But oddly, after the bath Troy checked us out of the compound, business-like and no-nonsense.
“Come on,” he ground out. “Where’s your stuff? Let’s go.”
I shook my head slowly.
“I don’t have any stuff,” I said slowly. “Rachel and I thought we were coming to a private party, but instead, she had that drink, and then we were tied up and gagged. Is she okay?” I rushed quickly, growing alarmed again. “Have you been able to find out where she is?”
Mr. Black frowned. Something told me that abduction wasn’t how the Billionaires Club usually operated, that most of the time the girls came willingly, for the decadence, for the money, to sample a different life. In fact, I suspected that Miles was going to have hell to pay once Mr. Black got a hold of him, you can’t go around doing whatever you want when billionaires are in charge. But for now, the alpha male had other things on his mind.
“I’m sure Rachel’s fine,” he said, voice neutral. “All the dudes in the club are okay, I know them. Not well of course,” he added, “but you can’t be a part of this group without going through a rigorous screening process.”
My mouth twisted wryly. Miles had allegedly gone through a screening process too, so obviously the background checks weren’t perfect, at least not for employees. But I held my tongue because this wasn’t the time or place, not with freedom so near. And at the check-out desk, Troy acted like a true owner, one with rights of possession.
“Here you go,” said the receptionist, smiling widely, eyes bland, handing us a clipboard. “Here are Ms. Danes’s forms. We’re releasing her into your charge.”
Were those release papers? Holy shit, yes, that was my name at the top and Mr. Black scrawled his signature at the bottom, like he owned me, putting a hand on my elbow once again.
“Let’s get out of this place,” he ground out. “Let’s go shopping and pick up some stuff for you.”
But the enormity of the situation hit me again.
“So now I’m in your care, like a prisoner in a halfway house, out of jail but still being watched? Is that how it is?” I asked slowly, trailing behind him as he showed me to a town car.
The big man shrugged elegantly, casually handsome in a grey suit.
“If that’s how you want to see it,” he drawled, opening the door for me. “I wouldn’t choose that particular metaphor, but yeah, if that’s how you want to see it. I prefer to view myself as a guardian and not your parole officer, but hey, this jail thing seems to have seized your imagination.”
I snorted a little, not at all ladylike, choked with giggles. Really? Parole officer? This guy was funny and then some, I had no idea the billionaire had a sense of humor. And he waggled his eyebrows at me, slapping me on the ass once more, letting his hand bounce off my generous rump.
“Come on, git, we have some shopping to do,” he said, and with that, I folded myself into the black car. Besides, what options did I have? We were still god knows where, among rundown warehouses, not a soul in sight, the buildings grey and featureless. Getting to a brightly-lit shopping mall bustling with customers was probably the best way to re-join the normal world.
But we didn’t go to Westfield or any of the huge malls I’m used to. Instead, the car pulled up at a discreet boutique situated in the middle of nowhere and a woman, elegant and classy, greeted us at the door.
“Mr. Black,” she purred, grey hair in a chignon. How women got their hair to stay in those things was beyond me, my curls were always an unruly mop, sweeping about my shoulders. But the woman was all professionalism. “Mr. Black, so good to see you again. How can we help?”
Troy merely nodded at me.
“Anything she wants,” the big man rumbled, and a shopping frenzy began, salespeople throwing clothes at me right and left. It was just like the scene in Pretty Woman where Julia Roberts is romanced on Rodeo Drive, and there was such a variety of options that my head spun, expensive brocades, the silkiest of satins, even a couple furs.
“I can’t,” I shook my head after Troy had approved my fifth cocktail dress. This one was deep purple, hugging my curves, showing off my assets without being raunchy and gaudy.
He ignored me. “That one, absolutely,” he nodded again, and immediately the salesgirls clapped their hands.
“Excellent choice, Mr. Black, excellent!” they cooed. “You have amazing taste, absolutely exquisite.”
I rolled my eyes, these women were sycophants with their panting and gasping, but given the price tags I’d seen on some of these clothes, they were set for a huge commission.
