Collaring Brooke (Club Zodiac Book 3) Read online

  Collaring Brooke

  Club Zodiac, Book Three

  Becca Jameson

  Copyright © 2018 by Becca Jameson

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-946911-322

  Print ISBN: 978-1-946911-339

  Cover Artist: Scott Carpenter

  Editor: Christa Soule

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. And resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  About the Book

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Author’s Note

  Also by Becca Jameson

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Many thanks to Christa Soule for helping me get through the difficult subject of domestic violence and treating my heroine with grace and respect. Bless her for encouraging me to write this book, having the faith that I could succeed, and then assuring me it was one of my best.

  Thanks to my daughter for once again proofreading for me when I was in a time crunch. Thank God she had a long break between semesters to help out her mom this year.

  Kudos as usual to my cover artist, Scott Carpenter, for designing these series covers with little to no help from this very unartistic author.

  About the Book

  Her entire world is falling apart…

  Faced with losing her job and her apartment, Brooke is in crisis mode when she inadvertently stumbles into the world of BDSM. Intrigued, she learns everything she can about submission and finds she craves it.

  He’s not a sadist…

  Carter’s been watching the gorgeous redhead learn the ropes in his club. She won’t meet his gaze. Her secrets will probably terrify him. And her desires run in a direction that makes him uneasy.

  She needs the release only a firm sadist can provide…

  Her haunting past has led her to release her stress through spankings, floggings, and whippings. She is leery about Carter’s suggestion that she can get the same results from the more sensual elements of the lifestyle.

  He has to let her go…

  No matter how badly he would like to collar her, she must face her past head on and find herself before she can truly belong to him.

  Prologue

  The sound was almost worse than the result. It always was. That whistling noise of leather whizzing through the air before it struck its target.

  Me.

  Brooke covered her ears, tucking her small body in tighter, praying it would end soon.

  It wouldn’t.

  It never did.

  Another whoosh of leather. Another slice of pain as it hit her across the back this time.

  She bit her lips between her teeth to keep from screaming. Screaming was strictly forbidden. It drew attention from the neighbors. She couldn’t imagine how much worse her life would be if anyone called the police.

  If she could just be better.

  Do better.

  Not mess up so often.

  It was her fault.

  She shouldn’t have spilled the coffee.

  Her hand had been unsteady. She was hungry. Always hungry. It made her shake. Especially in the morning.

  “You stupid girl.” The belt hit her across the butt, shocking her with how much worse that next strike hurt.

  More reprimands. Seething words hissed out in a low tone so none of the neighbors would hear. “You’re nothing. You’ll never amount to anything. You can’t even pour a cup of coffee without spilling it.”

  Brooke whimpered, but stopped herself as quickly as possible, hoping she hadn’t been heard. She held her breath to keep from making another sound.

  “What? You’re not going to cry like a big baby this time?” Another whoosh of the belt.

  She could anticipate every strike from the sound. She’d been beaten so many times that she knew the timing perfectly. She spread her fingers, tucked her face in closer to the corner of the wall, and prayed it would be over soon.

  “Get up.”

  Brooke didn’t dare move. That line was often a trick.

  “I said, get up.” Louder this time. Closer. “Are you deaf now too?”

  Her heart pounded.

  “Fine. Then stay in that corner for the rest of the day. You deserve it.” Footsteps moved away. The belt was tossed aside, the sound of the buckle hitting the kitchen table soothing. It signified the beating was over.

  Brooke didn’t allow herself to breathe easy, though. She didn’t even move. She wouldn’t dare move for the rest of the day.

  What time was it?

  Morning. Early. It would be a long day.

  It had been months since the last time she’d endured a beating like this. She could feel the warm wetness of blood running down her back. It was a familiar sensation. It wasn’t usually this bad, but she was used to it. She could even predict from the level of pain alone how long the welts would take to heal.

  A door slammed.

  Slowly, gradually, she started to breathe again. At least she was alone now. There was peace in her loneliness.

  She enjoyed being alone.

  No one could hurt her when she was alone.

  Chapter 1

  The first time she saw him she was hauling a bucket of cleaning supplies through the dim lighting of Club Zodiac on her way toward the private rooms that lined the hallway.

  Brooke had no idea what his name was, but she assumed he was one of the owners. He had his head down, his fingers flying across the keypad of his cell phone while he sauntered toward the stairs that led to the third floor.

  He didn’t notice her, but then again she stood stock still watching him. He was not only significantly taller than her, but broad. Enormous. His blond hair was tousled as though he’d either run his hands through it or hadn’t combed it at all.

