IF she wasn’t the biggest idiot in the world, she didn’t know what she was. It was too busy, too bustling and full of people she didn’t know, eyes she couldn’t meet but could feel staring at her.
Caera polished the glass in her hand like a woman possessed. She’d only been in Crack the Whip for an hour and already suffered through what felt like six panic attacks and a stroke. Her hands worked furiously, swiping the cloth over glass until the shine almost blinded her.
It was supposed to be quiet. Calm and quiet for at least one day until she got her head in place and learned how to pour a drink the right way. Never mind there were twenty-seven different cocktails or whatever they were called on the menu, all requiring some kind of mixing or shaking, aside from about five that were simply served straight or on the rocks.
On the rocks meant ice, she remembered, and nearly cried.
Instead, the club had opened its doors to a heaving lunchtime crowd, mainly gentlemen in business suits who sat down in the huge seating areas capable of holding parties of twenty…or an orgy, she thought, on a Saturday night.
Annabelle, the stand-in bartender who’d been brought in to cover the day shifts and teach Caera how to create magical alcoholic concoctions and where to find the various implements of said creation, whipped through the orders shouted at her across the bar by patrons and waitresses.
She was a tall, fit brunette with inconspicuous brown eyes and long, curly hair. Her demeanor appeared a bit abrupt, and the submissive inside Caera shrank away and cowered at the implication she might have done something wrong.
A shot glass winged down the glossy bar, sliding to a halt by Caera. She looked up, startled, and met those brown eyes. A sleek eyebrow rose on Annabelle’s forehead, a silent question.
“Drink it, rookie. You look like you’re about to be sick.”
Caera studied the neon green liquid and swallowed hard. “Thanks, but I’m not—”
“I didn’t ask if you were. I didn’t ask, period. I said drink the fucking stuff.” Annabelle continued whirling around the bar like a dervish, filling orders effortlessly.
The fucking stuff appeared to be radioactive. Caera reached out and poked the glass cautiously. The drink barely moved, more wobbled like Jell-O. Her stomach revolted at the thought of digesting whatever was in it.
“I won’t tell you again. Down it.”
But I don’t want to. “Annabelle—”
“Don’t call me that. Only my parents and my priest call me that, and I can’t stand any of the brainwashed pricks.” Hostility radiated from the woman; Caera took an involuntary step away without thinking about it. “I’m Belle here. Only Belle. Got that?”
Yes, Mistress was on the tip of her tongue. It felt wrong for the words to be there when she only called Deanna that if she was present during a scene and Saul made Caera address the older woman with a query. “Yes, Belle.”
“Good. Now drink that before I fucking pour it down your throat.”
Their interlude had drawn the attention of the club clientele and a massive whoop of enthusiasm erupted from the crowd at Annabelle’s threat. More bodies moved toward the bar, pressing in, taking all the air.
“Drink! Drink! Drink!”
Panicked, Caera snatched the glass. Her heart rammed into her ribs, bouncing around in her chest with the fear that all those bodies would crush her, suffocate her. Her hands shook horribly and the green substance barely moved.
“Drink! Drink! Drink!”
She was a grown woman, she didn’t have to do this. Saul would not want her to do this. They both knew what effect even a simple glass of wine had on her system, never mind a shot of whatever was thrown into the glass.
Annabelle scowled, set her hands on her hips, and bared her teeth.
Knowing it was the wrong thing to do, unable to stop the submissive side of her reacting to a dominant figure—however much of a bully that figure was—Caera tossed the thick mouthful back and swallowed.
Her belly erupted in a spasm of discomfort; heat exploded like a nuclear bomb in the pit of her belly. Seconds later, that same heat ripped up her gullet and tripped her gag reflex. Caera bent over and heaved, but nothing came out. Her mouth was on fire. Her body dripped with sweat, her veins burned horribly as though lava ran beneath her skin.