But still, I couldn’t. Waiting until the salesgirls were gone, I put down my foot again.
“Troy, I can’t,” I insisted, hands on my hips this time, aware of how ridiculous I looked, barefoot with a cocktail dress on, my curls natural and unstyled. “This is far too much, you’ve already paid me for … well, you know, and I can’t take more.”
The big man threw his head back and laughed, white teeth gleaming.
“No baby, you haven’t been paid yet,” he rumbled. “The money went into escrow so you don’t have a cent to your name right now. It’ll be deposited once the week is over. Only then will you be paid,” he said, eyes gleaming.
And I blushed. God, financial transactions weren’t my forte, and of course, the money had been placed into a holding account, I couldn’t take the cash and run. But still, I shook my head.
“This dress costs far too much, and what are you going to do with these clothes after I’m done? Or,” suddenly a thought popped into my head, “are you attending another auction? Bidding on another girl?” I asked in a rush, not quite believing it. My heart felt heavy, like it was sinking to the bottom of the ocean, dying a slow death. I scolded myself. It shouldn’t have mattered. What was between us was just a temporary situation, a financial transaction, I’d been sold for crying out loud, my body for money. What right did I have to feel hurt if he pursued another woman? What right did I have to stop him from buying another girl?
But Mr. Black’s big hand gripped my chin, forcing me to look at him.
“Naw baby girl, there are no auctions on my schedule, not now at least,” he ground out. “And besides,” he said, stepping back. “If you make it worthwhile and we both have a good time, maybe I’ll re-up your contract. Two weeks instead of one?” he growled, eyes hot on me. “It’s a lot of cash for a young woman,” his voice trailed off.
But instead of making me feel better, making my ears perk at the thought of doubling my haul, instead I just felt deflated. I didn’t want the money, it didn’t matter to me, just like these fancy clothes didn’t matter. I shook my head again.
“No, you really don’t have to,” I said, slipping out of the dress quietly, not looking his way. “Thanks, but I think one week will be enough.”
The big man lifted his eyebrows skeptically, voice as smooth as silk.
“Honey, the way you were in that bathroom, I don’t think one week is gonna be enough. Not even close. The way you craved my sperm? I doubt it.”
And I flushed, growing hot with embarrassment and desire again. Because yeah, that’d been me, wanton and wet, begging him to put his dick in, to take my virginity, make me into a woman, unprotected and hot. But I couldn’t handle these wildly swinging feelings, the way I’d gone from his cumslut to the currrent chill in my chest. Why was this happening? I was horrifically confused and just wanted to get out of the store, get out of this perfectly temperature-controlled space with the salespeople who treated Troy like a god, like he could do no wrong. I wanted to go home, snuggle in my comfy PJs and maybe cry a little. The past forty-eight hours had obliterated my defenses, overwhelming me and I just wanted the comfort of home.
The big man looked at me hard again, sensing the tears pooling in my eyes and read my mind.
“Can we get the bill?” he rumbled, making eye contact with the manager, and immediately, all the purchases were packaged beautifully to be unwrapped later.
But I wasn’t feeli
ng it. Instead, I was morose, silent, as we sat in the car, looking out the window at nothing, seeing but not absorbing. The landscape flew by in a blur, cityscape melting into trees, grass, and finally manors, each estate more imposing than the last.
“You want to tell me what’s wrong?” the big man rumbled as we pulled up to the biggest mansion, finally addressing my curled form on the other side of the car seat. “Why you went from a hot little whore to Debbie Downer?”
I should have felt angry. I should have flown at him screaming, clawing his eyes out, calling me a whore like that. But I knew it was true. I was Mr. Black’s whore, I wanted him so badly, it was this incredible mix of feelings that was bringing me down. Because I couldn’t separate the physical from the emotional, and knowing that we were a temporary item depressed me, snuffed out the light in my soul like a match going out.
