“Does that happen very often?” I asked.
Susan shrugged. “Not terribly often, but it does happen,” she replied. “Mostly, it tends to be around silly things. Some women want only young Masters, some women only want older Masters, some women only want a Mistress, that kind of thing. Things you should have already indicated on your check-list but didn’t. But,” she looked at both of us, very seriously, “if you get a bad vibe from anyone, you should trust your instincts. Always.”
Elena nodded. “I know,” she assured us. “Same warnings as in the clubs. Better safe than sorry.”
I kept silent until Susan fixed me with a curious look. “What’s your story, Jenny? Why did you decide to do this?”
“My sister has leukemia,” I lied. “I need the money.”
Elena turned to me with an expression of sympathy but Susan looked troubled. “Umm, Jenny, does Madame Lorraine know this?” she asked.
“Of course,” I responded. “Why?”
“Because money impacts consent,” Susan replied. “If you are desperate for the money, are you really likely to use your safe words when you need to?”
Susan was wise and perceptive. Money did impact consent. As did a thirst for revenge. I knew that if Alexander won me, no matter what he wanted to do with me, I would allow it. I wouldn’t use my safe word. I wouldn’t say no. I would be the best slave-girl it was possible to be. I would do whatever it took to get him to take me to Hanoi with him. Hanoi, where Dylan McAllister lived in an impenetrable compound that we had tried to infiltrate three times in the last year and a half.
I would do whatever Alexander wanted. I would do it willingly and obediently. Because this was only three months and I could endure it. I had endured so much more.
***
My hair was sculpted into an elaborate, braided hairdo. I was made up skillfully, with eye liner and mascara and eyeshadow to draw out the green of my eyes. My lips were painted a crimson red. My pale skin was tinted with foundation that made it seem soft and dewy; my cheeks were highlighted with blush. I was draped in a black silk robe that could easily be untied so that my purchaser could inspect the goods before he or she bought me.
When I looked in the mirror, I was unrecognizable.
This morning, before I left my hotel room on Khao San Road, I had taped a Bowie knife to the underside of the toilet lid cover. I had killed with that knife.
I could run twenty-five miles without stopping. I could kill a man with my bare hands. I could speak five languages with reasonable fluency. I could walk into a room and tell you instantly how many people were in it and who the most likely threats were. I was a trained warrior.
When I looked in the mirror, I saw none of that. What I saw was a young woman with blushing cheeks and kohl-rimmed eyes, waiting to be purchased at an auction by her Master. I looked like prey.
The blood pounded in my veins. I had been prey once but I had been freed by Lucien and I’d promised myself - never again. I had trained. I had studied. I had done everything I could to become the hunter, not the hunted. And yet, here I was again.
But Alexander Hamilton was our only way in and the only way to reach Alexander Hamilton was through this auction.
I looked like prey because I was prey. I was the bait and Alexander had to take it. It was my only hope.
Chapter 5
Ellie / Jenny:
There were twelve women waiting in a small chamber. When Susan, Elena and I walked in, we made fifteen. Fifteen slaves. I tried to work the numbers in my head to distract myself from my fears. But while my memory was incredible, I was useless at mental math. I did sums anyway, to try to figure out what the average sale price of each submissive would be. Madame Lorraine’s extensive background check would not have been cheap to conduct. Then there was the cost of renting this BDSM club for this evening. Finally, Sarit, the hairdressers, the make-up artists, all of them would need to be paid, all of this taken out of the fifteen percent the auction house kept for itself.
A thorough, two-month background check. That would cost five, maybe ten thousand dollars. Potentially more, depending on how sophisticated the check needed to be. So at the very minimum, I’d need to be sold for one hundred thousand dollars for this business to stay in the black.
I whistled silently in my head at my conclusion. Lucien was rich enough to pay for my living expenses while he trained me to be a killer, but I didn’t live lavishly at all. In Cleveland, I’d been poor, the daughter of a struggling single parent. I’d worked in the mall for minimum wage so that I could help out my mother with the bills. Even then, there had been times where there’d been no money for food. Dylan had been wealthy of course, but as his slave, I had lived a life devoid of luxury.
