Broken Hope
Page 12
There are fourteen women and ten guests. It’s sickening, gruesome math.
The best-case scenario leaves four innocent women in unmarked graves.
The women around me come to the same realization, and a nervous whisper rushes through our group.
“I’m sure you are all doing the arithmetic,” Edgar says with a sick smile. “The odds are stacked against you, which means you need to be even more friendly. Perhaps, a few of our wealthier guests will buy more than one. It has happened before—though, I must say, not so often.”
I look at Maddie out of the corner of my eye. She is staring down at her feet, her breaths coming in shuddery bursts. I want to reach over and lay a hand on her back, but I don’t. Not while Edgar is watching us. I want to try and do what Luka asked: not draw any more attention to myself.
Just after Edgar delivers the devastating news, he claps his hands in the way he likes to do before announcing the next activity, and then turns to begin welcoming the bidders as they make their way into the lounge.
Many of them are holding cups of coffee and pastries, clearly having just eaten breakfast, and my stomach rumbles. Apparently, there will be no breakfast for those of us on the auction block.
“Take a seat, take a seat,” Edgar says, encouraging everyone to find a spot in the semicircle of furniture that has been rearranged around the fireplace. “We have a nice little show planned for you this morning.”
My heart rate ratchets up, slamming against my rib cage. I look for Luka in the crowd and spy him standing off to the right. It calms me for a moment but then I tear my eyes away. I don’t want anyone to see our connection.
Edgar moves in front of us, facing the bidders. “Yesterday was all about getting comfortable and mingling, but today, we want to show you that our women are top of the line. So, we have a fun little game planned to show you how obedient these slaves can be.”
I’m very confident this game will not be fun for any of the women, and there seems to be a consensus about that. Soft sobs come from the group, and Edgar clenches his hand into a fist behind his back in warning. The subtle hint works and the cries cut off at once.
Edgar then claps his hands in front of him once. “Let the game begin.”
The game is simple and sick.
One by one, the women move into the center of the semicircle and for five minutes, they must do whatever the crowd asks of them. The one saving grace is that anything overtly sexual is off- limits, but it only serves to bring out the bidder’s creativity.
The man in the fox mask is enjoying this display most of all.
He tells Number Six, a tan woman with wide-set hips and a big chest, to do jumping jacks in front of him, making her continue until she is out of breath and red in the face.
After that, the man in the bird mask asks her to moan the alphabet, which is impressively—if not horrifically—inventive.
When it is Maddie’s turn, she freezes up next to me.
“Number Eleven,” Edgar repeats, waving her down to the center of the floor. “Come on down.”
Then, he turns to the crowd. “This isn’t a good start, is it?”
“She needs to be taught a lesson,” Fox-Face calls, licking his lips eagerly.
This time, I press a hand to her back and push her forward. She walks slowly to the center of the room, her hands shaking.
The men are harshest on her. Probably because of her meltdown the night before.
Rather than anything sexual, they demean Maddie in whatever way they can.
She licks the bottom of shoes, slaps herself in the face, and tries endlessly to complete a cartwheel, each time landing in a crumpled pile on the floor that looks more and more painful with each attempt, her dress hiked above to expose her lace panties to the beasts gathered closely around her.
When the five minutes are up, Edgar openly grimaces as she passes him. Maddie is near tears.
I reach out to comfort her when she returns, but she pulls away from my touch and wraps her arms around herself. Bruises are already forming on her legs.
After that, it is only ten minutes before Edgar claps his hands and grins at the crowd. “We’ve saved the best for last.” He turns to me and winks.
“Number Seven, come on down.”
13
Luka
Watching Eve walk into the center of the room is like watching her move in front of a firing squad.
Every man in the room sits a little taller, eager for her performance.
The game is sick. The things they’ve been having these women do are childish and demeaning—of no real use to anyone making a purchase. It is just a way to give these sick men a sense of power over women since, apparently, they can’t get it in their normal lives.
But, silly tasks or not, I can’t stand by and watch Eve be humiliated.
Eve and I talked this morning about staying away from one another and trying to look less interested, but that was before I knew she’d be at the mercy of these animals.
She doesn’t look at me as she moves to the center of the room, and I am certain everyone in the room can feel the tension emanating off me. I’m practically vibrating with it.
I have to stop this. I have to end it now.
“Your five minutes …” Edgar says, looking down at his watch, “begin now.”
Fox-Face opens his mouth immediately, but before he can get a word out, I find myself speaking. “Pretend you’re doing a strip tease without taking off your clothes. For one full minute.”
Fox-Face snaps around to glare at me, his mouth turned down in a frown.
Eve doesn’t look at me, but she begins to sway her hips to an imaginary beat, drawing every eye in the room in the process as her arms lift and she moves gracefully. I want to kill every man looking at her, but it’s better than some of the tasks other men gave previous women, and it seems authentic.