  Her heart raced for no good reason. She should not be standing there watching him move. She shouldn’t even care enough to glance at him. But she did. She continued to stare after he rounded the corner completely out of sight.

  A noise behind her made her spin around so quickly she nearly dropped her supplies. Her face flushed, heat rushing up her cheeks as though she’d been caught stealing or killing puppies or something.

  “I’m so sorry.” The woman who spoke rushed forward. “I didn’t realize anyone was here or I wouldn’t have snuck up on you. I didn’t mean to scare you to death. Are you okay?” The woman was blond with pale skin. She was not much taller or larger than Brooke.

  When she reached for Brooke’s arm to gently touch her, Brooke flinched before she could stop herself. She had to take a deep breath before she found her voice. “No worries. I should have heard you. My mind was…” Where
was her mind? She had no idea how to finish that statement, so she let it hang.

  The blonde held out a hand. “Faith Robbins.”

  Brooke stared at her hand for a moment before she realized she needed to take it. She shifted her bucket from her right hand to her left awkwardly in order to return the gesture. “Brooke Madden.”

  “Nice to meet you, Brooke. Are you a member of the club?” she asked innocently.

  Brooke’s eyes widened. “No. I, uh…” She felt utterly foolish. “I work for the company that cleans the building.” She pointed at her bucket. “I was about to do the floors in the hallway.” When I got sidetracked by the giant of a man who should not have been able to penetrate my thick walls.

  Faith smiled, her face also flushing with embarrassment. Why would she feel awkward? “Ah. Then I’m in your way. I just came in to practice while the club is closed. Will it bother you if I work in the main room?” She nodded over Brooke’s shoulder.

  Brooke glanced behind her at the darkened room that was filled with the craziest most unimaginable equipment she had seen in her life. What the hell was Faith going to do in there to “practice”?

  For weeks Brooke had been cleaning this club, and only because she cleaned the entire building, including the business located on the first floor below Zodiac. The first time she’d come in, another team member from the cleaning service had been with her, and thank God because Brooke might have left the place screaming.

  She realized Faith was waiting for her to respond. “Oh, no. Of course not. Do what you need to do. I’ll work around you. I mean, unless that’s a problem. I can come back.” That wasn’t entirely true. The reality was Brooke was almost done for the day. After mopping this hall, she intended to go home. Exhausted.

  Faith hesitated, narrowing her eyes slightly. “You’re sure you don’t mind? I don’t mean to traumatize anyone.”

  Traumatize anyone? Brooke waved her off with a forced giggle. “Don’t worry about me. Do your thing. I’ll mop this hallway and get out of your way.”

  Brooke proceeded to mop the hallway, but her curiosity got the better of her, and she continuously passed by the wide opening that dumped the hallway into the main room. Snooping. Faith turned on several lights, illuminating the large room in a way that made it seem far less ominous. The walls, ceiling, and floor were all painted black, but with a few overhead lights, the odd pieces of furniture scattered around made the place look far less intimidating.

  When a loud snapping sound rent through the silence, Brooke jumped out of her skin and rushed around the corner to make sure Faith was okay.

  She was still breathing heavily when she came to a halt, finding the blond woman facing a strange bench and flicking a long whip thingy through the air. Another snap came as a shock to Brooke, making her emit a sharp squeal.

  She clapped her hand over her mouth, mortified at being caught as Faith turned around.

  Faith rushed forward again, still holding the whip. “Shit. I’m sorry. I’m totally making your day miserable time and again.” She set the whip down on a chair as she approached. “I’ll wait until you’re done here before I continue. I forget that most people would be horrified to watch me practice.”

  Brooke licked her lips. “Practice for what?” She glanced around the room, wondering what the hell actually happened in the club when it was open.

  Faith smiled. “You have no knowledge of BDSM, do you?”

  “BDSM?” Brooke shook her head, realizing how stupid she sounded as the acronym seeped in. “I mean, yes. I understand the gist. Bondage and stuff. What are you doing with that leather rope?” She sucked in a sharp breath. “I’m sorry. None of my business.”

  Faith’s brows drew together.

  Brooke backed up, nearly stumbling. She was supposed to clean the floors and then leave. The owners of CCS—the number one company for business cleaning in Miami—would frown on her engaging the client. Commercial Cleaning Services, Inc. Their motto was: Less is more. Clean and get out. Don’t encourage conversation and give a business any reason to fire them.

  “Wait.” Faith stepped forward. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. It was rude of me to assume you wouldn’t freak out. I forget not everyone is used to seeing someone wield a whip.”