Inwardly, I scoffed a little at the supposedly consensual nature of this auction. If a man or a woman spent a hundred thousand dollars on a sex slave, surely they would make sure they got their money’s worth?
My hands clenched into fists at my side and I desperately wished for my Bowie knife.
***
“What happens if Alexander Hamilton doesn’t bid on me and someone else wins me?” I had asked, in the early planning stages of this operation.
Lucien had given me a steady look. “I pull you out,” he had replied. “Right at the end of the auction, before they have time to get you to a more secure location.” He too had assumed that I would be guarded in a fortified estate, very similar to the one I’d lived in at Abeokuta.
When it came down to it, neither of us trusted in the consensual nature of this auction. However, Susan had been back three times. She didn’t look the slightest bit traumatized. If anything, she looked eager. Perhaps I should have had faith, but I had no reason to ever have any. I’d seen too much of the dark side of life to believe.
Madame Lorraine walked in and clapped her hands for silence. She got it instantly. The room hushed and everyone turned towards her.
“Ladies,” she smiled at us. “You all look lovely.”
Did I? I didn’t want to ever look lovely. Lovely was what got me abducted in a parking lot in Cleveland. It was better to look tough and ruthless.
“While some of you have done this before,” her eyes swept over us, and rested on a few women briefly, “many are new, so I want to go over the process once again.” She smiled. “While I’m sure you’ve heard it before, it can’t hurt to hear it once more, can it?”
I heard many of the women mutter “No, Madame Lorraine,” or something similar.
She nodded reassuringly. “Now, if you think your background check was extensive,” she chuckled, “let me assure you that the background check of the Dominants that are bidding tonight are ten times as exhaustive.” She made eye contact with each of us for a few seconds. “I know most of the men and women that will be bidding tonight personally. If I had any hesitation about any of them, they wouldn’t be invited here.”
I heard some relieved murmurs in the crowd, but I was less reassured than the other women. After all, I was in this room, though my entire cover story was fake. If I was able to get through, I didn’t think too much of Madame Lorraine’s vaunted background check process. But perhaps I wasn’t giving Lucien enough credit for how well he’d been able to architect my cover story.
“Now, as I’m sure you’ve been reminded over and over again, all the Dominants bidding on you will respect your hard limits list as well as your safe words.” She shot us all a steely look. It should have looked odd, coming from the short, plump woman. It didn’t. She owned that look.
“If, for any reason, you don’t want to go with the highest bidder,” she continued, “you can decline and you will be offered the option of the next-highest bidder and so on. While I’m completely sure that you have nothing to fear from the Dominants who will be bidding on you today, you must always remember to trust your own instincts.”
Eight years ago, in the parking lot of the Cleveland mall I worked in, I should have trusted my instincts. A thousand times, I’d walked to the
faraway lot where employees were permitted without fear, but that day, for some unknown reason, a chill had nestled between my shoulders as I’d walked. I’d wanted to run but I’d sternly told myself not to be silly.
She looked at all of us again. “Here’s what’s going to happen. First, each of you will walk out onto the stage when you are called. Let everyone get a good look at you.”
A woman interrupted her and asked a question I too had thought of. “Madame Lorraine,” she spoke, her voice hesitant. “Will we be naked on stage?”
Madame Lorraine frowned, though I couldn’t tell if her displeasure was a result of being interrupted or because of the question asked. “Of course not,” she replied. “You are not cattle. You are women with wants and needs and desires. This is not a one-sided property purchase.”
In other words, Madame Lorraine was doing everything to make this seem as distinct as possible from a proper slave auction. I’d heard about those. There, the young girls, snatched away from their homes and families, were indeed examined like livestock.