Edgar watches the time and the men grow restless as the seconds tick past. I, however, am scrolling through my brain for another task. Anything to keep her from exposing herself to these bastards.
I’m counting along with the seconds and studying Edgar, and as soon as he lifts his head to announce the minute is up, I call out another order.
“Sing something sultry. Provide the music for your earlier strip tease. Make it as good as the dance.”
There are audible groans now, and Edgar narrows his eyes at me before nodding for Eve to go ahead and complete the order.
She is not the most incredible singer, but she picks a sexy song and draws out every line slowly and sensuously, once again managing to captivate the entire room. Thankfully, she makes the song last just over two minutes, meaning there are only two minutes left in her allotted time.
As she hits the final note, I try to call out once more, but the man in the maroon mask beats me to it.
“Pose on hands and knees like the dog you are,” he says, pointing to the floor directly in front of him.
For the first time, Eve looks at me and a wave of guilt washes through me.
I let her down. I wasn’t fast enough.
Then, my guilt turns to rage.
The man in the maroon mask is smiling, watching intently as Eve moves to stand in front of him. Then, slowly, she gets down on all fours.
“Turn around,” he says, directing her to move clockwise until her ass is facing him.
The dress is short, just a flouncy little thing that barely covers the top of her thighs. On her hands and knees, it reveals almost her entire ass.
Maroon Mask slides down in his seat, the bulge in his pants obvious, and I want to kill him.
Before I even know what I’m doing, I cross the room to stand between him and Eve.
He jumps back in surprise and then glares up at me. “What is your problem?”
I grab a fistful of his outrageously embroidered suit jacket—today’s is gray with red and orange flames down the arms and legs—and pull him to his feet.
“You are my problem,” I growl.
I want to rip his throat out. I want to beat his face into a pulp until my hand is too bloodied to continue. I want to kneel him down on the floor and kick him face-first into a roaring fireplace.
“Gentleman,” Edgar says, needling his way between us. “Tempers are high. Perhaps we could all use a little yoga. She is in downward dog pose, after all.”
A few men laugh, and I turn towards them, glaring until they stop, clearing their throats nervously.
I take a step back and see that Eve is looking up at me, her eyes pleading.
I’m drawing too much attention. Way too much attention. I’m fucking everything up.
“You’re right,” I say as evenly as I can while my heart is still on fire. “I just need a little air.”
I turn to leave, but stop when I hear Edgar tell Eve to continue doing as she was told. For a second, I contemplate turning around and doing everything I wanted to do to both Maroon Mask and Edgar, but I take a deep breath and walk out the front door.
I lean against the brick front of the inn and blow smoke against the backdrop of the morning sky.
The sun is up now, the warmth burning through the layer of mist that hangs over the top of the trees. I try not to count the seconds as they pass. I try not to think about what Eve is doing inside. About what they are making her do.
I’ve never felt this helpless before. So out of control.
Maybe coming here was a bad idea. Maybe I should have rallied the Bratva and attacked the inn with everything we had.
Though, as the thought crosses my mind, two guards march around the corner of the inn, guns at their sides. I look to my left and see two more guards disappearing around the corner to walk the side perimeter.
There are no gaps in their vision. No noticeable flaws in their security.
Inside and out, there are guards or members of the Cartel watching at all times. There is no way in or out. No way out except through following their rules.
The door opens, and I hope it is Eve coming to see me, even though we discussed keeping our distance.
It isn’t.
It is the red-headed girl who cried yesterday. The one who inspired Eve to try and save every single one of the slaves. Maddie, I think her name was.
“Thought maybe I’d join you,” she says, holding up two cigars with Crooked Tree Inn stamped on the side.
I flick the ash from my cigarette. “I brought my own.”
She tucks the spare cigar between her breasts slowly and then puts the other in her mouth, puckering her lips around the end. “Care to give me a light, then?”
The end isn’t cut. This girl has no idea what she is doing with the cigar or with men.
“You aren’t supposed to be outside.”
“I’m supposed to make sure the guests are having a good time,” she purrs. “So, that’s what I’m here to do.”
I tuck my lighter in my pocket, and her shoulders slump, the cigar slipping to the corner of her mouth.
“You weren’t so eager to please yesterday,” I remind her.
She hastily pulls the cigar out of her mouth, twiddling it between her fingers. “I was seriously reprimanded for my breakdown yesterday, and now I see that I was wrong. Now, I know my place.”
If Eve could hear her now, she would be even more persistent about saving these women. This girl has been brainwashed and it only took them one day.
“I also see,” she says, batting her eyelashes and moving closer to me, her hips swaying with every slow step. “That I was wasting my time on the wrong sort of men.”
“I see nothing has changed, then.” I glare down at her, but it does little to curb the enthusiasm in her eyes. She reaches out and strokes one finger down my arm. I shift away from her touch. “I’m not the kind of man you want taking you home.”
“You don’t know what I want,” she says quietly, her blue eyes blinking up at me. She looks down at herself, pushing her chest out further. “I know I’m in this purple dress and there are women in red who are more experienced, but none of them are as eager as I am.”
