Highest Bidder Collection

by Lauren Landish

  I have her tombstone memorized, but my eyes still flicker over the engraved message.

  Marie Payne

  1958 - 1994

  Loving wife, doting mother.

  She will be missed.

  I do miss her, as odd as it may be. I hardly knew her, but I miss what could have been. She’s the one who taught me to smile behind the pain. She never stopped, until the last few weeks of her life. It all crumbled around her, the affair that tore them apart. People were always watching. Always judging. It was too much for her.

  I clear my throat as I straighten my stance and take in a deep breath. When I come here, the smile that’s perpetually on my face is nowhere to be found. I can’t do it; I can’t bring myself to smile when I’m around her.

  Maybe that’s why I come here so much.

  I don’t know much about her, if I’m honest with myself. There’s plenty online, so I suppose I know as much about her as a stranger would who wanted to look her up. She had no family but us. She married into wealth and gave the Payne heir a baby boy. And then she had miscarriage after miscarriage.

  Her name means misery. Marie. I remember she told me that once, and I didn’t understand what she meant at the time. It’s the Latin meaning. The sadness in her pale eyes is something that haunts me even till this day. How could my father not see it?

  He’ll never admit it, but I know she killed herself. He wouldn’t let her leave. I remember the fights, the screams. That’s what I remember most, even if I always had my eyes closed tight and my small hands over my ears. I’ll never forget the way they’d raise their voices until I knew it must have hurt them.

  I’d hide in the closet of my room whenever it happened. I stare at the small crack in the marble slab of her tombstone.

  I never understood why they hated each other so much. Why they enjoyed hurting each other with their words. They must’ve; fighting was all they ever did.

  My eyes settle onto the line, “doting mother.”

  I think children have to love their mother. It’s something in them that’s biological. It must be so, because I know I love her. Even without a single memory of her gentle touch or soothing words. I haven’t a single one. The nannies were there for me when I was young. But they came and went like a merry-go-round. They got too attached.

  The only constant was the fighting between my parents, and when that came to a halt with her death, there was only silence for a short time. And then my father started with me.

  “One mistake and you’re ruined,” he’d tell me all the time. I was to be perfect. Just like my mother was supposed to be.

  I was good where my mother failed. I enjoyed charming people. I liked getting a reaction from them. I liked for them to see the boy I wanted to be, and not the hollow shell I became.

  It’s less amusing now, but it’s vital to my survival.

  Father taught me well.

  My phone pings with a message at the thought and I’m slow to pull it out, even though my fingers are already wrapped around it.

  When I finally take my eyes from the tombstone to look at it, a text from my father stares back at me.

  Dinner on the 7th for the gala. You need to be there.

  A grunt leaves me and I roll my eyes as I ignore it. I already know about the event. I’ll be there just like I always am.

  “He’s still the same,” I tell my mother as if she can hear me. I don’t even remember why I came today. Some days just take me here. Usually when I’m not paying attention, or looking for a moment to think.

  My father needs me now more than ever. As he grows old and his influence is waning, he’s relying on me to a greater extent. I don’t mind it. In my mind, I’ve always needed to step up. If only I had back then.

  But this constant bitching and reminding me is unnecessary. I swipe away the text.

  I nearly shove my phone back into my coat pocket, ready to shield my bare hands from the wind, but the picture of her is on my screen. Arianna Owens.

  And with those gorgeous eyes staring back at me, I’m reminded of the last thing I care to remember. My mistake. Danny Brooks. I stare at my phone in my hand, the dim glow lighting the darkened sky. Isaac looked her up and gave me her information. Arianna Owens. I suppose in a way, she reminds me of my mother. There’s a sadness there. Something that haunts her. She makes me feel like she needs to be saved.

  I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling ridiculous. “This is your fault,” I say out loud, my voice drowned out by the harsh gusts of the wind.

  She’s beautiful, but her gorgeous eyes are haunted by something, darkened by what lies behind them.

