NoBounds by Ann Jacobs

Prologue
    The year 2150, Federation of Earth
     
    The manager met him at the door of the
underground club and jerked him inside. “I’m sorry to have had to drag you
here, Master Cole. I know you don’t come to the clubs anymore, now that the
governing council has outlawed them, but I saw Mistress Ciel and Amber come in
and take a private dungeon. When Master Dax got here a little while ago and
told me they were expecting him to join them, I figured there was likely to be
trouble.”
    The sort of trouble that got BDSM clubs
shut down in the first place , Cole thought sourly.
“It’s all right. Not your fault. You can’t be expected to keep an eye on my
sister and her friend 24/7. How long have they been here?”
    “About two hours.” Ellen sounded apologetic
as she hurried them down the stairs to the underground levels. “Master Dax only
got here about forty minutes ago. That was when I called you—as soon as I
realized he intended to join them.”
    Cole mentally refreshed his memory about
the layout of this club, which occupied the basement and sub-basements of an
old garment factory. As he recalled, there were only two exits, the one at
ground level through which he’d entered and an emergency escape route through a
hollowed-out tunnel accessible from one of the lower tiers. At least one club
employee always manned the main door to look out for the Federation police and
hopefully warn patrons in time for them to escape through the tunnel in case of
a raid.
    That was unless the cops had discovered
both exits. In that case, everyone inside would be trapped like the rats that
most likely lived in the dank, dark nooks and crannies of the ancient building.
The place definitely reminded him of a dungeon, but not the kind he preferred, set
up for the type of pleasure a certain amount of pain might bring to one’s
submissive partners.
    This dungeon was more like ones that had
been used centuries ago, during the Inquisition, when pain had been all about
pain, not pleasure. It was about fear. Sweat and blood.
    He quickened his pace as the sounds of
flogging and cries of submissives grew louder. “How much farther?”
    “All the way down, Master.” Ellen started
taking the steps two at a time, as though the agonized pleas and screams were
getting to her too.
    Cole wanted to strangle his crazy sister.
Why the hell had she gotten it into her head she could top Master Dax? Idiot!
The vicious Dom was a known sociopath, a fine example of the type of BDSM
practitioners that had gotten the lifestyle outlawed. Incredible, he thought,
that a woman who’d aced every course at the university could be so completely
lacking in common sense.
    By outlawing the sex clubs, the Federation
in its so-called wisdom had inadvertently given vicious Doms like Dax free
rein, since all clubs were now illegal and thus unregulated.
    A high-pitched wail pierced the dense,
fetid air of the narrow stairwell. Cole charged toward the sound. An image of
Amber’s sweet face, her large eyes and soft pink lips, flashed in his mind.
Bile bubbled up in his belly and nausea threatened to overtake him.
    A result of anxiety, not rotten food. His
concern was more for Amber than for his headstrong sister, who had brought her
fate on herself. If Ceil was trying to fulfill a death wish, that was one
thing. But to use Amber to lure Dax into her lair? Cole couldn’t forgive her
for endangering the gentle, submissive woman who’d been his childhood friend.
    He pictured Amber bloodied and
bruised—maybe worse. “Fuck!” He’d kill the bastard if he had injured her, no matter
how insignificant the damage might be. “Which room?”
    “That one, Master Cole.” Ellen gestured
toward the heavy, iron-laced wooden door to their right.
    Kicking the door in, the first thing Cole
saw was Amber, bound to a St. Andrew’s cross. He followed the path of a cane as
it whistled through the air and hit her breasts with a sickening thud. Blood
streamed from cuts on her