by April Lust
“Just think. You’re better off than most girls. Most girls don’t get anything but a clumsy thanks or ‘did you like that?’ after their first time. I know I wondered what the hell the big deal was all about since I hardly felt anything. You’re lucky. At least you’ll be with a real man, and probably one with some money and experience.”
“Are you saying you envy me?” I asked, grinning in the mirror as I did my makeup.
“Not exactly. But it might have been nice to be with somebody who knew what the hell they were doing. Maybe I do envy you in a way—you waited.”
I put down the makeup and turned to her. “You? Envy me? I’ve always been the one who envies you!”
“Why?” She looked genuinely surprised, which blew my mind.
“Because you’ve always been the one with boyfriends, or guys you were seeing, or even random hookups. I wondered what was wrong with me that I couldn’t be like you were. I always wanted to be. I wished guys would think I was hot, the way they always saw you.”
“Meanwhile, so much of it was totally soulless. I wish I could do it over again,” she said. “After a while, it’s just sex for the sake of sex. I get it now when people say the first time should be meaningful.”
My gaze dropped and I stared at the carpet. Mac understood her mistake and jumped off the bed.
“I didn’t mean it’s wrong that yours isn’t! Oh, Jesus, I’m sorry. What a stupid thing to say.” She threw her arms around me and hugged tightly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “This is meaningful. There might not be romance, but there will be what I need. The money. That’s all there is to it. Seeing my mom taken care of is all I need.” With heightened resolve, I turned to the mirror and continued with my makeup. Mackenzie wisely let the subject drop.
###
Two hours later, I stood backstage at the auction. I couldn’t believe I’d gotten as far as I had—I’d only wanted to turn around and go home a half dozen times during the ten-minute drive to the warehouse.
From the outside, it didn’t look like much. One of the dozens of warehouses along the city’s mostly abandoned port. I had balked at the idea of going inside, wondering if Mac’s contact had given her the wrong address by mistake. She’d assured me it was all right when I called to ask her.
“Don’t worry about it. You’ll be fine. He said they keep it in an out-of-the-way place to keep the cops away. But that’s it, the warehouse. Don’t forget to text me.”
I’d promised I would, and stepped inside. She had been right. It was like night and day, the difference between what was outside and what hid behind the old rusty door. The interior might have been an art gallery, it was so clean and classy. Like one of the old converted factories and lofts in the city’s newly gentrified sections. Whoever put the auction together knew what he was doing. He’d put money into making it look as legit as possible.
It was because he was catering to a high-end clientele, I realized. There were some pretty fancy cars parked outside. Who were these men that they were aware of an underground auction such as this? I had assumed men like that were above skeevy activities like this. I figured I had a lot to learn.
Almost as soon as I arrived, a woman spotted me and took me by the arm. “Are you one of the items tonight?”
My skin crawled at the name she gave me, but I nodded mutely. She led me to the backstage area, where I saw the other girls—or, items. Many of them were younger than me, and many of them looked as nervous as I felt. I wondered what made them desperate enough to do what they were doing. Did they have sick parents like I did? Or maybe they needed money for student loans, or to make a tuition payment. They might have gone crazy with their credit cards, since a couple of them were wearing what even I could recognize as seriously expensive designer clothing. There was more than one pair of red-soled Louboutins in the group.
They were all so pretty. They made me feel like an ugly duckling in comparison. I shrugged out of my coat and hung it on a wall rack. I had gone with the black dress, which was sleeveless and low over my chest. Mac had insisted I wear my most push-up of push-up bras, and I felt like my boobs were about to fall out at any minute. The dress came to just above my knee, and I wore black patent stilettos. I knew they made me nearly six feet tall, but I didn’t think flats would look right. Besides, any man who was intimidated by a tall woman didn’t deserve my virginity, no matter how much money he had.
Mac had helped with my hair, which was a mass of soft wavy curls. I was used to putting on makeup to look good for work, and I’d chosen eyeshadow to enhance my green eyes, and a wine-red lip gloss to accentuate my pouty lips.
I’d basically done everything I could. It was all up to the men on the other side of the curtain, and whether they thought I passed muster.
The auction began, and my heart instantly leaped into my throat. I could still leave. There was still time. I wouldn’t go on until last, I was told—nine girls were going before me. I assumed it had to be first come, first served. Had I know that, I would have shown up early just to get it over with.
One by one they went out. A few of them looked like they were going to throw up just before it was their turn. I held their hands, and we reassured each other that it would be all right. I noticed how none of them came back afterward. Were we expected to go right to our “date”? I guessed so.
I heard the dollar values thrown around, and it was staggering. Five thousand. Ten thousand. Twelve. Fourteen five. Up and up it went. Who was out there? Each girl’s virginity went for a pretty high price.
