The woman in front of me shifts, causing her ebony skin to glisten in the light. She is the tallest of the group; her long limbs add to the willowy effect of her height. She keeps her eyes downcast mostly, occasionally peeking up at me through her lashes as I inspect her. My gaze crosses Mirabelle, who instantly shakes her head a fraction, telling me this woman isn’t her choice and is free for my claiming.
But I do not claim her and move on to the next woman.
She is the shortest and smallest of the group. I’m not sure of her age—her paperwork was not specific about it either—but she looks much younger than the others. I fight the urge to ask for her age, already sure she’s no more than a child still. The girl is simply too young to be here, but then again, none of them should be. I glance at Mirabelle from the corner of my eye and am relieved to see she is not interested in her either. I move again, swallowing the hard lump of remorse I feel for the young one.
Sidestepping again, I’m met with honey-brown eyes and a flurry of auburn hair. There is something about the look in her eyes. I get the feeling she’d be a hard one for anyone to break because she’s a survivor and has spirit. Mirabelle must have seen it, too, because she only has eyes for the last woman.
Her eyes focus intently on the last woman, causing my heart to thump against the cavity of my chest. Focusing on her myself, I forget to breathe. Her crystal-blue eyes are filled with fire, as she tries to stare me down. Her pouty pink lips are quirked, meant to make her look serious and mean; instead, it makes her look adorable. Her long blond hair needs a wash and hangs down around her body. She’s thin but with curves in all the right places. I can see why Mirabelle wants this one. She is stunning.
Mine!
I shake my head, trying to figure out where the thought came from. I look the poor girl up and down one more time, trying to pinpoint it. She’s isn’t mine. She can’t be. And yet there is something about her that draws me in. I want to know more about her. I need to know more.
Penelope. The name surfaces through the clouded haze of my thoughts. She fits the description of the girl on my list, though the picture doesn’t match the beautiful creature standing before me. My stomach heaves at the thought of Mirabelle desecrating her, and I look over to see the she-devil eye fucking the shit out of my girl.
Mine!
My hands ball into fists, and it takes everything in me to keep still. There’s no way I can keep my deal with Mirabelle and the girl. Mirabelle won’t go for it, and I need this favor. She’s the only one who can get me the information I need on Charles. The business dealing between the two men are kept separate. Most of what I’ve gathered incriminates everyone on the west coast. I’ve seen very little to do with the east coast.
Brock is too loyal to his master. He would never unknowingly give me anything I can use. Which is why I planned to use Mirabelle instead. She might be a poisonous bitch, but her husband shares everything with her, and I have no doubt she has the information I seek. If I play my cards right, she’ll give it up without too much coaxing. Besides, she’ll be happy to see both Armando and Charles hang, especially if it means there is a chance she will rise to the top after they’re gone.
But now there is a problem with my plan, and no matter how badly I want to ignore the girl standing before me, I can’t.
There is only one way to save this girl. I must convince Mirabelle to choose someone else. Or do it for her.
Stepping back from the women, I look over at Mirabelle and shake my head. “They simply won’t do.”
She frowns, Armando scoffs, and Brock chokes on his drink.
“Excuse me?” Andre speaks out of turn, his face flushed with irritation. I’m walking on thin ice, insulting the goods like I am, but I push on anyway.
“Don’t forget I studied this lot carefully.” I cross my arms, my gaze resting lightly on him, reminding them all of the care I took getting them here.
“You are wrong, sir,” Andre growls. “They are exceptional. Armando only chooses the best.”
“I agree, Andre, for a man like me, these women are exceptional. But they cannot hold a candle to Mirabelle.”
I see Mirabelle smile as she catches on to my play. Her eyes flick between Armando and myself excitedly, waiting for his reaction. Armando glares at me, his disbelief and anger in his eyes.