“Once you’ve all been introduced, you’ll be led to your own private sitting area on the main floor. You’ll kneel on the floor and wait for the men and women that are interested in bidding on you to approach you.” She fixed us with a stern gaze. “Have a conversation with them. Talk to them about your concerns, if you have any. Let them talk to you about what they want and make sure it is something you want as well. I want everyone to be happy and I want everyone to be safe.”
Happy? I didn’t know what that was. I had a far-off memory of Lisa and Amber and I, giggling as we ate our peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches in the food court in the fifteen minutes we were allotted for lunch. But that memory was submerged under layers and layers of the woman I’d become, one who lived for revenge and nothing else.
And safe? Safety wasn’t a feeling I had experienced for eight years.
“Once that’s done,” Madame Lorraine continued, “I’d like you to wait in this antechamber. We don’t conduct our bidding openly here. I don’t hold with such theatrics for something that is a serious process.” For the first time since she’d stepped into our little chamber, her expression softened and her eyes turned wistful. “The bond between a Dominant and a submissive is a beautiful one. Any other questions?”
“Madame Lorraine?” My voice was nervous, but I had to speak. My question would be expected. “Can I ask how the finances work?” I was prepared for her frown of disapproval, but I also had a cover story to protect.
However, she didn’t look displeased. “You’ll be paid a quarter of the money right away,” she clarified. “And a quarter each month. Sarit has all your banking information, does she not?” A choruses of yeses greeted her statement, and she smiled at all of us, her warm gaze almost a benediction.
“Ladies,” she said solemnly. “I hope that the next three months will be everything you hope it will be. Please follow me now. And good luck to all of you.”
My fingers bit deep into my palms as I followed Susan. We snaked out of the antechamber in one long line, like lambs being led to the slaughter.
***
There were men and women already in the main room as we walked out. No doubt that was part of the visual effect. A long line of beautiful women, all available for sale, wearing robes that could be removed by one strategic tug of a lazy finger, walking among the seated men and women as we made our way to the small area next to the makeshift stage. `
As I walked, my senses spun. Somewhere in this room was Alexander Hamilton. I wished once again that we’d been able to get a photo of him, but we’d been completely unsuccessful in finding out anything about him. We only knew that he had frequented Madame Lorraine’s auction twice before. Our informant, an unknown worker in Madame Lorraine’s auction house had assured us that he was scheduled to attend this particular auction. How reliable was our information? We had no idea, but we had run out of other options. Our plan had been hatched in desperation.
I waited. A part of me watched as each girl was called by name and went up on stage under the spotlights. Madame Lorraine would say a few things about the girl. What she wanted, what she was looking for, where she’d been trained. The girl in question always kept her eyes lowered submissively, faint colour staining her cheeks as her innermost desires were openly discussed among the waiting men and women. Then the next woman was called up.
I barely registered when it was my turn. In some sense, I’d checked out. My emotions were a swirl and I was engaged in fiercely making sure I didn’t fall apart. My entire revenge – my life goal for the last eight years – rested on my efforts today and over the next three months.
I felt the glare of the spotlights. I heard Madame Lorraine tell the assembled buyers that I was from Cleveland. I heard the murmurs of conversation when the men and women realized how intriguingly short my list of hard limits were. Hopefully I was also piquing Alexander Hamilton’s interest. He had to bid on me and win me. He had to.
Then it was time to walk to my designated area and wait for the Dominants in the room to approach me.
***
I waited in the centre of a small sitting area, on my knees, for potential buyers to approach. A couch was in front of me and a chair was on each side. It was a semi-private area, one where I could indeed conduct conversations with the people who wished to purchase me.
The other girls had their own private areas and in some of them, there were already men and women waiting for them. Mine was empty and a wave of relief went through me when I realized that. I had told myself over and over again that I was ready. But here and now, it turned out that I wasn’t as prepared as I would have liked. I wasn’t as stoic as I should have been.
Remember Dylan, I rebuked myself harshly. You managed to control yourself around him. But all that self-control had been brought about by fear. In the intervening years, as I’d learned to defend myself better, some of that fear had fallen away.
