Several seconds passed as her eyes carved into his back, and then she spoke again.
“Turn around, Jake,” she ordered.
Grudgingly, he let the drawings fall and did as she said.
Head down, eyes on the ground, he strove to remain meek and humble, but terror and fury rocked through him all the same.
Does she know what happened that night in my room?
Is she here to make sure they punish me?
Is she here to do it herself?
Questions raced through his mind as he stood submissively before her. He could sense the malice of her regard like sandpaper against his skin as her gaze raked over him.
He flinched when she plucked his straw cowboy hat from his head. She let it drop to the ground behind her, where it landed with a quiet thud and a rustle of grass. Her fingers trailed across his cheek, his jaw, and down his neck.
“You’ve filled out nicely,” she said, flicking the collar of his white work shirt. The tenor of her voice sounded pleased and…hungry.
“Thank you, Mistress,” was his automatic reply, though his mind seethed. His weak and shabby physical condition had been all her doing. The heat of anger for all he’d suffered at her hands flushed outward from his chest and raced over his skin. He immediately bottled it up; fighting would only make things worse.
“Remove your shirt,” she commanded, and he flinched again.
They stood in the middle of the dooryard. His entire crew of workers, gone silent at her arrival, was arrayed around the house behind him, watching. Darla wanted to humiliate him in front of her captive audience.
Thank God all the kids went to the river, he thought, but he still hesitated.
“Did you hear me?” she asked, her voice dangerously low.
He had no choice.
“Yes, Mistress,” he said as his fingers slowly unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it from his jeans.
“The T-shirt too,”
