Bought (Assassin's Revenge Book 2)

by Crescent, Tara

  Dylan’s voice is cold when he speaks, but his tone is calm. “Thank you for your offer, Sylvia, but I think I’ll manage.”

  She chuckles. “Perhaps you can send your little slave girl to serve me when you are done punishing her,” she suggests. There’s a tone in her voice that fills me with panic. This is a woman who relishes cruelty. I can sense it.

  “Perhaps,” Dylan drawls. He signals to me and I crawl to the dungeon, where I am going to be punished for my disobedience.

  ***

  I still bore the scars from that punishment. During my examination, Karen had run a finger over the raised ridges in my upper thighs, where my skin had been sliced open by the lash of a cane soaked in brine, so it would be more pliable, as well as burn my wounds when my bottom had been flayed raw.

  That had been the last gesture of anything resembling defiance. I’d been kidnapped from American soil in the flickering dusk. I was in a foreign country, far away from home. I was the slave of a rich and powerful man and there was no escape.

  Three raised lines. Three burning strokes of fire. Karen had looked at me with a raised eyebrow, but I’d kept silent and she hadn’t pressed for an explanation.

  “Turn around.” The voice jolted me back to the present. I obeyed instinctively, showing the two men my naked, rounded ass. The scars were disguised for the moment under a layer of concealer, smoothed on by a clucking Thai girl who seemed intent to make me as close to perfect as she could.

  “Nice.” This time, it was the bodyguard speaking. “Are you bidding on her then, Anton?”

  Anton. Not Alexander. Instantly, my body relaxed, though I still wasn’t comfortable being naked in front of the two men. But it didn’t matter. Anton wouldn’t win me. He wouldn’t share me among his bodyguards, the way Dylan had. Lucien would pull me out before I had to go through with my role as a slave.

  Chapter 6

  Alexander:

  “That’s her.” My voice sounded strained. My heart still pounded with shock. I had always hoped I would meet her again, but as time elapsed, that hope had faded. I could have searched for her, but I’d wanted to respect her desire to stay unknown.

  Jean-Luc leaned forward. “Nekrasov seems quite taken with her.”

  “Mm.” I liked Anton. He was a friend in a world where true friends were few and far between. But right now, I was fighting the urge to walk over and punch him. I wanted to lay claim to her.

  My head of security laughed. “You aren’t jealous often, Alexander,” he mocked. Then his expression turned serious. “If Lorraine doesn’t think her cover story checks out, you must be careful, no matter how much you want this woman. I’ll start the investigations right away.”

  “That’s fine,” I said. I was distracted. I was watching her drop her robe for Anton. As her naked body came into sight, I lost track of my thoughts entirely. She was so beautiful. Even from a distance, her body begged to be touched. Held. Caressed.

  Jean-Luc coughed and my attention returned to him. I shot him a rueful look. “Sorry. Check her story out, but the operation against Sylvia must remain a priority.” My supposed girlfriend was in Bangkok arranging for the purchase of slaves for her brothels around the world. The transaction needed to be disrupted carefully in a way that it couldn’t be traced back to me.

  He nodded. “Salim might call you,” he said. “He’s furious about Tunisia. He thinks you are allied with Sylvia.”

  My lips narrowed with distaste at that idea. “I’ll straighten him out,” I promised. Sylvia was evil. Every time we were together, it felt profoundly wrong. “She’s promised to stop in here today.”

  “Lori let her in?” Jean-Luc was clearly surprised by that.

  “I called in a favour,” I replied. “I want Sylvia where I can keep an eye on her.”

  We talked briefly about logistics for a few more minutes, but I was watching her at the same time. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. The woman I’d known as Rachel in Paris, two years ago. The woman who had, for a brief instant of time, made me forget who I was, made me forget everything else except her. The woman I’d almost given up hope of seeing again.

  Part of me was wary. But that was only a small part. Though I couldn’t admit it to Jean-Luc and wouldn’t even admit it to myself, my heart was truly, profoundly glad to see her again.

  Chapter 7

  Ellie / Jenny:

  Anton stayed and talked to me for a few minutes. His eyes were warm as they rested on my body. There was open appreciation in them. In that moment in time, I was filled with regret for the girl I’d never been.