“You have first choice,” he grits his teeth, and I know he is having a tough time controlling his anger. “Your need to please Mirabelle is misguided, Tony. You have worked too hard for this prize. Tonight, you must treat yourself.”
“I find them perfectly acceptable for me. You are correct, but I want the very best for Mirabelle,” I explain, wondering how much farther I can push him, knowing I shouldn’t play this close to the fire. “Armando, I know you have chosen the best for me, but Mirabelle has specific needs. She needs someone with fire, with passion, someone who will battle her in the throes, equally giving and receiving. These women, while they would please and pleasure you and me very well, they are not for Mirabelle.”
I look toward the redhead, noting the hungry look once again in her eyes. Yes, I understand her devious nature and hedonistic needs. I’m using this knowledge to play her. She makes it too easy.
“What are you saying?” Armando asks, his irritation replaced with confusion.
“I choose the blonde,” I answer and move toward Mirabelle and offer her my hand. She takes it without hesitation and moves gracefully to my side. She blindly turns to Armando and smiles, but she is completely unaware of what has transpired. She is mesmerized by the young women standing quietly before us. “But Mirabelle should have another. One that is not here amongst these girls. I believe the one I seek is called Svetlana.”
Svetlana is a hearty girl and the most physically able to withstand whatever bedroom games Mirabelle has in store for her newest victim. My gut aches because I have offered another girl for Mirabelle to torture, but I cannot let her have the blonde.
Mine!
It is true Svetlana doesn’t hold a candle to the blonde—the notes in her file called her dowdy and frumpy— but I know she will survive the night and perhaps longer if things continue to progress for my investigation.
The blonde, even though she’s shooting a dangerous glare my way, wouldn’t be able to withstand Mirabelle. Or Brock for that matter. They’d shatter her to pieces.
What was the name used for her on the paperwork? I can’t remember; the detail seems to be missing from my mind.
“Very well,” Armando agrees, eying me carefully. He’s onto the game I’m playing with Mirabelle because he knows Svetlana, and he knows she is not a girl Mirabelle would choose on her own. But he says nothing to question my motives, nor does he sell me out to Mirabelle. Not that he would. He hates Mirabelle and is likely going to find enjoyment in her reaction to the woman I have chosen for her. “Mirabelle shall have Svetlana, and the blonde is yours.”
Andre turns away and leads the women to the door leading out of the room. He steps aside, allowing them to pass in front of him, knowing chained as they are, there is no fear of them trying to escape. His new task is to prepare the girls to be presented to us tonight, but something inside me doesn’t want to let the girl disappear through the doorway. I move before I can speak, knowing they will see my movement as anxious excitement.
“I see that you are pleased with your choice.” Armando’s boisterous voice fills the room, stopping me from following them any further. “Come away from there, my boy. Andre will present her later tonight. Now, we must feast and drink.”
I clasp my hands behind my back, watching the girls exit one by one. The blonde’s eyes never let up. Her fire excites me, sending a chill down my spine.
What the fuck, I curse at myself, feeling ashamed of the way I’ve reacted toward her. Get a hold of yourself, Damien.
Andre stops short of his exit from the room and addresses me. “Is there a specific way you would like her prepared, sir?”
“The quicker it is done, the better,�
�� I respond without thinking. I tell myself the only reason for my request is to assure myself of her safety. It has nothing to do with my attraction to her. I turn to Armando, afraid of what my response has revealed to him, but I am no longer a blip on his radar. His attention rests on the ebony-skinned woman. He looks at her with a primal hunger, a look I have never seen from him. Armando is always careful to mask his true emotions, instead always cloaking them with his joyous nature. But this time, his mask slips, and I don’t like what I see.
“Andre.” Armando’s voice deepens, sounding almost demonic. It stops his servant dead, and for a moment I see the man shiver with fear. “The ebony. Ready her for me.”
I see the woman turn her head, her wild eyes glistening with tears. Fuck, how much more of this can I take? Andre nods and pushes her forward, and a sob breaks from her lips, but it is quickly quieted as the door shuts behind them.