She couldn’t remember her knees hitting the floor. Couldn’t feel pain other than the burning. She couldn’t breathe, her airways tight and choked. Tears ran down her face, saliva pooled beneath her open mouth as she leaned forward to rest her forehead on the tiles.
“What the hell is going on here?”
Saul. She struggled to sit back up, her hands groping for something to hold onto to pull herself up. A foot, one with a nasty heel, pressed on her back between her shoulder blades. She whimpered, tried to fight her way free but between the fire and her panic, she was captive.
“Nothing, Saul. Just some of the customers getting a bit rowdy on their G and T’s.” Annabelle’s voice was sweet, accommodating. Flirting. “How can I help you this morning?”
Irritation scraped through his voice. “Where’s Caera?”
“Oh, I sent her on a little errand. She needed some breathing space.”
Caera’s body betrayed her. The fire burned away, a forest fire with no woodland left to burn. Everything seemed to stop functioning. Her vision blurred, her breathing sounded shallow and too far-spaced even to her own ears. But as they were tuned into the sound of the ocean, all rushing waves, she couldn’t trust them.
“Send her to me when she comes back,” Saul said, his voice fading away.
Caera wept dry tears as he walked away. She’d die here, crushed beneath the heel of a bitch who detested her for no apparent reason. Her blood alcohol level was no doubt through the roof which meant, she thought with an unbidden giggle, she was well and truly drunk.
Saul was going to be livid with her.
“Get up. You don’t deserve the likes of him. You’re pathetic, designed by nature to lick his boots, not suck his cock.” Annabelle crouched down, reached out, and yanked Caera’s head up by the hair. A look of revulsion crossed her features. “I know you only got this job because you’re fucking him. You wanna keep the job, stop fucking him. Otherwise, all bets are off and I don’t play nice.”
Jesus. Jesus, all this because Saul was her Dom? Did the crazy bitch know he was her Dom or did she just think they were what? Sleeping together? In a standard relationship? Surely not; the woman was a few screws short in the head but surely she knew she worked in a BDSM club, even if it was more low-key than Fothergill House.
Caera gazed into those bland brown eyes, filled now with so much hatred she wondered how she could have missed it. She coughed weakly, barely kept her stomach in place, and muttered, “Not in this lifetime, bitch.”
“So be it,” Annabelle growled and let go of Caera’s hair.
With no way to stop herself, Caera’s face smacked hard into the floor. Pain bloomed, peaked, and floated blissfully away as unconsciousness took her.
* * * *
Secluded back in his new office, Saul scrutinized the security monitors for signs of Caera. She’d just been there behind the bar before he’d had to answer a phone call about a vodka supplier’s shortage of a particular label. When he’d glanced back at the screen, the bar had been heaving with no sub in sight.
He didn’t believe the errand crap the tender was throwing at him. In fact, he didn’t trust the woman at all. Something heavy had been sitting in his gut since that morning when he’d introduced Caera to Belle, and he didn’t like it.
“Come on, baby, where are you?” He narrowed his eyes at the screen. “What are you up to, Belle?”
The woman rose gracefully from behind the bar, wiping her hands on her slacks. The look on her face spoke volumes: hatred, revulsion, sheer irritation. She looked down, sneered, and walked away to the end of the bar where only a couple of businessmen remained waiting for their order.
Hairs stood up along his arms, his neck. Cursing, he made his way back downstairs and through the lunch crowd to the bar. Almost immediately, Belle appeared in front of him, beaming her sickly-sweet smile and spewing flirtatious crap all over him. “Where’s Caera, Belle?”
He caught it this time because he was looking for it. The way her eyes darted down and to her right for the briefest second before returning to meet his. “Oh, has she not come back yet? You know, I have to admit I didn’t think she was cut out for the job when she showed up this morning. She looked petrified, you know?”
Liar, liar, pants on fucking fire, he thought. Without a word, he walked to the drop-down hatch at the far end of the L-shaped bar and slammed it up. He strode through, only to meet Belle as she blocked his way. “Get out of my way, Annabelle.”
