She looked like she wanted to come with me, and she’d have the perfect excuse. We used to go into the bathroom together and share dirt on the guys we were with. She always carried a flask in her purse, the hard stuff, and we’d take a shot of liquid courage before going back out.
“I just need a minute,” I said quickly. “I need to redo my make-up before I meet someone.”
“Okay,” she agreed. “Do your lipstick at least. And hurry back.”
In the restroom, I leaned on the sink, staring into my bloodshot eyes. I looked a mess. Anyone could see I wasn’t up for playing. I probably wouldn’t even pass the monitor’s inspection. Why did she want me to play with someone so badly?
The door opened and I tensed, thinking it was Anya come to check up on me. But instead a slim woman in a black sheath and high heels came in, laughing at something on her way inside.
My breath caught in my throat. I knew her from somewhere, from another lifetime. I didn’t know her name, but I knew she cried at the first touch of pain, and then grew quiet when she fell into subspace. I knew the thing she feared most was needles.
I gaped at her as she went into a stall, waited dumbly until she came back out. She noticed me as she washed her hands.
She smiled. “Hi.”
“Um, hi. I’m sorry, but you seem really… familiar.”
“Oh, I remember you. You’re talking again.” She looked radiant, and as unaffected as if we were swapping stories about a day spa.
“Right. So. What…how did you get back?”
“The same as you, I suppose. When we’re ready. When we’re done.”
When we’re done—like turkeys in the oven. And she was okay with it?
“I don’t understand,” I said. “They shouldn’t have…I didn’t want that. I hated it there. You hated it there.”
Her face drew into a small frown, looking tragic and haunted and beautiful. “It’s not about what I like. I want to serve my Master.”
Her makeup was flawless, her up-do classy. The hem of her dress exposed long, shapely legs adorned with leather cuffs. Complete with a placid expression, she was a kinky Stepford wife.
“Um. I gotta go,” I muttered, angry and confused.
“It was great to see you again,” I heard her say before the door swung shut.
I edged around the crowd and pushed out an emergency exit that I knew from my many visits here wouldn’t set off an alarm. The stench of the street was a relief to me. I leaned against the concrete wall, catching my breath. The atmosphere in there had been stifling, Anya’s pushiness unsettling, but that slave was terrifying. Was that supposed to be me?
The door squealed open behind me, and I startled, thinking Anya had followed me. Instead it was the bouncer from the front. “You need to leave,” he said.
I glanced around the small alley. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m going, I promise.”
He shook his head. “Not here. You need to leave the club. The city. It isn’t safe for you here.”
He knows. “How?”
With a shrug, he said, “That’s above my pay grade. You were marked for the program. Then you went away, and now you’re back except…”
“Except what?”
“You’re still you.”
“Just tell me something. Do you know someone named Brendan?”
He gave me a strange look. “Don’t you?”
“I don’t remember,” I whispered. “Please tell me. I can’t remember what I need to know, and it’s killing me.”
There was a long pause, where I knew he was debating the risk to himself.
Finally he said, “Some girls want to be more submissive. Hell, most submissives do. Comes with the mindset.” He shrugged. “Or even if they don’t want it. They go off, get a little training, and come back to their lives here, but now they’re the best subs in the scene. Everyone wants them, but they’re completely devoted to their Dom.”
I choked on the words. “And that happened to me?”
“You were Brendan’s girl, and then you were marked. What do you think?”
“I think I brought this on myself.” My survival instincts told me to run, but a growing horror chained me to the spot. Through everything that had happened, my helplessness had been my treasured safety blanket. Oh, the regular stand-bys of shame and guilt still visited me on occasion, but as long as it was all forced, I could absolve myself them. But if I had ever consented to that… then I was the monster.
I swallowed thickly. “What do I do?”
“Well, that’s the thing. Every girl that’s ever come back is different. To be honest… they seem pretty happy. But not you. I don’t see how they can let you go around, asking questions, stirring up trouble. It’s not going to look good. Something’s gonna have to be done. That’s why I said, you need to leave.” With that he reentered the club, leaving me in the cold.