I look away and curl my lip. If the girl wasn’t so pathetic, I’d push her aside for her shameless begging.
She tosses her red hair back over her shoulder. “None of them want to please you as much as I do.”
I hold up a hand to stop her from taking another step towards me. “I’m only going to say it once more: go find someone else.”
The girl steps forward until her chest is pressed against my hand. I yank my hand back quickly, narrowing my eyes at her, but there is no sign of fear or shame, just yearning. “There is no one else. Not after the way you treated Number Seven inside.”
It takes me a moment to realize she is talking about Eve. I shake my head. “What do you mean?”
“The way you went easy on her during the obedience event,” she says. “All of the other men were cruel, but you were gentle. I want a gentle man.”
My behavior was rather obvious, I suppose. I should have stayed quiet and let Eve do whatever she had to do to maintain our ruse. Instead, I allowed my jealousy and protective nature to take over. And now I have a girl chasing me around like a lost puppy.
“I’m not gentle,” I snap. “I just don’t like for my slaves to perform for others. Believe me, when we are alone, Number Seven does whatever I tell her to.”
Without missing a beat, the girl steps forward and rolls her body against my side. “I’ll do whatever you tell me to. Right now. You don’t even have to pay.”
I sigh. “Go away. That’s what I want you to do.”
She hesitates for a moment, and I wonder whether she isn’t going to go back on her word and continue pestering me to buy her. Instead, she quickly throws her arms around me before I can stop her, and then spins away and walks back into the inn.
The rest of the day is less organized than the morning’s event. It is more like the day before, the bidders and women mingling together.
Rather than join the crowd, I stand along the edge of the room with the two female bidders. Overall, they seem to act as though the entire week in the inn is an inconvenience. During the obedience training this morning, they stayed quiet, rolling their eyes when the women were performing. I have the sense they would be happy to have the entire week over with so they can simply make their bids.
The men, however, seem to be growing more eager with every hour that passes.
The first day, everyone—aside from Fox-Face, perhaps—was on their best behavior.
Today, though, the men are letting their cruder instincts into the light.
There are rules against the women doing anything explicitly sexual before being purchased, but several of the men are pushing the boundaries as far as they can. Women are straddling bidders as they sit around tables drinking and playing cards. It is obvious most of the women are not having a good time, but a few of them are putting on a real show—Maddie included.
I try to keep my distance from her, but she continually pops up whenever I turn around.
She keeps bringing me drinks, sitting close to me when we gather for meals, and hiding behind me when other men start to approach her.
I want to push the girl away and demand she keep her distance, but when Eve sees me sticking close to her, she makes a point to get close to me and whisper a quick thanks.
“She needs someone to look out for her.”
Otherwise, Eve keeps her distance the way we discussed this morning.
She talks with other men, doing what she needs to do to keep them happy. I know it is our plan, but it doesn’t make it any easier to watch her curled against another man’s side while his arm is wrapped around her lower back. Knowing she is my wife and loves me doesn’t make it any easier to watch when the man in the maroon mask corners Eve in the lounge and practically pins her against a wall to talk to her.
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When I see his leg shift between Eve’s, his knee brushing against hers, my vision goes red.
Every single one of my instincts demands that I stand up and defend the honor of my wife.
Just as I start to charge towards them, however, Eve catches my eye over the man’s shoulder and lightly shakes her head.
It does nothing to douse the fire raging in my chest, but it does keep me across the room from them.
When I don’t think I can take another second, however, I storm out of the room and into the hallway for some fresh air. When the door behind me opens, I assume it is Maddie coming to beg me again, and I throw a dismissive hand over my shoulder.
“I’m not in the mood for company.”
“That’s understandable,” a male voice says. “These events can be taxing.”
I turn and see Edgar standing in the doorway, his hands folded behind his back. “I only wanted to make sure you didn’t need anything. But if you are fine, then I will just—”
“Actually,” I say, stopping him. “I do have a question.”
Edgar turns to me, a blank smile on his face.
“Is there a way that any of the guests can leave the inn for a short period of time and then return?” I ask. “No more than a couple of hours.”
All morning, while I watched Eve move around the inn and talk to other men, I distracted myself by planning.
If I can leave the inn even for an hour, I can find a phone, call Grigory or someone in the Bratva, and give them more information on where to look for Milaya. That way, I can tell Eve that the men are doing something while we are trapped in here, and it will assuage a small amount of the guilt eating at me.
But before the idea even has legs, Edgar swats it away.
“I’m sorry, sir, but no one is allowed to leave the inn. Not even me,” he admits. “It is a safety issue. I’m sure you understand.”
Disappointment settles in my stomach like a stone, and I shrug. “I suppose I don’t have any other choice.”
Edgar’s face is sympathetic, but I’ve seen enough of the man to know that it is an act. Everything the man does is a performance.