Rage blinked to life. “Don’t—”
“I don’t give a shit what you want to be called right now. I have several names on the tip of my tongue. I’m refraining from using them in the company of clientele.” He would bodily remove her out of his way if necessary. “Move. Now.”
She paled, much to his satisfaction. Sweat beaded along her lip. “I tried to stop her,” she blurted. “I promised her I wouldn’t tell you.”
Anxiety clawed viciously at his insides. “Move.”
She stepped aside, one perfect tear sliding in a glistening trail down her cheek.
Saul rounded the corner of the bar. He shouted Caera’s name before he even comprehended the sight in front of him. He ran, skidding to his knees beside her still form. “Caera! Can you hear me?”
His hands shook as he rolled her onto her back. She was dead white, clammy. The green eyes he loved so much were closed; when he pried an eyelid open, her pupils were huge. He could scent the alcohol on her. Apoplectic, he glared at Annabelle. “What the fuck did you give her?”
“Why are you looking at me? She just helped herself, said she was nervous. Next thing I know, the guys out there are chanting ‘Drink!’ and she threw back a shot of something.”
“Bullshit. She doesn’t fucking drink.” He shook her frantically but she remained limp and unresponsive. “What did you give her to drink, Annabelle?”
She huffed and rolled her eyes. “Not my fault if the skinny bitch can’t hold a drink.”
“Annabelle,” he snarled.
“Pussy. I gave her a TKO, okay? She was annoying me, standing in the corner, wringing her hands. Wrong line of work for a pussy, Saul. So I gave her a TKO to chill her the fuck out and she freaked, passed out on the floor.”
“What proof alcohol is in the TKOs?”
She sighed heavily. “They’re reserved for the last-in-liners at four a.m. They’re about one hundred and fifty proof.”
“You gave my submissive a drink with more alcohol in one shot than she’s had in her entire life?” Saul pressed his fingers to Caera’s neck and found the pulse beating strong. “You gave my submissive a substance which could have killed her because she annoyed you?”
Annabelle’s skin faded to the same shade as Caera’s. She shook her head. “No one said anything about her being your sub, Saul. All we were told was that she was with you.”
“It shouldn’t have made a difference. You had no right.”
“Saul, I’m—”
“I don’t want a fucking apology right now. Get your things; you’re suspended until further notice. I’m sure Mac will be in touch with you either with your return date or your termination papers. Now get the fuck out, and if you dare cause a scene, I will end your employment right here and now.”
She stuttered, she stammered, and in the end, she hung her head and left without another word. The scent of her shame tainted the air; Saul didn’t give a fuck. The woman would be jobless if the decision came down to him. “Caera. Caera, baby, don’t fucking do this to me.”
He yanked out his cell phone. Out of his head with worry, every protocol he’d memorized vanished. Mind blank, Caera’s pale face filling his vision, he pressed the first number on speed dial and suffered through the ringing.
“Hello?” A strong female voice answered after what seemed like eternity.
“Deanna?” he croaked. He’d called Dee?
“Saul?” Concern flowed down the line. “Saul, are you okay? You sound off.”
Above his head, a guy shouted for service. Saul shouted back, what he didn’t know, and tried to concentrate on Deanna’s voice. “What?”
“Saul, you’re worrying me. What the hell’s going on? I thought you and Caera were supposed to be starting at the Whip today?”
“We did…we are. I need help. I don’t know what to do.”
“Okay, breathe, big man. I’m on my way and bringing boss man with me. Tell me what’s happened, keep me on the line. Now talk.”
The calmness of her tone soothed his panic. If Deanna could be strong, could be level-minded, so could he. He told her everything he knew, kept his suspicions about Annabelle’s motives to himself, and patted Caera’s cheek over and over.
On the other end of the line, he heard the roar of an engine booted to life and recognized the sound of Mac’s prized Mustang. How the hell the guy managed to cram all six feet and six inches of himself into that car, Saul didn’t know. At least, comfortably.