  In a different world, would I have felt emboldened by his lustful gaze? Would I have felt desire, not this queasy, roiling feeling in my stomach? He didn’t seem capable of harming me, not in the way Dylan had. I’d no doubt that this man would play games, even harsh and cruel ones. But he would do it with the knowledge that he had my consent and I was a willing participant in the activities.

  But my time in Abeokuta had scarred me. Only once in my life had I been a willing participant in my seduction. Only with Marc.

  I answered Anton’s questions, kneeling on the floor. His hands stroked my shoulder gently as we talked, his fingers caressing my hair. It was a pleasant feeling and I should have felt my body sway towards him. But there was a void inside me. An absence of desire.

  I hid it well. I smiled and laughed with him. I pretended that we were metaphorically circling around each other in that ages-old dance of seduction. And a watchful part of me kept an eye on the room, searching for the man who might be Alexander Hamilton.

  ***

  Once he took his leave, I was alone once more for a few minutes. I pulled my robe back on and I let my gaze wander around the room.

  As fanciful as it sounded, I think my heart felt his presence first. I could feel it thud in my chest as my eyes passed over Elena’s little sitting area, where only the broad shoulders of a man sitting on the couch were visible.

  Inexplicably, my pulse started to beat faster. My gaze snapped to the back of that head. My body recognized him before my mind did.

  Marc. The stranger from a bar in Paris, two years ago.

  Then he turned, as if he felt the weight of my stare. Our eyes locked for a brief second before I hastily lowered my gaze.

  Everything spun. The room was hazy. My heart beat in a staccato rhythm, hard and fast, as I struggled to process the fact that the man who had provided me with my first and only pleasurable sexual encounter was here at Madame Lorraine’s in order to purchase a slave.

  There were no coincidences. There were never any coincidences. Two years ago, I’d run into a bar and I’d sat next to Marc. We’d fallen into conversation and then into his bed. But he was here in Bangkok, at this exclusive auction that only the wealthiest men and women in the world attended. Suddenly, Marc last-name-unknown was a player in this game and I needed to understand where and how he fit into the whole story.

  But while my mind raced, my body reacted to his presence. My nipples hardened and my pussy grew damp. Sparkles of remembered pleasure ran through my body, like the memory of fireworks on a starry summer night.

  He had been the only man I had truly wanted. The only man who had made me feel cherished and desired. But his presence here told me that everything I had felt had been based on a lie.

  I surreptitiously wiped my palms against the gown, wishing once again for the cold security of my Bowie knife.

  Had he recognized me? If he had, my cover was blown sky-high. But I doubted it. There hadn’t been any sign of awareness in his brief glance. That night, two years ago, my hair had been red and curly and my body had been curvier. Now I was a skinny brunette with pin-straight hair. I didn’t even recognize myself in the mirror.

  It had been just one night a long time ago. There had undoubtedly been many women in his bed since our Parisian interlude. No. I was confident he didn’t recognize me. Why would he? We had just been two ships that passed in the night.

  He’s not important.
You are just feeling peculiar because he was the first man you gave yourself to willingly, I told myself firmly. But the twinge in my heart told me I was lying.

  ***

  “Hello,” his voice spoke. My body remembered those whiskey-smooth tones. Underneath my thin robe, my nipples engorged painfully. A heavy ache pooled in my pussy. Goose bumps covered my skin and I shivered slightly, unable to forget how good this man had made me feel.

  Act. Act now. You’ve never met him before. Your name is Jenny Fullerton. Your twin-sister is dying of leukemia, and you are here to sell yourself so you can save her life. Act.

  “Hello Sir,” I replied, my eyes fixed on the floor. My voice came out shaky and breathy. Though I hated how vulnerable I sounded, I was also grateful. I sounded nothing like the way I’d sounded in Paris that night.

  He didn’t demand that I make eye-contact, the way Anton had. He took a seat in front of me and leaned back on the couch. “Jenny, right?”

  “Yes Sir.”

  “Tell me about yourself, Jenny.”

