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hide her head in the sand, after all.
    And this time she’d be prepared for jerks. She could also use Master Z’s name as a conjuring tool: Don’t mess with me or Master Z will make you disappear. Yeah, that might work.
    Grinning, she slid off the bar stool and set out. She received two more propositions in the first twenty feet; one man was worth a second look. He had that same confidence --
    strength -- as Master Z and Gabe. But somehow, Sir made every man in the room seem weak, unfinished. She thought of the way he looked at her -- all his attention on her, not on the music or other people or planning his evening or even his next sentence. To be the focus of that intensity was heady.
    And then, of course, came the question she really didn’t want in her mind: What would it be like to have all that attention on her in bed?
    She blinked and refocused her own attention to the here and now, not in visualizing Sir with his clothes off, with his big hands wrapped around her wrists and his mouth…
    Argh. Stop. Look. Walk. At one of the well-lit stations, a person was tied on what must be that St. Andrew’s cross the jerk had mentioned. This time the shackled person was a male 30
    Cherise Sinclair
    whose female boss was whipping him in horrible places. Completely appalled, Jessica stared for a moment, pulling her legs together in reaction. No, she didn’t want to watch this -- no way. Hurrying past, she could only think, These people are crazy.
    She passed two women talking together on a couch. The woman in a black catsuit was telling the other, “Your safe word is banana. Can you remember --”
    And what would a safe word be?
    The farther she got from the entrance, the more the lighting changed, growing ominous. Ah, some of the flickering wall sconces had red-tinted bulbs.
    At the end of the room, open double doors led into a wide hallway. A lot of people were milling around in there, and the noises made Jessica’s stomach twist: screams, the sound of a whip, begging. Too intense. She wasn’t going down that hall.
    Not that she could escape all the uncomfortable sounds. As she headed toward the other side of the room, high-pitched screams rose above the hum of conversation. In a roped-off area, a burly man with tattooed arms was whipping a little brunette tied on a sawhorse-like table. The poor woman was shrieking, “Stop! Stop, please, stop!” He didn’t stop. People stood outside the ropes, not doing anything. Damn them.
    Fury seared through her like wildfire. Her sister had been beaten like that during her marriage; Jessica had suspected abuse, but hadn’t acted. She would this time.
    Coming up behind the man, she grabbed the whip out of his hand. “You perverted asshole, let her up, or I’ll show you what it feels like!”
    The man’s bulldog face flushed red, and he took one step forward, then stopped, hands closing into fists at his side. Turning to a spectator, he snapped out, “Fetch me a monitor.”
    Spinning back toward Jessica, he snatched at the whip.
    Jessica punched him right in the face, knocking him down, shocking herself. Aside from karate classes in college, she’d never hit anyone. But, hey, the punch had worked.

    Club Shadowlands
    31
    The brief thrill disappeared as he slowly got to his feet. Very not good. Her mouth went dry. She backed up a step, her heart hammering against her ribs.
    His eyes were maddened; his fist rose as he stepped forward.
    “Stop.” Master Z’s compelling voice. The man halted, and Jessica sucked in a relieved breath. Everyone turned as Sir strode into the roped-off area. He glanced at her then the man. “Explain, Master Smith.”
    “We were in the middle of a scene, and this crazy woman comes roaring out of the crowd, screaming, grabs my whip, and damned if she didn’t punch me.” Rubbing his reddened chin, the man’s lips curved a little. “It’s almost funny, but still, she ruined our scene.”
    Master’s Z’s gaze turned to her and she winced at the