  I’m still enraged that Brooks offered me a month with her in exchange for a debt of hundreds of thousands that he owes me. The only claim he has to her is the collar around her neck.

  My dick hardens at the thought of her on her knees, giving herself to me, pleasing me. I’ve been tempted before at the club, though I’ve never taken part. At least not in the open like that. These men are foolish to show their cards. My good friend Lucian paid the price years ago. Although now it’s paid off for him, the burden of his past only goes to show that NDAs are nothing more than paperwork. They have no loyalty to them, merely sheets of paper; so easily shredded, so quickly forgotten.

  Arianna’s haunted eyes shine through the screen, staring back at me. I’ve seen her before. I’ve watched the way he drags her through the halls and leads her to the dungeon. She’s submissive in her nature, but I don’t trust her or his offer. I don’t let anyone close for a reason.

  And women make men fall.

  I pull the jacket tighter around me and shove the phone back into my pocket.

  I should stay away. I should take the money and let him fall on his own, carrying on with my life and ignoring the pathetic waste of life that is Danny Brooks.

  But those eyes call to me. My contempt for him and what he represents make a side of me I try to keep suppressed rise to the surface.

  And that’s a very dangerous thing.

  Chapter 6

  Arianna

  You’re going up for auction.

  Danny’s words run through my mind as I scrub at the spaghetti-stained plate vigorously, my eyes unfocused as I stare straight ahead into the wall, the rough Brillo pad digging into my soft skin. I’ve been at this for hours now, cleaning piles of dirty dishes after a day of hard work at the local shelter.

  It was a packed house today, causing more chores to be done at closing. This job pays shit, but I don’t mind. I couldn't care less about the money. It’s about giving back and making my life have meaning. Coming here has always been my therapy, a way to escape my emotions. It’s been cathartic for me to help people who are down on their luck, and it eases some of the guilt that plagues me.

  But not today.

  I scrub the plate harder, a mix of pain and anger running through my body. The whip marks are a mess of bruises along my back and thighs, and each small movement is accompanied with a hint of pain. It's a reminder that I’m alive, that I can feel.

  I haven’t been able to get my mind off Danny for more than a minute.

  Even now, I can’t believe what he said to me. That he’s willing to put me up for auction like I’m just a commodity that can be bartered or sold at whim. And after everything we’ve been through. After everything he’s done for me. All because I’ve been unhappy with our sessions. But I am broken. Something’s changed, and I know I’m unhappy. What used to work isn’t helping me anymore.

  I suck in a painful breath as I look down at the plate that I’m scrubbing. The red stains are clinging stubbornly to the surface. No matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to get them out. Just like how dark memories cling to me, sticking in my mind no matter how hard I try to rid myself of them.

  If I could just forget. I drop the plate into the suds and let it fall to the bottom of the basin. My fingertips are pruned as I stare at them, remembering everything.

  The thought summons a dark specter, one that al
ways seems to pounce whenever I’m depressed.

  I always had a drink in my hand. Even as I stumbled in my heels, a drink was sure to be there. Drugs? Yep. I was down for anything. I just wanted to fit in. I wanted others to accept me. I didn’t go to college; I couldn’t afford it, and it damn sure wasn’t something my parents cared about. But I was at every party on campus.

  That’s where I met Natalie, although she just talked to me, bringing me into her group. It was different when she was there. It was better, but back then I didn’t know. I just wanted to feel something. I needed something in my pathetic life.

  I struggle against his powerful grip, my arms held back above my head against the bedpost, my eyes glazed and unfocused. I shouldn’t be here alone in this darkened room with him, but I drank too much and let him talk me into it. Now I’m regretting it big time, but the words are lost in the haze of alcohol.

  Chase lowers his handsome face down close to mine as the walls shake from the bass of the music blasting through the frat house. “God, I’ve wanted you all night,” he says kissing my neck, his breath hot against my skin. “You asked for this.”

