They dressed quickly. Kendra opened the door while Dylan wiped down the swing. Two young men were waiting, one in leather pants and a captain’s cap, his chest bare, the other naked save for a leather thong and slave collar.
They nodded in greeting as they entered the room.
“We’ll be out of your hair in a sec,” Dylan said as he wiped down and replaced the ropes in the cabinet. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“Not a problem,” the Dom of the pair replied in a deep, sonorous voice. To his boy, he commanded, “Go stand at the cross, slave.”
“Sir, yes, Sir,” the sub replied smartly, like an army private addressing his senior commander.
Kendra and Dylan left the room, closing the door softly behind them. Kendra was utterly exhausted—the delicious exhaustion of a day—and an awesome evening—well spent.
As they moved along the hallway, they noticed a small crowd gathered in one of the private playrooms. The door was open, indicating that spectators were welcome. They stopped, curious to see what was happening.
Stepping inside the small room with Dylan beside her, Kendra observed a naked, heavyset woman lying on the table. A man stood above her, his face in shadow, something gleaming in his hand.
Kendra stiffened in shock and horror, her blood freezing in her veins.
Shiny rivulets of blood covered the woman’s nipples, a long, angry line of red splashed between her breasts.
Kendra’s body turned to ice. Where was Dylan? How could he allow this to happen? Why was everybody so calm?
She wrapped her arms around her trembling torso as a wave of dizziness crashed over her. An image she’d worked so hard to forget slithered into her mind—his leering face, the long, thin blade, the blood soaking her sheets as she writhed in stupefied terror…
A strange sound whistled in her ears as black spots danced before her eyes. The world was swallowed up—sight, sound and feeling twisting in a spiral, like water sucked down a drain. Terror rose in her throat like bile. Her knees gave way and she swirled in a vortex of blood that faded from red to black…
Chapter 8
Dylan caught Kendra as she crumpled to the floor like a marionette whose strings had been cut. The others in the space moved quickly to give them room. He sank down with her, cradling her in his arms.
“Oh, my god,” a woman nearby cried. “What happened?”
“She passed out,” someone else said.
The woman on the table sat up abruptly, the red wax hardening over her breasts. “What’s going on? Is everything okay?”
“I’m sorry for interrupting your scene,” Dylan said quickly to the couple. “I don’t know what happened.” He looked again at Kendra, who, to his relief, seemed to be stirring, her eyelids fluttering.
“Hey, no biggie,” the guy graciously replied. “Must have been too much for her. I’m pretty intense with a candle.”
Dylan would have smiled at the man’s presumption if he hadn’t been so worried. “Thanks, man. I appreciate your understanding.”
He returned his focus to Kendra, stroking her cheek, which was clammy to the touch. “Hey, you,” he said gently as she opened her eyes. “Welcome back. You okay?”
She stared up at him, her expression first blank and then confused. “What…?” she asked, her voice cracking. She swallowed, her eyes regaining some of their focus. “What happened?”
“You passed out for a few seconds,” Dylan explained. “Are you feeling okay?”
She struggled to sit up. He helped her, keeping his arm around her just in case.
She glanced around the room, her expression mortified. “Gosh. I’m sorry about that.” Her gaze fell on the naked woman, who was sitting upright now, her legs over the side of the table. She was picking at the bits of dried wax on her breasts.
Kendra stared at her, her mouth falling open. “Oh, my god,” she breathed. “It’s wax. I thought…” She trailed off, looking away, clearly still distressed.
Dylan helped her to her feet. “Should we get you checked out? You want to go to the infirmary?”
“No,” Kendra said decisively. The color had come back into her face. “I’m fine now. Really. I just want to go upstairs.”
Dylan wasn’t entirely convinced they shouldn’t make a quick trip to the infirmary, but he decided not to press it for the moment. Instead, he placed his arm supportively around Kendra’s shoulders.
Turning to the couple, he said, “Sorry for the interruption.”
“Not at all. Look after your lady,” the man replied.
They were quiet as they rode the elevator to the fifth floor. Kendra was still pale, but seemed to be otherwise intact. As they stepped out into the hallway, Kendra gave a small, embarrassed laugh. “You must think I’m an idiot, passing out like that. I thought it was”—she stopped midsentence, a shudder moving through her frame.
“What?” Dylan queried, keeping a steadying arm around her shoulders. “What did you think you saw?”
“Blood,” she whispered. “I thought he was cutting her.”