So I took a deep breath, reaching deep into my reserves. Because what the hell. I was here for a job, and I resolved to do it well. When you’re from hardy New England stock like me, you stick it out, you don’t give up. When you’re faced with an impossible situation, then it’s time to make lemonade out of lemons because I’m a working class girl from the south side of Boston, and grit and determination are my family hallmarks, what helped my ancestors survive in a cold and inhospitable environment years ago. So I wasn’t going to be the weak link in a sturdy chain of people, I wasn’t going to let my forbears down, no matter how desperate and unsteady I felt inside.
Taking a deep breath, I straightened my shoulders and lifted my chin, putting a happy smile on before turning to Mr. Black cheerily.
“I’m so sorry, what?” I asked, feigning ignorance. “I’m sad? No, you’ve got it wrong, I love the clothes that you bought for me, thank you so much,” I parroted. “Come on, let’s go inside.”
The big man shot me a skeptical look, not fooled for an instant, but unfolded his big form from the car, circling over to my side and pulling me into his arms.
“I know what you’re going through,” he murmured softly against my lips, seductive, our breaths mingling, looking deep into my eyes. “I know how hard this is for you but I promise I’ll make it good. I promise, honey.”
And I let out another deep exhale. On the one hand, these were just words and I shouldn’t have felt comforted. But on the other hand, every instinct told me to relax, to roll with it, to trust him, to let go for once. Everything Troy had done for me so far, securing my release, buying me clothes, even hinting that he wanted to keep me around for an extra week, meant something, didn’t it? I wasn’t sure what the meaning was, but the alpha’s blue gaze was so genuine, his strong arms encircling me, protecting me, and I melted against that broad chest involuntarily. Because I couldn’t resist him, couldn’t say no, and making the best of things sometimes means going along with a tide you can’t control. And right now, that current meant swimming with Mr. Black, giving into him, indulging in the passion, the comfort, the sensual air that surrounded everything about this man.
So I kissed him back, imbuing the touch with all my hopes, my dreams, my desires, conflicted as they were. Yes, I wanted to be with the alpha, to savor the physical, to get to know him more, his personality, his likes and dislikes, what made him tick and what made him roar. And no, I didn’t like how we’d started, him buying me at an auction. But what was done was done, and it was time to take my first step into uncharted territory, tentative as it might be.
So I kissed him back deeply, twining my arms around those broad shoulders, drawing that dark head towards mine, letting him feel my softness, my willingness, the way I trusted and wanted him, giving myself up to his care.
“Yes,” I murmured against his lips. “Yes, let’s go inside.”
And he pulled back for a moment, blue eyes hot, big chest heaving a bit, hands unsteady on my waist.
“Fuck, little girl, you’re so beautiful,” he ground out, gaze hot my face, the way my caramel eyes were so warm, willing and trusting. But with another harsh rasp, he put an arm around my waist and began leading me up the steps.
“Welcome to my home, Ellie Danes,” he ground out, unlocking the door. “Welcome to where Troy Black eats, plays, and sleeps.”
And despite the fact that the space was cavernous, much too much for one man, I was curious. There had to be a personal area where Mr. Black relaxed, kicked up his feet and let the world wash over him. There had to be books, knick-knacks, all the accoutrements of a powerful, wealthy man, and I wanted to see them, I wanted to know more about him, what kept this alpha going on a daily basis. I’d been envisioning an office of some sort, dark mahogany furniture, bookshelves filled with tomes, maybe a giant atlas on one side, a tool to guide his travels, his willful wanderings. So when Troy led me to the kitchen and began pulling out ingredients, I was beyond surprised.
“Um, are you cooking?” I asked tentatively, biting my lip, seating myself on a stool at the island. Mr. Black was hauling out pots and pans galore, all of them copper colored and shiny, probably worth more than a month’s salary for me. And he grunted, head buried under the counter until he popped up again holding a spatula.
“That’s right,” he grinned mischievously. “Some guys get off with cigars and whiskey, and shit, I love that stuff too. But honey, when you’re six four, you’ve got to learn to cook because it takes a lot of calories to keep this machine going.”
I giggled then. Really? My dark abductor was a master chef? He grinned at me again.