Eventually, it was just me, sitting alone. So many thoughts raced through my head, bouncing off each other, clamoring for attention. I was a whore, or at least about to become one. What would my mother think if she ever found out? It would break her heart if she knew I had taken such a drastic step for her. She would never forgive herself. I could never tell her. But she would want to know where I got the money for hospice care. What could I say then? I would have to come up with something when the time came. I had more than enough on my mind already.
Namely, the fact that it was my turn. The last girl to go, Theresa, had pulled down a winning bid of twelve thousand five hundred. Not too shabby. I hoped I could get that much. Otherwise, I’d be humiliated. But Theresa and all the other girls were beautiful. What hope did I have?
I remembered what Mac told me to do in the last moments before going out there. I leaned forward, pulling my boobs more fully front and center. I licked my lips to make them shinier. I pulled all of my hair over one shoulder until it cascaded down past my breasts.
I was as ready as I was ever going to be. And just in time, too, as the emcee was announcing my name.
My hand touched the curtain, ready to pull it to the side, and I instantly decided that I hated every man in that room for what they were doing. But there was no time to think about that, as my name was called and I pulled the curtain aside to face my fate.
Chapter Five
Dane
I had to give Gareth credit for one thing: he knew how to hold an auction.
I hadn’t ridden my bike in. I didn’t want to announce my presence, even if Gareth didn’t know I had it in for him. He was afraid of me taking over the Lightning Bolts, which was why he wanted me killed in the first place. If he knew I was just named president, he’d be more desperate than before to have me taken out. So I drove my normal, everyday car. Next to the Mercedes, Porches and BMWs I saw outside the warehouse, I looked like a bum off the street.
Well, looks were deceiving. I didn’t think having a half million dollars collecting interest across three separate bank accounts was on the same level as the men I was about to come face-to-face with, but it wasn’t anything to be ashamed of either. The club did well when it came to making money. We didn’t fuck around. For years before I went inside I had been stashing cash into my accounts. I lived alone, didn’t need much. Some of the guys had families—some of them even lived in much nic
er homes than anybody in a club like ours should own. But the police turned a blind eye. As long as we didn’t make too much trouble for them, they didn’t make trouble for us.
I went inside the warehouse and whistled under my breath. I never would have expected something like what I found. When I realized the auction was in an old warehouse I imagined something skeevy and dirty, with rats in the far corners. This was nice. Upscale, even. It made sense when I thought about the cars parked out front. The men shelling out the dough for these girls wanted to be sure they weren’t dealing with a low-class amateur. They were, of course. He was a piece of human garbage. They didn’t know that.
“Champagne?” A girl in a French maid’s costume held a silver tray my way. I managed not to roll my eyes at how cheesy it was. Then again, when she walked away to offer drinks to three other men, they looked pretty happy to see her. I guessed you had to be a certain kind of slime to be here in the first place.
I couldn’t have cared less about the girls up for auction. Honestly, I didn’t have much respect for them. Then again I didn’t respect women in general—at least not the ones I knew. The girls in the club were nice girls, but nothing to get serious about. The rest of them were, in my experience, cheap, slutty, skanky, greedy or bitchy. Or some of all of the above. They were good for a screw, like the one I woke up with that morning. I still didn’t remember her name. I barely remembered meeting her, or what she looked like. That was as far as it went for me, and I was okay with that.
I looked around the room from where I stood in a corner. The walls were cream painted drywall, blocking the windows. That much made sense—didn’t want anybody peeking in, especially the police if there was illegal shit going on. The lighting was soft, warm. The floors were a practically new hardwood or a really high-quality laminate. Either way, it looked good. Rows of folding chairs sat in front of a stage with a red curtain hung in front. It was like a pageant.
I snorted to myself. Who the hell were these people? Who did this? Was this what men did for fun on a Saturday night when they were jaded by the world? They had had all the fun their money gave them, so they needed something new and fresh—literally.
They had no idea what it was like to experience life. They hadn’t seen half the shit I’d seen or done a quarter of what I had done. I wondered if they ever watched a man being tortured to death when he wouldn’t give information, like I had accidentally walked in on when I was fifteen. Or if they ever got into a motorcycle chase in the middle of the night, going down a dark road with no light except the headlights and the taillights of the bike ahead of them. Or if they ever raced down crowded streets for money. Or if they ever helped smuggle guns and drugs from motherfuckers who would eat their hearts for breakfast. Or if they had ever killed another person. They probably thought the height of thrills was zip lining or skydiving some dumb shit like that. They needed a new hit, something bigger. A virgin.
The auction was about to start, and everybody took a seat. I sat furthest from the stage. I still hadn’t seen Gareth, and I wondered if he even showed up at the actual event. I didn’t see why he wouldn’t, but then he was impossible to figure out. Maybe he wanted to keep his name and face out of it. I was sure if everybody there saw what he looked like, they’d be grateful.
