by SR Jones
My stomach growls, and everyone in our little group looks at me.
“Forget to eat?” Justina whispers with a cocked brow.
“No, nerves,” I whisper back.
“No need for nerves, Lacy,” Alesso drawls, his voice low and ice cold. “You’re not the one being sold today.”
He gives a nasty laugh, and his words and attitude hurt, until I see that there are four men in a small group not more than ten feet from us. Shit, I could have blown it at the beginning if it wasn’t for Alesso’s quick thinking.
He yanks on my leash, hard enough to make me jerk a little, but not hard enough to hurt. “Eyes down,” he snaps.
“Yes, Sir,” I say as I lower my head and stare at the gravel and then the polished stone of the steps we ascend to the entrance of the ballroom. We parked around the side of the hotel, far away from the front entrance and the ordinary guests. The wing where the event is taking place is closed off tonight to all ordinary guests. Only those at the auction will be able to come and go from the ballroom into the corridor to the bathrooms and the bar through the back.
I don’t need to know the layout because part of my cover story is that I’m not allowed anywhere on my own in case I run away. It means Alesso will even accompany me to the bathroom if I need to go. Justina too. The men decided this to keep me safe, but I’m really beginning to understand a little of how it must be to become a prisoner and have no free will.
We move through some doors, and I can’t see anything other than the polished floor because I’m still obeying Alesso’s command.
We reach a table, and he pulls out an opulent chair for me. “Sit,” he orders.
I do and keep my eyes on my lap. I sense Alesso sitting to one side of me, Markos to the other.
“Drink.” Alesso pushes something my way, and I see a glass of champagne. I take a sip at it, keeping my eyes averted.
“All of it,” he says. Voice cold.
I do as he says and finish the glass. I don’t usually drink much, so it goes to my empty, nerve-wracked stomach and soothes it somewhat.
A warm hand takes mine under the tablecloth and squeezes. Alesso.
“Good girl. Feel better?” His voice low but still stern. I can’t break my role for a minute, but another squeeze of my hand tells me the question is sincere, and I realize then he had me lower my head for my own well-being. He could sense me starting to panic.
“Yes, Sir,” I reply.
“Good. You may lift your eyes, Lacy.”
I do as he says, and he squeezes my hand again.
The men found out the tables are bugged. We have to be in character the whole time now. Stuart and his men listen backstage to the conversations, apparently.
A huge silver platter of meze is delivered to our table. It’s full of cold meats, seafood, olives, cheeses, breads and dips. My stomach rumbles, but I fear if I take even one bite, I’ll be sick.
How did I think I could do this?
Alesso pushes another cold glass of champagne toward me. “Sip at this one.”
I do as he says and stare around me. The people drip wealth, and I hate them. They have everything. Money. Power. Status. Their lives are beyond luxury anyone else has experienced in the history of humanity. They have more comforts than the kings of old could even dream of, and yet they need more, more—always more. Now they are here to try and buy a living, breathing human.
“If you take a liking to her, you could purchase her, Vadim,” Justina says to Andrius, her accent pronounced, playing it up for the bugs on the underside of the table. “Save me having to suck your cock.”
He gives a dark laugh. “I get bored. I prefer to find new playthings often. Anyway, tonight we are here for our friend—don’t forget that. And don’t forget your place.” His accent is way stronger than usual, and he sounds heavily Russian.
“He needs to get his rocks off; he’s a miserable fucker.” Alesso’s warm hand in mine is in startling juxtaposition to the harsh words coming out of his mouth. “Look at me, Markos. I never regretted my purchase. Best thing I’ve bought. Better than the cars, cigars, and watches. I hear these girls come from good stock and are well trained in the arts of submission.”
Markos doesn’t say anything, and Andrius raises his eyebrows at him. He’s supposed to be playing his part, as well, but he seems … uncomfortable. Stressed.
He reaches into his pocket, and I glance down to see his fingers moving under the cloth, and I realize he’s touching his prayer beads.