“Mac, what’s in the TKOs?” Dee asked.
Saul could barely hear his friend’s reply, but he definitely heard Deanna swear like a sailor. “Dee? Dee, what’s she taken?”
“They’re Jell-O shots, Saul. Mainly vodka with green food coloring, a rather vicious extract of jalapeño and some mint. It’s whether anything’s been added.”
“What the fuck do you mean by that? How am I supposed to tell?” He flipped the bird at a customer who wouldn’t shut the fuck up, and got to his feet. As Dee talked, he gestured to one of the waitresses who’d come to the bar. “You. Can you put orders together?”
She looked a little stunned by the abrupt question but nodded slowly. “I think I can do most of them?”
“Good. You’re in charge of the bar.” That sorted, he returned to his position beside Caera. “What am I supposed to do for her, Dee?”
“From what you’ve told me, it sounds like she’s drunk and passed out. Put her into the recovery position in case she vomits, and just stay with her. Get a blanket if there’s one within reach.” There was a pause, mumbles. “Mac says look under the bar near the fire extinguisher. Should be one tucked in there.”
Saul found it easily enough and, struggling to remember his first aid, arranged Caera’s limp body into the position. He tucked her in. “Do I need to call an ambulance?”
“Not unless you think she’s worsening. We’re only ten minutes away, Saul. You’re doing really well. We’re going to be there with you before you know it.”
Fuck, fuck, he hated this. Hated being out of control, unable to function. Needing another Dominant to coach him through basic first aid. It was mortifying, and yet it spoke volumes about the depth of his feelings for Caera. He’d never lost his mind over another person, not like this.
He looked around at the bar and the lights, and not for the first time since he fell for Caera asked himself what the hell he thought he was doing, bringing her into this lifestyle.
The problem was, he realized, she was flourishing in this lifestyle. Blossoming into the perfect submissive, becoming more confident outside the role. He couldn’t turn her away from what was helping her grow as an individual.
The poor waitress he’d promoted to bartender seemed to be handling herself well, he noted dimly. The noise level had calmed; it seemed none of the customers were aware of the terror he suffered through just over the bar. Their lives were far apart from his, and they were blind to his plight.
Good. The fewer witnesses to his inadequacy, the better.
“Mac’s going to come straight into the bar and help you get Caera upstairs to the office,” Dee said into his ear. Her voice didn’t waver. “I’m going to meet you there. We’re just around the corner, Saul.”
A few numb seconds later, he heard the screech of brakes and knew assistance had arrived. His stomach plopped into his feet with relief. “We’re behind the bar.”
“I know, baby,” Dee crooned gently, and Saul felt ridiculous tears well up at the endearment. “You don’t have to worry anymore. Mac’s on his way in now. You can put the phone down.”
Saul couldn’t bear to do so. His hand clutched the phone as though his flesh had turned to stone. Cutting the lifeline, his security line, seemed like too enormous a task.
“Mr. McAllister! I didn’t know we were expecting you!”
The little waitress was standing between him and help, Saul thought. Move her, make her move out of the way!
“Small emergency, Beth. I’ll be out of your hair in a second. Are you okay holding down the fort for me for the next hour?”
“Of course, Sir. No problem at all.”
“Good girl. I appreciate it.”
Mac rounded the corner, faltering when he caught sight of Saul and his lover. “Fuck me sideways, Saul.”
“I don’t know what to do,” he said blankly, the phone still to his ear. A phone that had gone dead without him noticing. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Fuck me sideways,” Mac repeated and pulled his own phone free. “Dee, we’re going to need a blanket and a bottle of the good Scotch. No, she’s still out. Saul’s gone into shock by the look of him, sat on the floor with a no-one’s-home expression. No, no, I can get them both upstairs. Okay, two minutes.” The phone was shoved into his back pocket.
Saul watched every movement as though he floated underwater.
“Right, lad. You’ve had a bad shock, and you’ve done well so far. I want you to stand up and walk upstairs to the office. Can you do that for me?”
