Mine (Club Sin 7)

“Yes, sir.” Black pupils had overtaken her blue eyes.

Sawyer chuckled. A breeze from the wind could make this sub come. “I’m glad to hear it. You’re doing well.” Looking over his shoulder to the young, blue-eyed, baby-faced Dom, Sawyer commented, “I shouldn’t have had to ask the question. Ask your sub. All right?” At Max’s firm nod, Sawyer examined the bondage with a keen eye. “Excellent knots. Well done.”

“Thank you.” Max smiled with a Dom’s arrogance.

When Max didn’t say anything more, Sawyer tilted his head at Amanda, raising his brows. Max realized his misstep, quickly adding, “Thank you for letting me practice this tonight, Amanda. You were outstanding, darling.”

Her breath whooshed between her swollen pink lips. “You’re welcome, Master.”

Master.

That one word told everyone in Club Sin whom Amanda belonged to. Sawyer never yearned for a sub to address him that way. The responsibility of having a full-time sub didn’t interest him. Casual relationships suited him better because of his demanding work schedule and busy life.

He studied his students, pleased that they were enjoying the art of ropes. Sawyer returned to his place against the wall, then said to Max, “The more you play with Amanda the better you’ll be attuned to her. But when dealing with bondage, always ensure she’s comfortable—you have to ask. Understood?”

“Got it.” Max’s posture stiffened, making him appear taller, as he admired his work. He ran his palm over Amanda’s rounded stomach. She leaned her head against her bound arms stretched high above her. Max stroked her leg, which was bound at the knee, leaving her partially suspended. “I like you this way. So beautiful. All mine.”

When Amanda shuddered, Sawyer took it as his cue to leave. What they both needed now was a good quick fuck. He gave Max the go-ahead with a nod of his head, pleased by the other Dom’s use of tender, rewarding words toward his sub. Sawyer then turned and strode off into the crowd, finished with his instruction of the scene.

Sawyer didn’t travel too far, though, as he wanted them to be in sight just in case he was needed. Being a Club Sin Master meant protecting a submissive’s well-being. That was a responsibility he’d become proud of. He’d worked hard to achieve that respect—even if he did find himself lacking the enthusiasm he’d once had.

Only when he reached the black leather couch, ready to take a seat, did he realize his phone was vibrating in the pocket of his jeans. He thought it best to stay focused on Max and Amanda, and he ignored the call, figuring he’d return it later. But the vibration continued, and now he wondered if there could be a problem he was unaware of. He grabbed the phone out of his pocket. “Hello?”

“Son, it’s me,” said his father.

The chill in his dad’s voice straightened Sawyer’s spine. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s your sister.”

“Is she okay?”

“No, she’s not.” A pause. “Someone beat her up. It’s bad, son. Ashlyn needs you.” His father’s voice cracked, filling with heavy emotion. “Your mother needs you. We’re at Sunrise Hospital. Please get here as soon as you can.”

Before he could even end the call, Sawyer ran for the door, somehow aware that, in this split second, his life had just changed forever.

Chapter 1

“She’s lucky to be alive.”

Sawyer heard his father’s statement as he took in the sight before him. Even after a full minute of standing in the hospital room he couldn’t process seeing his little sister, Ashlyn, lying in the bed. The harsh scent of antiseptic in his nose, the beeping noise coming from the monitor, and the morphine drip attached to the needle in his sister’s hand all faded into the distance as the beaten state of her face filled his vision.

Black and blue bruises covered her cheekbones. Cuts and scratches spread over every inch of creamy white skin, and stitches outlined the right side of her mouth. Only her long brown hair remained untouched, and that lay beneath the bandages on her head.

Consumed with a wrath foreign to him, Sawyer inhaled a sharp breath through his nose, controlling the desire to explode. He fisted his hands and turned to his parents, Beth and Roger Quinn, asking the obvious: “Where is Travis?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, son.” His father—a few inches shorter and slightly softer in the middle, with a full head of salt-and-pepper hair—continued in a stony voice, “We need to wait for Ashlyn to wake up. We can’t make assumptions about who attacked her.”

Sawyer heard what his father said, but the darkness rushing into his Roger’s hazel eyes contradicted his words, a confirmation to Sawyer and what he suspected. Travis, Ashlyn’s boyfriend of three months, had done this to her.

His father added, “The police are involved and are interviewing friends and acquaintances to see if anyone knew anything or saw anything out of the ordinary.”

“This attack is brutal, and based on what I’ve seen, it looks personal.” As Sawyer spoke he gestured to his beaten baby sister. “Look at her, for Christ’s sake.” Sawyer was a cop, and he’d seen it before. A beating like this, so intense and violent, typically involved someone the victim knew. “We all know Travis is capable of this and more.”

Travis was an up-and-coming mixed martial arts fighter and had the skills to beat someone into unconsciousness. Sawyer suspected Travis had used steroids on more than one occasion, and he’d seen evidence of Travis’s ’roid rage from time to time. It had never been directed at his baby sister before, though.

A sob ripped from Sawyer’s mother’s mouth. Noticing the pallor on her face, he moved toward her, offering comfort. His chest constricted as he wrapped his arms around his mom’s slender frame. “Please don’t cry, Mom.” Nothing broke him more than to hear her weep.

“Look at what he’s done to her.” His mother sobbed against Sawyer’s chest, her short curly blond hair tickling his neck as she clung to his black T-shirt. “How could he do this?”