  I shake my head weakly, insecurity twisting my stomach. I didn’t want this. I’m not like that. I don’t want to be thought of like that. I didn’t know when he led me up here. How did I not know? My head shakes and I feel so stupid, so foolish. So guilty.

  I part my lips to tell him, the alcohol making my head feel so heavy. But he kisses me instead, and then pulls back to take his shirt off. No, I just need to tell him no. He’ll listen. He’s not trying to take advantage of me. It’s my fault. “I thought you just wanted to mess around a little.” My words come out muffled.

  “What, baby?” he asks as he pushes my legs apart wider. I try to pull them closed, but his hips butt against mine. I was just looking to have a little fun.

  His hands shove my skirt up and my arms are too heavy to push him away.

  I didn’t mean for it to go this far. I was reckless. It was my fault. I don’t know if he heard me whispering no. It makes me feel a little better to think he didn’t, and I don’t know if that’s more fucked up than the alternative.

  My breathing is ragged as I shove the memory out of my mind and let go of the Brillo pad. There are red marks on my palm from where the pad has dug into my soft flesh, but I hardly notice it, a chill snaking down my spine. I stopped going to parties, but the reliance on drugs and alcohol didn’t end. And one mistake led to another that I’ll never forgive myself for. Even now, I still ache in my lower abdomen at the memory of waking up on a bloody mattress months later, my nightgown soaked with dark red blood. I didn’t know I'd been pregnant until I had miscarried. More mistakes. More blame. More guilt.

  That was enough to send me spiraling down into darkness; I just wanted to end it all. I had a bottle in my hand as my legs hung over the bridge. I’d drink the pain away and fall in. I was so done with making mistakes. But Danny saw me. He saved me.

  And now… he’s discarding me like none of that meant anything.

  “Are you okay, dear?” a familiar voice asks, breaking me out of my dark trance. I whip my head around to see Clara, the head cook of the shelter, staring at me with concern. She’s a large woman in her early fifties, with greying hair that’s always arranged up high on her head in a loose bun. Her outfit, an oversized blue dress with a white apron, only makes her appear more matronly. She has a large oval-shaped face, lined with gentle wrinkles, and her hair contains striking streaks of grey that give her a distinguished look. I flash her a modest smile I hope she thinks is real. I try my best to keep my troubles hidden whenever I’m here, or anywhere really. I don’t like to spread negativity. Give your pain to me. Only me. Danny’s words from the night he first showed me the cane come back to me. I turn my back to her and grab the dish towel, drying my hands before turning back to face her. “I’m fine. Why, what’s up?”

  Clara nods at the dishes. “You seemed a bit distracted. You sure you’re alright?”

  I huff out a humorless chuckle. “Oh no, I just zoned out.”

  Clara places her hands on her wide hips, giving me a knowing look. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  I flash her another smile, this one easier. “I’m positive.”

  For a moment, Clara looks uncertain as if she wants to press the issue, but then says, “Okay, I’m here for you if you ever need someone to talk to, okay honey?”

  Warmth spreads through my chest and it’s hard not to let the emotions I'm feeling play across my face. It touches me that Clara cares at all about what I might be going through. But then again, she wouldn’t be working at a pantry that fed the homeless if she didn’t possess so much empathy. There are so many people here who need help. And not because they were careless and reckless and hurting the people around them. They didn’t choose it.

  “Okay,” I tell her with gratitude, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Make sure that you do.” Clara gives me a heartfelt smile before going off back to her chores.

  I spend the next half hour finishing cleaning up the last of the dishes and then head out behind the building with a bag of trash in my hand. It’s full to the brim and heavy. I have to lift it with all my weight to make sure it doesn’t drag on the asphalt and tear open.

  I step out into the back alley, my skin pricking from the cool air sweeping through the area, goosebumps rising up on my flesh. A ray of moonlight shines down through the crack between the buildings, illuminating the walkway. I need to clean up back here; pieces of newspaper and some rotten food are strewn about, and the smell from the nearby dumpsters assaults my nose as I make my way down the small steps onto the cold concrete path. My car is parked around the side of the building, and it’s just a short walk through the alley to reach it. But I need to dump the trash bag first.