  Fuck. Open-ended questions. I hated those. “What would you like to know, Sir?” I asked.

  “I’d like to know everything,” he replied. There was a trace of dark heat in his voice. Once again, I was almost overwhelmed by memories of him touching me and whispering words of passion in my ear. His body poised over mine as he brought me to repeated pleasure. His fingers, which had danced surely over my skin, until every bit of me was filled with a trembling need that I’d never before experienced. “Where you are from, Jenny?”

  Lucien and I had decided to keep most of my backstory close to the truth. “Cleveland, Sir,” I responded.

  “And Lori tells me it’s your first time outside the States,” he smiled. I sneaked a peek at him from beneath my lashes. He was so good-looking, Marc. I’d forgotten how absolutely beautiful this man was.

  He’s in Bangkok. He’s at Madame Lorraine’s. You know nothing about this man.

  “It is, Sir.”

  “Alexander,” a voice purred, and I stiffened, every inch of my body recoiling in horror as two realizations swept over me like a tidal wave.

  One, the man in front of me, the man who had given me my most cherished sexual memory, was Alexander Hamilton. The man who we suspected of being Dylan McAllister’s money manager. The man who most likely managed the finances of many men in the tightly controlled and vastly profitable industry of human trafficking.

  Two, the woman who had purred his name was Sylvia. The same tall, blond, Swiss woman who had been at Dylan’s estate six years ago, who had goaded Dylan until his anger had broken in an icy wave over me and who had watched my subsequent, bloody caning with lust-filled eyes.

  I should have been busy making myself irresistible so that this man would bid on me. Our entire plan to infiltrate Dylan’s Hanoi estate depended on it. But all I could feel was shock. It took all of the painful training I’d received at Dylan’s hands to force myself to remain still.

  Chapter 8

  Ellie / Jenny:

  She sat on the couch next to him, the woman who still could make fear rise in my heart. Sylvia.

  Even as I kept my eyes submissively lowered, I struggled to understand. Marc was Alexander Hamilton and somehow, he knew Sylvia. That wasn’t entirely a surprise, if I stopped to think about it. After all, Alexander and Dylan were business partners and Sylvia was a regular visitor at Dylan’s various fortified compounds.

  But I’d given him my heart and my body in Paris. How could I have done this? How could my instincts have failed me so badly?

  She leaned her body towards him and her hand came out to cup his cheek. “Are you buying a new toy?” she asked coyly, barely glancing at me. I knelt there, forgotten for the moment, while surreptitiously checking out the tableau being acted out in front of me.

  “Possibly,” Marc said. Not Marc. Alexander.

  Her hand moved to fiddle with his shirt buttons, while she kissed his neck. “And can I play with your toy, Alexander?” she asked him through her kisses. “Please?”

  He laughed dryly, a laugh I didn’t recognize. When he had laughed in Paris, his voice had been sincere and amused and I had felt enveloped in his warmth. This laugh was a more sophisticated, yet more superficial animal. “You tend to break your toys, baby,” he pointed out.

  I saw Sylvia’s pout through my eyelashes. I watched her hand grab his face and bend it towards her, her shiny, pointed teeth nipping at his earlobe. “Please, Alexander,” she wheedled. “I do love new toys.”

  He laughed again but this time, his voice was indulgent. I realized I wasn’t the only one watching the pair. Two sitting areas away, a big, blond man was watching them with narrowed eyes. Anton’s bodyguard’s gaze had locked onto Sylvia. The Thai guards that worked at the BDSM club never took their eyes off the two, but for all intents and purposes, both Alexander and Sylvia were unaware that they were the focus of attention. “Tell you what, baby,” he said, his hand trailing down her body in a possessive gesture, “you can play with my toy when you come visit me in Paris, okay?”

  Paris. Alexander Hamilton lived in Paris. Of course. After all, that’s where I’d run into Marc. My heart wept.

  She kissed him, her body pressing against his chest. “You are so good to me,” she breathed when she pulled away. Neither of them had spared me a glance. I remained on my knees, just waiting, as was expected of a good slave. “Thank you Alexander.”