“This is her,” a voice spoke. Two large men moved in front of me and seated themselves at the couch. “Make eye contact, please.”
I obeyed, looking up at them. Trained as I was, my brain registered details, though fear was still etched in me.
Two men. Both Caucasian.
The first man. Blond, hair cropped military short. Grey eyes. Nose has been broken once. Ex-military, perhaps? Carries himself that way though his body has gone slightly to seed.
Weapon strapped to thigh. Looks like a hunting knife, from the way he moves. No body searches for the Dominants then. No gun.
One ring on his left index finger. Wedding ring. One fat signet ring on his right thumb. I don’t know the symbol. File it away for later reference.
The second man. Tanned. Fitter than the first. Black hair, also cropped short. This man isn’t military though. His muscles are earned at the gym, not in battle. This man exudes wealth.
Armani suit, custom-made. Linen. Summer-weight wool, in concession to the heat in Bangkok. Hand-made loafers.
His eyes are as green as mine.
Is one of these men Alexander Hamilton?
I looked up into the eyes of the man who’d spoken, the one in the expensive suit. From the dynamics between the two, the rich one was the employer, and the other one was the bodyguard. He wasn’t wearing a gun, so he didn’t think there was a serious threat in the room. But like all warriors, he felt naked without a weapon. Hence the knife.
“Your hard limits sheet,” the man gestured to the paper in his hands, “is quite remarkable.”
There was very little on that piece of paper. We hadn’t been able to research Alexander’s kinks, so I had to cast as wide a net as possible to trap him. Or be trapped by him.
“Yes Sir,” I replied softly. Madame Lorraine’s rules on protocol had been clear. Address the men as Sir, and the women as Ma’am. Be polite. Be well-mannered. Keep your eyes respectfully lowered unless you were told otherwise.
“Nothing?” He raised one dark eyebrow, and his lips twitched.
“That could be… fascinating.” He waved an arm towards my robe. “I’d like you to take off your clothes, please.”
I knew I could say no. This was a request, not an order. But this could be Alexander. My nerveless fingers moved to the knot at my waist. I tugged and the robe fell open.
Everywhere in the room, I saw the same scene take place. Everywhere, fabric was falling to the floor and bodies were being revealed. I should have felt embarrassed and humiliated. But the present was falling away with the same soft whoosh my robe made as it fell to the floor and the past once again rose to the fore.
***
It is always a click of his fingers. One click and I am supposed to stop whatever I’m doing and get naked.
Mostly, I’m obedient. He’s clicked his fingers in the kitchen where I’m helping Mrs. Olusola fry some fish for lunch. Though hot oil roils next to me and the risk of splatters and burns are high, I disrobe instantly. I know the consequences of failure and they are to be avoided at all costs.
Once though, I balk briefly. I haven’t been on the estate long. Just three months and that day, there’s a woman in the room, a guest of Dylan’s. Her eyes are cold and I shiver instinctively when I look at her. This woman rouses the same fear in me that Dylan does.
His finger clicks and I hesitate. Just for seconds, but the damage has been done. Dylan’s eyebrows draw together in extreme displeasure and I tremble openly. Dylan goes cold when he’s angry and he can be very, very mean.
“Master, this worthless slave begs forgiveness…” I start faintly, prostrating myself on the floor. Perhaps abject humiliation will save me from his wrath.
“You are slipping, Dylan,” the woman says. She sounds amused. “Would you like my help in training your property?”
Your property. Even in my fear, even in my terror, my soul notices and rebels against those words. I’m not property. My name isn’t slave. It isn’t cunt. My name is Ellie Samuelson. But I don’t speak. I don’t move from my position. My forehead and shoulders stay pressed into the floor. Every muscle in my body trembles, but I stay silent. I’ve already brought down Dylan’s wrath on me. I cannot make it worse.
Bought (Assassin's Revenge Book 2) Page 5
