Page 121 of Under Daddy's Spell

“I vote yes,” Geoffrey announced, barely taking a second to consider his answer. It was on the tip of her tongue to thank him when he added, “She should pay the same penalty as any other submissive resident of the Landing, however.” His eyes gleamed with eagerness when he offered her an explanation. “That means corporal punishment before the community followed by a public apology.”

Krista’s jaw dropped open. “Are you nuts? This isn’t medieval times. Public floggings don’t exist in twenty-first century America. What the hell are you talking about?”

“Perhaps five licks for that mouth, too,” Morgan added with a frown. “Never could abide foul language from a woman.”

The sheriff’s fingers, which still encircled her arm, tightened as he dipped his head near hers. “Be respectful, girl,” he warned. “And be smart. You’re about to get an opportunity that could significantly alter your future, for the good. Cussing and being snotty will not help your cause.”

“You were downstairs long enough to know what’s going on here,” the judge interjected. “I’ll add a few more details so you understand more what this is about. Tonight is more than a party, and we are much more than the well-to-do gated community everyone thinks us to be. We’re a society of like-minded people who have chosen to live a more traditional sort of lifestyle. Here on the Landing, we have a particular way of doing things, and we manage our private affairs accordingly.”

“You have aparticularway of being vague, too,” she retorted, repeating his word deliberately. “But I’m guessing that’s intentional.”

“She’s mighty lippy,” Morgan commented. “Are you sure you’ve got her pegged right, George?”

The judge moved in closer, his eyes narrowing on her. “You’ve got one shot at a reprieve, my dear. I suggest you zip it, so you can listen and fully appreciate our offer.” He paused briefly, to see if she was done interrupting, she supposed, which she was, for now. “The Landing is a private island with a private charter. Anyone wishing to move here must agree to it, in writing. The language is iron clad and binding. We have an association they must join, but before this happens there is a stringent interview process to weed out those who aren’t in accord with our way of life.” He paused to ask her, “Are you following me, so far?”

“Um, not really. Other than it’s a very exclusive club.”

“We’re a community, one unlike any other I’m aware of. It’s small, closed, and because of this, we’re like a big extended family. We have the usual public services, and beyond the residential areas, there are businesses and tourism, but our residents’ private lives stay private. We expect discretion from our contractors and employees and to get it, we compensate them well. There is also the matter of confidentiality, which we strictly enforce. You signed an agreement before coming here tonight. In light of all of this, we also have our own judicial system including law enforcement.” He indicated the sheriff with a tip of his head. “Very rarely have outside agencies been involved in Wanaker Landing affairs because we manage troubles within our group, when we can.”

“This sounds too unbelievable to be true,” she whispered.

“Perhaps, but it works for us. If you accept, you’ll be subject to our rules, and the sheriff need not be involved further, in an official capacity, that is.”

“But why are you doing this for me? I came to work here for one night. You don’t know me or owe me anything.”

“Are you trying to talk us out of it, little missy?” inquired the big man at her side.

“Oh, no. I’m just trying to understand.”

“It’s because you’re young, seem contrite, but most of all, because you’re like us.” The judge nodded to the others around him. “We’re always looking to increase our population with the right type of resident.”

“He means pretty, submissive women,” the younger man explained with a grin bordering on a leer.

Krista tried to contain a shudder. He was attractive, but she didn’t get a good feeling from him. He seemed too put-together, too handsome—not ruggedly so like the sheriff, but almost feminine in his beauty—and too eager to see her punished.

“You should take us up on our offer,” Geoffrey advised. “None of this will go on your record. After you serve your sentence, you can remain as part of our community or move on.”

“You sound like you’ve done this before.”

His grin broadened. “That’s because we have, not quite how you are going about it—in lieu of jail—but we indoctrinate new members this way all the time.”

Indoctrinate made it sound like a cult. No way. This was so many shades of wrong.

“Don’t I get to speak to a lawyer?”

“You haven’t been officially charged yet, but you just did,” the same young man answered, his eyes gleaming as though thoroughly enjoying himself at her expense. “I can send for my uncle, the senior attorney at our law firm, if you’d rather. He’s downstairs.”

The sheriff answered her unspoken questions. “Geoff and his father, Russ Kleinman, as well as his uncle Gerald, are the only law firm practicing on the island.”

Good lord, they were all in cahoots: a libidinous counselor, a biased victim, and the man who would sit in judgment over her. This was a lot more than a club for kinky players, or even a lifestyle community. These people were so invested in their alternative way of life, they’d set up their own society on a private island and the cards were stacked heavily in favor of the house.

It was like something out of a dystopian sci-fi novel, and she’d gotten caught in their web. Did Ally know what was going on here? If so, surely, she would have warned her.

“We need your answer, Krista,” Judge Peterson prompted. “Either the sheriff will arrest you, and you can await your day in court, or we’ll see to your punishment here. Once done, you can move forward with a clean slate.”

“This can’t be legal,” she exclaimed with rising panic.

“It most certainly is,” the older man stated with a frown, as if offended. “It’s all voluntary, which is why we’re giving you a choice. Abide by our judgment—”

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