“I-I don’t—” What the actual fuck was wrong with him?
“You can and will.” Mac’s hand gripped his forearm and pulled him effortlessly to his feet.
Saul swayed and was given a gentle push toward the end of the bar. “I don’t—”
“I’m right behind you with your girl,” Mac assured him, bending and lifting her into his arms. Another, more insistent nudge. “One foot in front of the other, lad.”
He walked, numb from the forehead down. He had no idea where he was supposed to be going, but his feet remembered. Where they hesitated, Mac’s voice behind him steered him blindly forward. Up the stairs they went and into the office where Dee bustled around gathering things.
The expression on her face was almost painful. “For God’s sake.”
“Saul, go sit down behind the desk,” Mac ordered and moved to set Caera carefully on the short sofa.
Saul couldn’t keep his eyes off her, even as Dee draped a blanket around him and pressed a cold glass into his trembling hands. “I don’t know what to do for her. Tell me what to do.”
Her eyes filled. “Saul, there’s nothing you can do. We just have to wait for her to come around, most likely with the worst fucking hangover she’s ever had. But she’s going to be fine.”
“I don’t know what to—” The rest of the sentence was lost behind the press of her fingers against his mouth.
“Fuck’s sake, Deanna. Just give the poor lad something to put him out of his misery for a while.” Mac straightened from checking Caera and raked a hand through his hair. “I can’t stand hearing him like this.”
Instead of following Mac’s request, Saul found himself pulled into Dee, her slim yet strong arms sliding around him, holding him to her. One banded behind his back, her hand stroking his hair gently, comforting him as she would a child.
“I can do that for you, Saul. I can give you something, give your head a rest. You’re stressed and you need to relax. Caera’s in good hands, we’re going to watch over her until she wakes up. You’ve done so well, honey, now it’s time to let go for a while, okay?”
He shook his head. He’d left her alone before and look where that had gotten her. He wouldn’t rest, wouldn’t close his eyes until she opened hers and he knew she wasn’t going to leave him grieving.
“Okay. You’re not going to lose her,” Dee murmured softly. “Believe me when I tell you we won’t let you lose her.” She reached down and lifted the hand that held the glass of Scotch. “Drink this, honey. It’ll offset the shock.”
Honey, he thought tiredly. He must be in a really bad way if Dee the Domme had given him his own endearment. He brought the glass to his lips and drank because he had a sneaky suspicion she’d make him if he didn’t do it of his own volition.
The quality Scotch lit a line of fire to his belly and then spread warmth into places he didn’t know had frozen. The glass clinked on the desktop as his hand dropped heavily.
His vision blurred; he stared bewilderedly at Mac…or more specifically, the small army of Macs standing guard over Caera. He barely stopped his head from rolling to one side.
“Help me get him down flat before he slides off the chair,” Dee said urgently. Her voice flowed in, rushed away, like the ocean at high tide.
“You crafty minx.” Mac chuckled. “You dosed his drink.”
Arms hooked under his. Saul heard his friend grunt as Mac lifted his now dead weight from the chair. His limbs were floppy, useless. Only Dee’s hand on the back of his head stopped it from snapping back.
“Gentle with him,” she admonished Mac as between them, they carried his inert body to the other office sofa, the bigger one that could handle his length. “He wasn’t going to take the tranquilizer of his own accord.”
“Not pointing any fingers,” Mac responded easily. “Five more minutes of ‘I don’t know what to do’ and I’d’ve clocked him myself.”
Saul felt his tenuous grasp on consciousness slip another few degrees and despite knowing it was futile to fight, struggled against the darkness. Caera needed him. Had needed him, and he’d failed her. Needed him now and he’d be damned if he failed her a second time.
A noise escaped his chest—a protest, a plea, he didn’t know.
Deanna knelt beside him immediately, her small hands cool on his face as she stroked fingers over his skin. Such small hands capable of such delightful sins. “Shush, big man. You don’t have to prove how strong you are. We know, we understand. This, you can’t fight. You don’t have to. We’ve got you, Saul. Let us catch you.”