  “What? Goodness no. I’ve seen everything,” Brooke lied as she waved a hand in front of her face to blow off the strange interaction. “You would not believe what cleaning people witness. Whips. Chains. Whatever.” She had no actual idea what she was talking about.

  For a second, neither of them said a word, and then Faith cocked her head to the side, a slow smile forming. A moment later, she laughed.

  Brooke couldn’t help but join her. She laughed so hard, she bent at the waist. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed like that. And then she sobered as she realized she’d never laughed that hard.

  Faith was wiping tears from her eyes as Brooke tried to control her outburst.

  How mortifying. She couldn’t have said anything more ridiculous. But Faith didn’t seem to mind.

  Finally, Faith took a deep breath and nodded behind her. “Come on. The least I can do is give you a demonstration so you don’t leave here wondering.”

  Brooke stopped mid-breath, taking another step backward. “Oh, no. I couldn’t.”

  “Why not?” Faith glanced around. “You’re curious, right?”

  Brooke nodded against her better judgment. More like horrified, but sure.

  The next thing she knew, Faith took her mop from her hand and leaned it against the wall. “Come on,” she repeated in a tone that brooked no argument. She gently took Brooke by the arm and led her across the room toward a bench. “Sit here. Don’t move. Just watch.”

  Brooke felt extremely out of her element jumping up onto the bench thingy to sit while Faith picked up her whip again. She was intrigued. And frightened.

  Faith approached, spun the handle of the whip around, and offered it to Brooke. “Here. Check it out. Best place to start. It’s just leather woven together. When I fling it through the air, it makes that cracking noise you heard.”

  The one that made me nearly pee my pants. Brooke’s hands were shaking as she examined the whip and then handed it back.

  “I’m what they call a Domme.”

  “You mean like a Dominatrix? A woman?”

  “Yep, but people don’t really say Dominatrix anymore. Just Domme. I’m a female Domme. The guys don’t get to have all the fun. Didn’t your mom tell you that you can be anything you want?” she teased.

  Brooke gulped. Not even close… She rocked back and forth on her butt, tucking her hands under her thighs to keep from revealing more than she wanted. Shifting her gaze to the whip, she leaned back a few inches as if she might be injured by it any second. “What are you practicing?” she asked to change the subject. She also really wanted to watch.

  “Precision.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Faith backed up several yards, swung the whip slowly through the air a few times, and then gave it a sharp yank, which recreated that same cracking noise as before.

  Brooke yelped, flinching as the tail end of the whip struck a pole.

  “Precision,” Faith repeated as she turned around. “Don’t want to hurt anyone.”

  “You…you…hit people with that?”

  “Yes. But it’s not nearly as bad as you’d think. I can alter the intensity so that I leave little to no marks.” She winked. “I’ve been doing this a while.”

  Brooke’s mouth was dry. “I can’t imagine how that would not hurt.” I know for a fact it would hurt. Bad. It would leave a welt. Probably blood. She cringed.

  Faith turned back around, lined herself up with the pole, and whipped the tail through the air again, slower this time, with less of a crack. It still hit the pole right where she’d aimed, but not with as much force. Nevertheless, it would hurt.

  Faith returned to stand next to Brooke, setting the whip behind her on the bench. “That’s a bi
t advanced. I can show you other toys if you’re interested.”

  Brooke was at a loss for words. Half of her was incredibly curious. The other half wanted to run from the club and never look back. “Maybe you could just explain this to me a bit?” She glanced around. “What all happens in here? People come here, get tied to these benches and things, and beaten? Why would they want to do that?”

  Faith smiled. “Damn. It’s been a long time since I’ve explained the inside of a club to a newbie.”

  Brooke had no idea what that meant, but she said nothing.

  Faith glanced around. “Your description oversimplifies things. First of all, nothing happens in Zodiac that isn’t safe, sane, and consensual. No one plays without a safeword. No one plays without reading the house rules and signing a waiver.”

  “Who would consent to letting someone whip them?” Not me.

  “You’d be surprised. People have all sorts of reasons why they practice masochism.” She lifted her gaze. “Masochists are people who enjoy some form of pain with their BDSM.”

  Brooke’s heart was pounding. She glanced at the whip, memories of being struck with a similar object more times than she could count flooding her mind. The pain. The humiliation. The torture.

  The strangely peaceful numbness.

  As if Faith read her mind, she continued. “Many submissives say they get a release from being spanked or flogged or struck by any number of objects. Like they’re absolved from some perceived wrongdoing, real or imagined. It can be freeing.”