The Shepherd (The Game 6)

More people poured out here, having just arrived for Friday festivities, and I stopped keeping track. Now I knew Corey was here, and he would be my focus for the next couple of hours.

“How do you wanna play this?” Colt asked, twisting the cap off a beer.

I squinted out at the dark lawn. Then I glanced down at the piece of ginger root I was working on. Yeah, how did I wanna play it? Best way to brighten Corey’s mood was to play with him. To coax out the Little in him and let him be his mischievous self.

I set the little plug I’d finished on the table and grabbed the next. “Anyone up for a game of tag?” I smiled wryly.

Colt and Reese chuckled, seated across from me.

My suggestion had been genuine, though. And they knew it; they knew how to activate brats, and Reese wasted no time.

He let out a sharp whistle and announced, “Game of tag out on the lawn in twenty minutes for anyone interested! Sadists against brats!”

There we go. Every brat within earshot hooted and hollered, sending a buzz of excitement through the gathering.

“Wait for us, please!” Noa yelled from their cabin. “Cameron and I are just gonna eat! We will hurry!”

I grinned and shook my head, and I pushed the tip of my blade into the ginger root to carve the next plug, this one a little longer but narrower.

A group of maybe six or seven members came out of the house with towels and drinks, aiming for the hot tubs, leaving a single boy alone in the wide doorway. Corey. I nearly did a double take at the sight of him. Jesus Christ, I was going to strangle Marcus. Corey stood there, hesitating, visibly uncomfortable, and it just wasn’t him. He wasn’t shy or nervous or careful by nature.

“Remind me that murder is illegal,” Reese muttered.

“Isn’t it just frowned upon?” Colt replied tightly.

They saw what I saw.

I cleared my throat. “Corey! Get your sweet butt over here before anyone else steals you away.”

The boy smiled timidly and scurried over, his overnight bag in tow. “Hi.” He sat down next to me on the sofa, and I leaned over and gave the top of his head a smooch.

“How are you, sweetheart?” Reese asked.

“I’m good!” Corey was apparently going to fake it. “How are you? Where’s River and Shay?”

“They went upstairs for a date with a cane or seven.” Reese smiled. “Colt, Greer, and I are in the mood for raising hell with brats instead. We’re playing tag in a little bit—I take for granted you’ll join us.”

“Of course he will,” I said. “I need someone to chase down, and Archie would rather talk about babies with Ivy.”

Corey shrank together and giggled behind his hand. “If you really want me to. But babies are cute!”

“You’re cute.” I dipped down and bumped my forehead to his, earning me another giggle. It was the sweetest sound. “I’m just gonna finish these ginger plugs for the figging demo, then we can begin.”

“Okay. I’ll go up to my guest room and leave my stuff,” Corey decided. “I’ll hurry back, but feel free to start without me. I don’t want to keep anyone waiting.”

I felt my forehead crease, and I watched him disappear inside before I faced Colt and Reese.

“That ain’t the Corey we know,” I said.

Colt shook his head grimly. “I don’t think he’s buried deep, but whatever Marcus has told him must’ve struck hard.”

Agreed. He was too cautious, too focused on making sure he wouldn’t step over the line or “keep anyone waiting.”

With that said, what I’d painted up for Archie earlier was a worst-case scenario I didn’t truly believe in. By all means, we had to be prepared, but like Colt said, I didn’t think the real Corey was buried very deep. I believed he was wounded and lost in his own submission. It was fairly common, being torn between one’s own needs and wanting to please a Dom. We all drew the line differently.

My personal rule of thumb was, Master’s desires came before those of the slave. But the slave’s needs came before those of the Master.

Twenty minutes later, Corey was nowhere to be seen. I sent him a text, asking if everything was okay and letting him know I wanted him to come downstairs ASAP. In the meantime, everyone who wanted to play gathered out on the lawn, and Colt turned on a few of the spotlights we had hidden in the trees. Otherwise, it’d just be another round of hide-and-seek.

“All right, what’re the rules?” Sloan asked, folding up the sleeves of his button-down. “Not that I think brats give a crap about rules.”

“Cheaters, the lot of ’em,” Colt agreed.

“Hey!” Kit scowled. “I don’t cheat, Daddy.”

“Yeah, I make no promises.” Noa scratched his nose. “All is fair in love and smear campaigns against Sadists. I’m still mad Colt caught me so fast at the boot camp.”