The first girl came out. She looked scared to death. I felt sorry for her, which was rare for me. I didn’t usually wonder what was going on in people’s heads. Even less since prison. It didn’t do any good to start feeling sympathy. You might start caring, and even put yourself on the line for another person. The only thing I’d ever put myself on the line for was the club—especially now that I was president.
“This is the lovely Josie. Josie, please turn around so the men can see you.” She did an awkward turn in heels that were probably too high for her. I guessed she was around nineteen. Petite, very slim, could have passed for a pre-teen if she wanted to.
“Josie is just eighteen years old.” The woman reading the information off the cue cards looked familiar. I wondered if she was hooked up with the Reign of Chaos. She might even have been Gareth’s old lady. Maybe she was the one who did the collecting at the end of the night. “We’ll take the first bid starting at five thousand dollars.”
I almost chocked on my champagne. Starting at five thousand? How high was it going to go?
“I’ll take five.” One of the guys up front raised his hand. A younger man, maybe mid-twenties.
“We have five up front. Do I have five five?”
“Five five.” An older man. He could have been her father. I clenched my jaw.
“Six five.” The oldest of the three. Grandfather? My skin crawled.
“Seven.” The first guy, the one up front. The three of them went back and forth until the final bid was twelve thousand, made by a man who could have been Josie’s dad. I felt sorry for her. I really did. Why did an eighteen-year-old need to do something like this?
It went on like that. All of the girls came out, one at a time, and all of them had at least three, maybe four men bidding on them at once. I wondered whether it was proven upfront that the girls were actual virgins. Like, how did anybody know for sure? Were they sent to a doctor? If I was spending fifteen thousand dollars on something, and that was as high as one of the girls settled for, I’d want to know it was legit. Maybe there was a gentleman’s agreement. What a laugh. Gareth wasn’t a gentleman.
All of the girls looked sweet. They might have tried to look sexy or sophisticated, but the fact was they were all a bunch of kids. They were scared and innocent. I wasn’t into that. I liked a girl with a bit of an edge to her.
I was bored out of my mind after a half hour. There wasn’t anything going on that I could use against him. Nothing looked illegal. There weren’t any shady side deals going on. The girls looked healthy and willing enough. It wasn’t like he was drugging them. I was disappointed. What a waste of time.
I wondered whether I could sneak out without being noticed. Then, the final girl was called.
“If any of you gentlemen have been disappointed so far because you haven’t found just the girl you’re looking for, you’re in luck. Our final girl is worth saving for last. Her name is Michelle.”
The curtain parted, and the last girl stepped out onto the stage.
The first thought that hit my brain was No way she’s a virgin. They should have had a doctor look her over to make sure.
She was older than the other girls, for one thing. Not old, but not eighteen. Probably closer to my age, and I had just turned twenty-eight three days before my release.
She was also gorgeous. Stone cold, drop-dead. The green in her eyes almost jumped out at me. Her hair was a waterfall over one shoulder. I wanted to dig my hands into it, take handfuls of it, work her up and down my cock. I looked at her mouth, and it shone red and pouty. I started to get hard and couldn’t believe it.
Her body was tight and toned. Her legs went on for miles. She was tall, maybe almost six feet in heels. I would still stand taller than her. She had a grace to her, too. She glided when she walked. I bet men’s heads turned when she walked down the street.
And she looked like she hated every single one of us. I felt it coming from her in waves. She smiled and tried to look friendly, but she was seething inside. The muscle jumped in her cheek. I was intrigued. No way she hadn’t been laid in her whole life. That was bullshit. What was her real story?
I realized I wanted to know. I really wanted to know what she was all about.
“We’ll start the bidding at five thousand.”
“Five!” Two men raised their hands at once.
“One at a time, please, gentlemen. I think you came in first,” the emcee said, pointing to a man sitting in the middle of the room. Fat slob. No way he was good enough for her.
“Five five.” The second of the original two bidders. Young, skinny. A tech millionaire, I decided.
“Six.” The grandfather who first bid on the eighteen-year-old in the beginning.
/> “Seven.”
“Eight.”
“Ten.”
“Twelve.”
The number kept going up. I knew it was a mixture of two things. First, she was hot as hell. Any man with eyes would wanna sleep with her. Plus, she was last. The guys who hadn’t scored anyone yet were desperate to go home with somebody. They hadn’t been willing to bid so high on the others, but on her they would go for it just so they didn’t have to leave alone.
I watched her. Her eyes went back and forth, finding every man who bid. I could tell from the way her face changed ever so slightly how she felt about each of them. The fatso she was repulsed by. The young guy, she was indifferent. The grandfather disgusted her, of course. Another man, a middle-aged George Clooney type, seemed to appeal to her.
No fucking way was I gonna let that happen.
“Thirty.” I couldn’t believe the word came out of my mouth. What was I thinking? I didn’t want to announce my presence, for Christ’s sake! But I wanted her. Even if it took thirty thousand dollars.