  “Don’t you have to go, Sylvia?” He glanced at his watch, then at her, his lips curling into a smile. “I thought you had to work, but I’m happy to distract you from it.”

  She sighed loudly and dramatically. “I do have to go,” she said. “Work, always work. I’ll see you in Paris, love.”

  I couldn’t watch anymore. I couldn’t peek and see their goodbye kiss. One part of me realized that Alexander had more or less promised to bid on me. The other part was filled with fear.

  Remember Dylan, I told myself. You deserve your revenge.

  I did deserve my revenge. But in that moment, revenge was the least of my worries.

  ***

  Marc walked Sylvia out of the room. I saw their heads bowed together once again in a distant corner and my eyes couldn’t pull away from them. From the way she leaned into his body, breathing in his scent. From the way she whispered something in his ear, from the way her fingers played with the lapels of his suit.

  But his name wasn’t Marc. It was Alexander and unless Alexander was a common name in this gathering, this was Alexander Hamilton, the man I needed to purchase me.

  My plan was rapidly unravelling. I had thought that it would have been easy to twist Alexander Hamilton around my little finger and get him to take me to Hanoi. I was going to pretend to be the shy sex slave from America who wanted desperately to see the world.

  But he had to only look at me and I knew I wasn’t actress enough to play this role, not with him. There was too much chemistry in the air. My body responded too well to his nearness. My heart ached too much because he hadn’t recognized me even while my mind knew that it was a blessing that he hadn’t remembered.

  Too many worlds were colliding. My one shining little ornament of a memory, my recollection of that one perfect night lay tarnished.

  My panicked recollections were cut short as a bell sounded in the room. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Madame Lorraine’s voice spoke from the center of the room. A spotlight rested on her. The rest of the lights in the room dimmed. Unease prickled at the back of my scalp. “We are about to commence the bidding. But before that, I’d like our beautiful submissives to come up here.”

  We all obediently made our way forward towards the empty space in the room. We stood there in the light, while the men and women who might purchase us for three months sat in the shadows and leered at us. Then, at a discreet hand motion from Madame Lorraine, Sarit appeared out of nowhere and escorted us back to the antechamber.

  ***

  “What happens now?” I asked Susan.


  “We wait,” she replied. “Another auction, another opportunity to attract Alexander Hamilton foiled.” She sighed dramatically. “Ah well. I noticed he talked to you though.”

  “For barely a second,” I replied. “He talked to Elena longer.” Every muscle in my body stilled as I realized something. Elena, with her curly red hair, could have been mistaken for me from afar. Was that why Marc had gone to talk to her? Was he searching for me?

  His name is Alexander, I reminded myself. Marc doesn’t exist. Life isn’t a fairy tale and Marc isn’t your Prince Charming. He isn’t searching for you. Stay focused on Dylan.

  But my hands worried at the bracelets on my wrists. I needed to talk to Lucien. He didn’t know the details of that night in Paris. We didn’t ever discuss our sex lives or anything else that was personal. But Marc had been in Paris and he was here today. It turned out that the man I’d slept with two years ago was one of Dylan’s most trusted advisors.

  Bile rose in my throat and I fought not to retch. Lucien would have advice for me. He’d remind me of my training. He’d remind me of my urge to kill Dylan. And he’d tell me to stay strong. Stay focused. There was no room for anything else except my revenge. Lucien would warn me of that.

  I fought for composure. I didn’t have many illusions left in my life anymore but that one night had been precious to me.

  ***

  Of course he bought me. Maybe because Sylvia needed a new toy. I’d just about made up my mind to flee, convinced I couldn’t go through with my plan, when Madame Lorraine appeared in front of me to tell me that she was delighted that her good friend Alexander had bid on me. “A million dollars,” she said with a smile. “That should help your sister.” Impulsively, she hugged me. “My dear, I’m so, so glad.”

  Sarit stayed to gossip when Madame Lorraine turned to the next woman. “There was quite the bidding war,” she confided in me. “Anton Nekrasov wanted you as well. In the end though, he conceded to Alexander.” She winked at me. “Do you like threesomes, Jenny? The two of them are quite good friends. Perhaps you can convince Alexander to let Anton visit.”