I speak up, saving him from having to answer. “Sir? Permission to speak.”
“Granted.” Alesso’s grip tightens on mine, and I know he’s telling me not to fuck this up.
I don’t know anything about this world, but I once saw a film with Roman slaves, and they fed their masters grapes as the masters lounged around on silk cushions.
“May I feed you anything?”
Alesso’s face darkens, and Andrius gives an almost imperceptible shake of his head.
Oh, what did I say now?
“You may put some delicacies onto a plate you might enjoy yourself, but nothing for me.” Alesso lets go of my hand, so I do as he says. “And in future, Lacy, if you wish for me to allow you some food, please ask directly. I’ve told you I don’t like these games.”
I don’t understand. I’m the slave, so wouldn’t I feed him? Serve him? I bite my cheek and try to calm my heart as I load some fruit, a few chunks of cheese, and a few succulent prawns onto my plate.
“You ought to feed her up,” Andrius sneers, in full on Vadim mode now. “She’s too thin for my liking.”
“Good job she’s not yours then, isn’t it? I like them skinny,” Alesso snaps. “I like to control what she eats, don’t I, precious?”
“Yes, Sir,” I say, following his lead.
He looks down at the plate and smiles. “Good girl.”
He takes a grape in one hand. “Open wide.”
I open my mouth, and he pops the grape inside. I chew, not relishing the incredible sweetness as it bursts on my tongue, more concerned about whether I’ll be able to stomach swallowing the damn thing.
“I placed a short bet on the British pound,” Andrius says as the conversation lulls. “Way things are going in Britain, can’t see it picking up anytime soon.”
“Playing with whole nations as if they’re your toys,” Justina says with so much venom in her voice, she’s convinced me she loathes Andrius instead of loving him like a brother.
“If I didn’t play with whole nations, you wouldn’t be able to live the life you do, cunt. Don’t forget it.” Andrius slams his fist down on the table.
Justina laughs. “Oh, I do think you should be the one to buy the girl tonight, Vadim, not Markos. You clearly need a release, husband-dear.”
“Perhaps I fucking will. And perhaps, if she’s young, and beautiful, and takes my cock like a pro, I’ll finally get rid of you.”
“Oh, darling, you know you can’t. I brought too many assets into this marriage for you to keep as much wealth as you would like if I left it. And with no prenup? Silly, silly man, you did let your lust get in the way of sensible planning back then, but I suppose you were only a boy.”
“Stop fucking bickering! You’re giving me a headache.” Markos takes me by surprise when he speaks, making me jump.
He’s got into the game, it seems, and I notice Andrius’ shoulders relax a notch.
I look around the room. Most of the people in here are in their fifties, and a few their sixties. There are a few single men, but lots of couples and mixed groups with women in them.
The room is opulent, and under other circumstances, I’d probably find it beautiful. Now, I only see tawdry glitter covering over a dark reality.
Music begins, and a man and woman walk onto the stage. I realize I have no idea what sort of entertainment will happen, and these people might be about to put on a sex show. After all, what sort of pre-auction of a live human entertainment does one organize?
&
nbsp; As it turns out, no live sex shows happen. Instead, the man and woman are contortionists and run through a polished, and rather brilliant, act that wouldn’t be out of place in a top international circus. Next a female singer is up. Then a male comedian, who must be funny because most of the room is in fits during his act, but I don’t take in what he says. I can’t stop studying the people in the room and wondering how evil can look so damned banal.
During the entertainment, the men drift off one at a time to use the toilet, but in reality to go to the small storage room and retrieve the weapons hidden in the vent there two days earlier by Filipp and another of Andrius’ men. If those weapons have been found, or at any point, Damen fucks up the feed he’s sending to Stuart’s men, the one showing the corridor totally empty, we are all doomed.