A shiver runs down my spine.
A shiver of fear and anger that settles as a knot in the pit of my stomach.
Three days.
That’s all I am giving myself.
Three days to wrap this case up and free these women.
I won’t last a day longer.
Chapter 4
Penelope
He chose me.
My glares, my silent plea for his instant death, my prayers for help, nothing worked.
Yes, I’ll admit, he saved me from the green-eyed monster staring at me from across the room. Her eyes were the first thing I felt upon my entrance; they were scorching and terrifying. Evil things hid in their depths. It was more than that. She looked at me like I was the sweet she wanted on her dessert plate, had me battling the elation I felt when he claimed me.
I wasn’t blind to the game he played with her. What did he call her again? Mirabelle. He played a dangerous game, and because of her inability to look beyond me, I sensed she had lost it. Although I also wondered why he played it with her in the first place. Perhaps it was a way to entertain one another, not that I saw the entertainment in anything they were doing. Then again, I’m the one shackled like cattle, presented before them like a prized cow.
I tried to be everything I was told not to be, but it didn’t work. Not one bit. My disobedience only brought me more time in confinement and limited what rations I received even more. Sometimes I think the fire I felt burning in the depths of my soul only interested buyers more.
I had been bought and sold more times than I could count. The price always driven higher and higher, lining the pockets of my captors because I was untouched by any man.
While my stepfather would have laughed and teased me for it, using my untouched state to prove what he has always believed about me to be true: unworthy of any man, my captors used it for monetary gain.
It is true that I’m long past the marrying age of my town, but it has never bothered me. The last thing I wanted was to find myself married to a man like my stepfather, so it was not a priority to me. I found my happiness in the smiles and cuddles of my siblings.
But now, my journey has come to an end and my virginity sold to the highest bidder. Or rather, it has been gifted to this new man for a job well done.
A handsome new man. Not that his looks mattered to me. Nor did the flicker of regret and worry I saw buried in his blue eyes matter. Not when he stood there and treated us like chattel.
And much to my dismay, I’m now undergoing the preparations required to make myself presentable for my new keeper. At least that’s what I’ve been told.
The handsome man is my new keeper. I’m his to do with as he sees fit. His property.
I look around the room, noting the luxurious feeling of it. While some would be grateful to land in such a place, I don’t. Luxury means nothing; if anything, it gives you a sense of security, and I’ve learned there is no such thing in life.
The day I was taken from my home, I knew my life would never be the same. In fact, I tried to forget anything that existed to me before it. It hurt too much to think about anything or anyone, and I needed to protect my heart if I wanted to survive the next part of my life.
Many of the girls I have met over the last few months had undergone similar situations. Sold or bartered by the very people they loved and trusted unconditionally. Some were taken by force. Others kidnapped. We were each examined thoroughly upon our arrival. Those who still had their virginity intact were treated better and given more to eat. The untouched fetched higher prices at auction. Those who were not virgins were used to the pleasures of the men who held us before finding themselves on the auction block. If they were lucky enough to make it that far.
I guess you could say my virginity is a good thing.
But now, fear grips my heart, and I realize my worth will no longer be anything after tonight. What will he do with me after tonight, when he is done with me? Will I find myself once again up on the auction block? If my new owner tires of me, will I be treated like the others I heard sobbing for mercy night after night? Or maybe, just maybe, he might find pleasure in me and make me a kept woman.
As I sink further into the tub of warm water, his deep voice interrupts me before I can fully submerge my head.
“Penelope?” At first, I think I am dreaming it, but when I turn my head and our eyes connect, I know it’s not true. White heat fills my body, and the urge to call him every dirty word I can think of bubbles up, but I keep silent and still. Instead, I conjure up my darkest thoughts possible and use the anger I’m feeling to shoot him a dangerous glare. It has no effect on him. He stands unflinching and unmoving.