  I’m in the process of closing it when suddenly, rough and firm hands grab me from behind, clamping down on my mouth to stifle my cry.

  My heart pounds as panic overtakes me, and I struggle against my captor, but whoever it is is too strong. Subduing my attempts to escape, I hear a grunt as I’m picked up off my feet and pressed up against the stone wall, feeling a rock hard body press into me from behind.

  “Be a good girl,” a familiar voice growls into my ear.

  “Danny,” I gasp with surprise, my heart hammering wildly as a hundred different dreadful thoughts run through my mind. I don’t understand what’s going on. “What are you doing here?” I cry.

  Danny doesn’t immediately respond, keeping me pressed up against the wall for several more moments, his breath hot on my neck. All the while, fear runs through me. He’s never done anything like this before, and I can smell whiskey on his breath. He’s taking joy out of keeping me guessing on his intentions while increasing the pressure on my back.

  “Danny, please,” I whimper as the pain grows, my eyes darting to the back entrance of the shelter. “Sir, please.” I don’t know what’s going on. This isn’t him.

  Finally, he lets me go.

  I gasp as I come free, turning around to face him, my chest heaving from my ragged breaths.

  Danny’s scowling at me, his hazel eyes blazing with anger. He looks out of place in this trashy alley with his expensive dress pants and shirt, his hair slicked to the side. I can even smell his vintage cologne over the filthy aroma of garbage.

  “I’ve come to remind you how ungrateful you are,” he growls. His words sting with a pain so raw, I can hardly stand up straight.

  “Danny-” I pause and swallow the lump growing in my throat. I’m grateful. I am. I truly am.

  “Don’t you remember?” he asks me, gesturing around the grimy alley. “This is the same fucking alleyway I found you in. Before you went to the bridge. You were poor, broke, hungry and homeless. And I was the only one who was stupid enough to have pity for you.”

  I shake my head, unable to understand how differently Danny’s treating me. He’s never been this cruel and hateful with me before. “Dann
y, please. It’s not like that.” My eyes dart from him to the door. There's a single light shining above it, and everything in me is pleading with me to run. But it’s Danny. He saved me. He won’t hurt me. “Why are you so angry with-”

  “Did you once try to call me since taking your collar?” he demands, cutting me off. “Did you once try to beg me to take you back?”

  “But you said I was going up for auction-” I try to reason with him. I don’t know what to do. I’m so lost.

  “I fed you, you ungrateful bitch!” Danny snarls, spittle flying from his mouth. “Helped you when no one else would. And look at you, ready to run from me the first chance you get.”

  I gape at him with shock.

  “I saved you!” He continues his rant. “You were nothing but a drunk degenerate when I found you. And if it weren’t for me, you’d be fucking dead!” His words cut through me, because they’re true.

  Tears burn my eyes as I gaze into his rage-filled face.

  “Danny please,” I beg, a huge lump choking my throat as I reach my hands out to him imploringly. “Please calm down and just listen to me…”

  “No,” Danny fumes. “I’m sick of listening to your pathetic whining.”

  “But-”

  Danny rushes forward, grabbing me by the neck, and slams me back up against the wall. A gasp escapes my lips as pain radiates up my back and I struggle to pry his powerful hands free of my throat.

  “Shut. The. Fuck. Up,” he says nastily in my face, the smell of whiskey hitting me even harder now, his eyes blazing with a hatred that tears at my heart. “Your voice is so fucking annoying. I can’t believe I listened to that shit for nearly two years. It’s like nails on a fucking chalkboard.”

  Tears start streaming down my face as I choke against his grasp. His words are so biting and cruel.

  “I just want to remind you that even though you’re going up for auction, I still fucking own you,” he barks. “I don’t give a fuck whose collar you have around your neck. You’re fucking mine. You got it?”