Each man returns from his toilet trip, though, relaxed and unfazed, and I pray this means they now have their guns. The only one not getting a weapon is Markos. He’ll have to go pay for the girl when he’s won her, and he’ll most likely get a pat down. It makes his role in this the most dangerous because if anything goes wrong between now and him walking into a room with Stuart and his men alone… Well, Markos will be walking into an ambush.
Finally, the acts are over, and it is time for the main event. I’m dreading this so much I’m shaking, but I want this night over with.
The conversation at our table has been on a level of psychopathy I never wish to hear again, fake or not. I pray that if Stuart is listening, he’ll think us a sick enough group to genuinely want to buy the girl he’s putting on sale. If he looks into us, Damen has set airtight fake identities for us all and left a trail.
The only issue is how deep into the underbelly of the crime world Stuart is. Damen, Alesso, Andrius and the men had never heard of him before Simon took me, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t heard of any of them. Andrius is the one whose reputation precedes him wherever he goes, so I send up a prayer that Stuart has been too busy sticking to his own little seedy criminal corner and hasn’t mixed with anyone from the Russian mob who might have talked about an angel of death with grey eyes.
There’s a drumroll, like the kind you get in an old-fashioned club, and a man wearing a white tuxedo steps on stage.
“Ladies and gentlemen. Thank you so much for attending this evening. Most of you are regulars, people who missed out on the winning bid at previous auctions, but we do have a few new guests, so I will go over the rules once for anyone who might be in doubt as to how this works.”
His accent could cut glass. He’s refined, cultured, and here he is selling a girl, like the lowlife he truly is underneath his perfect veneer.
Stuart runs through the rules, which are the highest bid usually wins, but the house reserves the right to reject any bids as it sees fit. The girl is a virgin. She is untouched sexually, but has been trained in submission, service, and many arts. She is compliant and well trained. Papers will be ready for anyone needing to take her out of the country within forty-eight hours. The owner is responsible for the girl and her well-being and safety after the auction and must ensure she is fed, given water, any medical treatment she may need, and that whilst she may be beaten, she must never be harmed badly enough to need medical care. This is part of the contract that the new owners will sign, and any invalidation of the contract means they not only immediately lose their ownership of the girl, but will face severe consequences.
“Think of this like buying an expensive car, gentlemen.” Stuart smiles out into the room. “You don’t buy a Bentley to fuck it up, now do you? If any of you have such extreme proclivities as to damage the stock, please come see me afterward. We have other items that may be of interest to you. This particular girl is far too precious to be given over simply to be a skin puppet for physical harm.”
I want to be sick. Skin puppet? What the hell? Oh my God, the world is a lot darker than I ever knew or imagined.
“Ladies, please bring the girl out.” Stuart nods to the four women who stand behind him, each wearing black trouser suits, their hair slicked back into high ponytails. They nod in response then disappear off stage.
They return moments later with a girl between them. I expected her to be struggling, fighting, but she isn’t. She’s totally calm. Her head is down, and her light auburn hair, shot with streaks of gold from the sun, hangs down covering her face.
“You can lift your head, Star.” Stuart touches her on the shoulder once, and the girl, Star, lifts her head.
She’s gorgeous. We are close enough I can see she’s got honey-colored hazel eyes, which blink out into the brightly lit room. The stage is lit from below, so she probably can’t see who is sitting out here. God, she must be terrified. I can’t even begin to imagine.
She’s wearing a simple dress, pale natural linen it seems, with cap sleeves, a collar, and buttons from her collarbone down to where it ends below her knees. She has on no shoes. Around her wrists are leather bands, each with a loop for chains like my collar, and around her neck the same. Her ankles are bare, but I can see faint marks where I think she’s had similar shackles there too.
I swallow and bite my cheek because I cannot cry. I will not fuck this up.
“You said you wouldn’t bid unless she was to your tastes.” Justina breaks the silence at our table, addressing her words to Markos. “Is she to your taste?”
Markos is staring at the girl, and his expression is one I’ve never seen on him before. It’s not his usual placid, blank façade, but instead, an inferno of rage is burning in his gaze. He blinks twice, clears his throat, and it’s gone. I saw it, though, and he’s seriously pissed.