“Is that your name?” he asks before stepping into the room. I submerge myself as deep as I can go into the water, knowing it isn’t hiding as much as I’d like it to. He closes the door behind him, and my heart rate accelerates. I swallow hard, preparing myself. This is it! He’s going to deflower me right now and be done with me. “Você fala Inglês?”
He speaks to me in my native tongue, and all I can do is blink up at him. I’m too locked in fear, but he stands and waits patiently for me to respond.
He is even more handsome than I remember. Close enough to see I was wrong about the color of his eyes. They are far greener than I initially thought. He’s a large man, and his body is nicely cut. Even under his suit jacket, I can see he cares for it.
He clears his throat.
“Yes, I speak English,” I snap, not liking the way my face feels warmer after my observations.
“Is your name Penelope?” he asks me softly and takes a step back. Maybe he’s feeling the animosity I feel in my body.
“Yes,” I reply, and I try to put a lid on my anger. This man is a stranger to me, and I’m not sure if pushing his buttons this early is a good idea.
“You are safe,” he tells me, but he keeps his voice low and his eyes soft. His eyes never once stray from my face to look down at my naked body. It makes me want to believe him. I almost do. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
I nod, knowing it is best to placate him. I can’t tell if he is lying or telling the truth. As much as I want to believe his words, I can’t. Experience tells me so, and the last few months have given me plenty of it. It tells me he’s probably playing a game with me, to make me feel safe, until I’m not.
“They’re going to bring you to me tonight, to my suite.” His hand touches the doorknob and turns it before I can blink. “Don’t be afraid. You have nothing to worry about.”
He leaves the room. The tension that rolled off his body confuses me. Despite his words, his face was taunt and strained, like he was in pain. I can’t understand it. I don’t want to understand it.
I just want to go home.
Chapter 5
Damien
Opening the door to my suite, I’m overly cautious. The off-chance Mirabelle is waiting for me has me a little on edge. I wouldn’t put it past her, especially after she gets sight of Svetlana.
They are going to bring Penelope directly here after her grooming is done, but I don’t want her
to be in the same room as that venomous bitch again.
Armando forced my hand tonight in joining their disgusting club. While this isn’t something I was prepared to do, I now realize how crucial the moment was for Tony. He would fall in line. He would do what he was told. No questions or complaints. And that is what Armando wanted to make sure of. That Tony is his man no matter what.
Still, the action didn’t sit right with me. Even if I’m only playing a role, the girl changes everything.
It’s bad enough innocent women are involved, unknowingly risking their lives to bring this organization down, but now I must pretend to enjoy the spoils.
And pretending is all I’m going to be doing. There is absolutely no way I’m going to ruin this young girl’s life. No way. I didn’t save her from the viper Mirabelle to do something so cruel. Not even if they hold a gun to my head. Not that they’ll ever know I didn’t partake of the prize. As far as any of them will be concerned, Tony enjoyed his prize.
After reassuring myself the rooms of my suite are empty, I shrug off my suit jacket and drape it across the back of one lavish chair. Its matching twin sits across from it on the marble floor, along with a matching sofa.
As far as suites go, this is the nicest one I’ve ever seen, let alone stayed in. The view from my floor-to-ceiling windows looks out over the compound. There isn’t much in the way of a view, but it’s a large compound, and I’ve managed to make meticulous notes about the happenings going on around me.
I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and try to claim the rage slowly coming to a boil. I want so badly to shut these fuckers down, but it’s been difficult getting the proof I need. Even though I’ve reached the top of the food chain, I’m still not trusted with the day-to-day or the list of trusted buyers and sellers. There is only one man on that totem pole, and I don’t see him falling from grace any time soon. Which is why I need Mirabelle. She will be her husband’s downfall. She will be all their downfalls. And after tonight, I will have her securely in my pocket.
Lost in the Shadows (The Lost Series Book 3) Page 3