The world wobbled, tilted. He blinked and forced his eyes back open. Blinked again, and with Dee’s voice floating alongside him in the darkness, lost the fight.
* * * *
“What the hell are we supposed to do with these two now?” Mac shook his head in resignation. “She doesn’t want to be waking up here. When you feel like shit, you want to be in your own bed, but I won’t be driving her back to the House in my car if she’s throwing her guts up.”
“That’s pretty much a given.” Deanna rose from Saul’s side gracefully, dusted her black slacks off at the knees, and moved across the room with her dancer’s poise to check on the woman in question. “Strong pulse, breathing’s normal. Eyes are”—she peeled one eyelid back gently—“completely spaced out.”
Mac reined in his anger. A member of his team, someone he’d picked personally when Crack the Whip had first opened, had done this to a susceptible, innocent young woman he liked and admired. “Think there was something more in that TKO than just vodka?”
“Possibly. You’d need blood tests to tell for definite.” With deft movements, Dee arranged the blanket they’d carried Caera up in over the girl. “I’d like an hour in the dungeon back at the House with the bitch who did this.”
Mac grinned wolfishly. “I’d pay to watch. But unfortunately, our motto has the word consensual in there, and I don’t think Annabelle would be too willing to hand herself over to you voluntarily. More’s the fucking pity.”
Her dark eyes frosted. “I could make her.”
“You’re a class A bitch when you want to be, and Christ knows I love you for it. But even you couldn’t harm someone—not even a jealous cat like Annabelle.” Mac seated himself behind the desk and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “However, she will be required to stand in front of us both and explain what the fuck happened today.”
Dee rolled her eyes. “Like that’s punishment.”
“Called to the carpet in front of two bosses, both Dominants, and one of those female and unimpressed by any feminine tactics she might try to pull out of the bag? The lass will shit herself, Dee, and you know it.” He leaned back and chuckled. “And if that’s not enough, losing her job and her privileges here and at the House and at every other club in town is really going to hit her hard where it hurts.”
Devilry lit Dee’s face like a spotlight. “Dirty little secret time?”
“Not much of a secret. Annabelle’s one of the kinkiest pain sluts in the area. She’s submissive to a degree, not as much as our girl here, but she’ll follow orders. Thinks herself to be Dominant material and has the odd Domme tendency. Not enough to be left in charge of a sub.”
“So, she’s a Switch, but not quite?”
He felt his own face harden. “Obviously, she’s dangerous. If she’s prepared to go to these lengths against a younger, undeniably submissive woman who wouldn’t fight back if her life fucking depended on it, Annabelle poses a threat. Switch, Domme, or sub, she needs dealing with.”
Mischief filled Deanna’s smile, along with a harder, more predatory expression. “What if you didn’t fire her ass?”
“That’s not an option, Dee.”
“Yes, yes, it is. Give her to me.”
He cocked his head in interest. “Give her to you…”
“There has to be castigation for what she’s done here. Saul won’t let this drop if you don’t, and I don’t blame him. You said yourself, she’s dangerous and she poses a threat. Who better to take on said threat than the biggest class A bitch in town, who rather enjoys wielding a riding crop and humiliating subs of a certain disposition?”
“Humiliation is not your specialty, Dee,” he warned gently.
“No, but I do have a flare for it. I can deal with this problem, Mac. In a way that doesn’t disgrace the community. If Annabelle proves to be unrepentant, unwilling to change her attitude and her actions, then banishment from the community will be the last resort. But I do like a challenge.”
Mac mulled it over, his gaze flicking from Caera to Saul, over and over. His best friend and his best friend’s beloved. Both casualties of one woman’s despicable actions.
Pitting fire against fire, he mused. He wondered what fireworks would come of the pairing. “If those two,” he said slowly, gesturing to the unconscious people in the room, “agree, then she’s all yours.”