“Yes, she’s exactly to my tastes,” he drawls.
Stuart starts rattling off statistics. “Star is five-feet-three, weighs one hundred and nineteen pounds. Her hair is naturally light brown, with highlights if she’s allowed in the sun. Her skin is pale as she’s always covered in high factor sun lotion, but she will get a light tan, if you prefer. She has light hazel eyes and good teeth.”
He looks at her, and she smiles wide, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Then she opens her mouth, like a damned horse being inspected, and closes it again.
“She’s a 34B to C bust, small but firm.” He pauses and turns to the women. “Ladies.”
Two of them reach for Star and undo the top buttons of her dress, pulling it open and to the side. She has no bra on, and her breasts are exposed to the room. She doesn’t move a muscle.
Markos makes an odd sound in the back of his throat, and his hand tightens on the glass he’s holding. Alesso shifts beside me and laughs.
“Calm down, friend,” Alesso says with a marked sneer to his tone. “You’ll have her if you bid high enough.”
A foot brushes past my legs under the table, and Alesso kicks Markos in the shin.
I thought I’d surely be the one to mess this up if anyone did, but it seems Markos is moments from losing it.
Alesso’s phone, which is out on the table, beeps. A text comes through. Can you buy some bread on your way home?
“Anything important?” Andrius asks.
“Nah, my senile mother. She’s in a home, but she’s asking me to buy bread on my way home.” Alesso snorts and shakes his head.
That’s the signal from Damen that two of Stamatis’ men are in place.
Markos moves in his seat as the women button up Star’s dress, and he takes a deep breath.
Alesso shifts almost imperceptibly, his hand grazing his side, and I know he’s checking his gun. This suddenly got terrifyingly real.
I need to keep it together. I cannot lose my shit now. Not only will it get us all killed, but it will mean Star will be bought by some sick fucker who will use her until there’s nothing left of her.
I’m hardly innocent, and I’ve seen a lot of fucked up shit in my time, but this is horrific. She’s so beautiful, and she looks so young.
The fucker who is selling her is still waffling on in his upper-crust British accent. Thinks he’s still
living in the empire days where he and his kind got away with this sort of shit. Fucking bastard.
“She’s shaved all over her body, but her pubic hair is also light brown.” Stuart gestures for the women, and two of them pull her dress up exposing Star’s shaved vagina to the room. I glance down, not wanting to see her debased in this way.
“She’s a virgin. Healthy. She ovulates regularly, so she could bear a child if so wished. She has no known allergies. No medical conditions. As you can see, she’s incredibly beautiful, and she can be what you want her to be. With makeup, Star can easily pass as mid-twenties.”
There’s a click, and I glance up, glad Star’s dress is back in place, only to see a photo of her with big hair, loads of makeup and sexy clothes projected onto the wall behind Stuart.
He smiles and says, “But if your tastes lie with … the more youthful look, Star can easily pass as only sixteen or so.”
Another picture is put on the wall behind him of Star in a simple strappy cotton dress, pale blue, with her hair in pigtails and no makeup on.
“You’re free to dress her and play with her as you wish. As with all our auctions, if you ever get bored of Star, or are unable to keep her, we do demand that you return her to us as her community will take her back once she’s served them, and you, to the best of her ability. You will not give her away to anyone else, nor will anyone else be allowed to buy her from you. Others may have use of her whilst she is in your possession, but you are always the one responsible for ensuring no harm comes to Star whilst she is in your care.”
“Any questions?”
Hands shoot up. One man asks if he can come and feel the weight of her breasts, but Stuart answers with a curt, no.
Another man asks if she’s had any sexual experience at all, and Stuart says she’s been trained in the art of intimate massage but nothing else. No one has touched her, and she’s never used her mouth on a man or had any other sexual contact.
A woman then puts her hand up. She asks if she’s trained in things like tea ceremonies and other amusing ways of passing the time.