“I didn’t always have a cook you know,” he said wryly. “Once upon a time, I was a boy with nothing but a dream and my bare hands. Back then, it was either cook or go hungry,” he added.
I leaned forward. I couldn’t imagine this man poor, couldn’t imagine him living in tight circumstances, without anything to his name. It was such a contrast to where we sat now, the huge sub-zero refrigerator, the granite countertops, the fancy brand-name European dishwasher. And he smiled at me again, blue eyes glinting.
“You’d be surprised how far a little sweat equity goes,” he said mildly. “I almost broke my back on my first venture, literally broke my back I worked so fucking hard.”
I quirked my head at him.
“Were you doing construction?” I asked. “Building beautiful houses?” I could see Troy doing that, he’d be the hot roofer, bare chested on a sunny summer’s day, abs flexing as he re-tiled a mansion, all the MILFs and bored housewives coming out to watch.
And he grinned at me.
“Hardly,” he said with a wry grin. “I worked in a prison complex. Worked for the County Sheriff herding convicted felons and murderers to and from the mess hall.”
I gasped. Oh my god, that sounded like a bad job. And he read my mind, all the while whipping up a concoction in a small bowl, wrist moving so fast it was practically a blur.
“Yeah back then I moonlighted at the Sheriff’s Office, working the graveyard shift so I could get my degree during the day. Had to have food to eat while I was studying, so between sleeping four hours a night and fighting with parolees, yeah, I’d say I saw a lot of life in those five years.”
My mouth dropped open. He’d been a prison guard for five years? That was a long time in a grim place, I heard the guards basically became felons themselves, dealing drugs to prisoners and taking bribes, even having sex with female prisoners.
But Mr. Black shrugged his shoulders.
“It fucking sucked, yeah, but it paid the bills and I didn’t give a shit so long as it was good money. Besides, there was always a plan, an exit route to get out of that hellhole,” he rumbled, this time cracking eggs into a bowl. “I made my first investment using what I saved from the Sheriff, and that nugget seeded my second investment, which seeded my third, fourth, and fifth ones. Within a couple years, I’d made my first million, and pretty soon it was multi-millions, and then more than I could ever possibly use.”
I gasped. That was a lot of money, and it was the perfect opening to ask about his wealth, the source of his money. But I wasn’
t that interested because it was his past that intrigued me the most, the key to unlocking this mysterious man.
“But why did you work in a prison? Why didn’t you hit up a Starbucks or work as a night security guard somewhere? Wouldn’t that be easier and a lot less stressful?” I asked, quirking my head.
Troy shot a thoughtful look my way.
“You’re right honey, it would have been. But there was no Starbucks when I was just starting out, back then it wasn’t the mega-chain you see today. And as for the security guard stuff, you have to remember I had nothing back then. I needed flexibility, I needed benefits, I needed decent pay, and even though it was dangerous work, the Sheriff’s Office offered all that. My brothers on the force took care of me and I took care of them.”
Again, this brotherhood thing. It was interesting how much importance Troy placed on the people who surrounded him, who worked for him or with him. Because even now, he was still part of a brotherhood, the Billionaires Club, the sponsor of the auction. Did the group go beyond sourcing women? Did they auction items other than women? Suddenly I felt certain that the auctions were just the tip of the iceberg, that there were probably investment networks, private banks, concierge services, all sorts of things that only rich people had access to, what I wasn’t even sure. And Mr. Black nodded his head neutrally.
“Yeah, the Billionaires Club does a lot, it’s a complex network of professional services, you can even get your teeth checked out by a board-certified dentist, if that’s what you need,” he said wryly. “But yeah, I put a lot into the brotherhood. I put a lot into my people, in general,” he said, serious suddenly, “and people put a lot into me. Running an empire, I’m responsible for the welfare of thousands, if not hundreds of thousands. My employees depend on me, their families depend on me, people would be stressed, maybe even go hungry, if I didn’t come through with my part of the bargain.”
Sold at the Auction Page 8
