Auctioned

by Cara Dee

  “Okay.” Gray grew frustrated. He didn’t care about semantics. He could take a few beatings, and he’d wager that the other boys would agree—if it meant they could walk away in the end. “Beats the alternative.”

  “One thing less shitty than another doesn’t make it legal, and even our authorities have limits for what they can permit. This is about more than fucking whores and making bones,” he said. “You’re missing the point, though. We have three more days on this boat, and we haven’t even left the stateroom yet. Get through those before you think about playing hero.”

  Although Gray was sure he wouldn’t change his mind about wanting to help the others, he took a step back from the argument because there were still a lot of questions he wanted answered.

  “How did you become a buyer? Were you vetted for weeks?” He dipped his fingers into his food again and dared another piece of steak. “How did you get involved at all?”

  Darius inhaled from his cigarette again, eyes slightly narrowed. It looked like he was deciding what was okay to share. “I’d already been vetted. The Feds arrested a buyer, and I borrowed his identity.”

  That didn’t seem safe at all to Gray. “Are you sure he won’t speak? Is he still in custody? How did the organization not know his face?”

  That was too many questions for Darius, who picked only one to answer. “Money offers more loyalty than facial recognition, and privacy is everything to these buyers.” He paused. “The sector that does the vetting meets with everyone, but no paper trail or exchange of IDs is involved. They wouldn’t have any buyers if they required that.” Reaching for something on the desk, he picked up a little black device, no bigger than a box of matches. “Once you’re in, you get one of these. It’ll send a signal when they’ve found what you’re looking for, and it becomes your ticket to board.”

  So somewhere, that device had gone off when Gray had been kidnapped. Someone had put down preferences Gray matched with.

  He was no longer hungry.

  “If the Feds arrested him and already had this info—”

  “They didn’t. They had the buyer but nothing else.”

  In other words, Darius had pieced together the rest on his own. How, Gray didn’t have the slightest idea.

  “If you figured out so much, why didn’t you tell the Feds?”

  At that, Darius actually cracked a smile. “The fuck’re they gonna do about it besides file paperwork for an eternity and orchestrate a half-assed rescue op?” He shook his head. “I have respect for federal agents, but they’re buried. A missing person from Washington isn’t a priority—not with the odds stacked against them. It’s almost impossible to take down the higher-ups in these networks.”

  “Like Red?” Gray tilted his head. “She’s right here! They can swoop in and take her.”

  Darius chuckled and put out his smoke. “She’s a replaceable no-name cunt.” He cleared his throat. “Listen. I know you got questions coming outta every orifice, but we gotta set boundaries. We have dinner tonight with the others, meaning we have to put on a show. Planning that takes precedence over satisfying your curiosity.” The look in his eyes was serious enough that Gray bit back a response that would’ve come out too sarcastic anyway. “In short, I gotta know what you’re okay with in terms of violence and sexual activities.”

  Okay was relative as fuck.

  As much as it made Gray’s stomach churn, he couldn’t avoid the topic. Three days, that was how long they’d be on this yacht. Three days of ensuring that Red and the others believed Gray was Darius’s property.

  “I can handle violence.” Gray lowered his gaze. “Sex too, I guess.” Fuck, he felt dirty through and through. Another time and place, he probably would’ve jumped Darius at the first chance. He looked exactly like Gray’s type, and it wasn’t as if things were going anywhere with Craig, who, right now, existed in another world. Besides, Gray’s heart and body didn’t speak the same language.

  “I’ll make it as easy for you as I can,” Darius said. “I brought Viagra—”

  Gray’s head shot up. “What?”

  “I gotta look like I enjoy it,” Darius pointed out.

  Yeah, even under these circumstances, Gray managed to feel insulted. He didn’t want to get down on his knees and suck this bastard’s dick, but he wasn’t gonna be rude.

  “You’re straight, I get it,” he replied tightly. He bristled when Darius let out a chuckle.

  “You’re a good-looking kid, and no offense, you shouldn’t—”

  “None taken,” Gray answered, more annoyed than he should be. “Gee, I wonder why Abel and Madigan never introduced me to you. You’re such a nice man.”

  That wiped the smirk off Darius’s face. “Your arrogance is less desirable. You also look fucking stupid when you make assumptions. Even if you had tits, I would’ve needed help. Because unlike the motherfuckers on this boat, I actually don’t get off on hurting my partners.”

  Oh. Well, didn’t Gray just feel dumb as fuck now.

  He looked away and chewed on the inside of his cheek.

  “If you’re done with your tantrum, let’s talk about dinner,” Darius said.

  Leaving the stateroom that evening caused Gray’s heart to plummet. For a precious day, he’d gotten a break from uncertainty and vicious abuse. Darius had made him believe they were heading home after this, and he still believed. He did. But first, he had to pretend, and there was no room for error whatsoever.

  The yacht seemed even more luxurious tonight. His eyes weren’t swollen shut, his body was recovering, and he wasn’t being dragged toward his own auction.

  One.

  As instructed, he walked behind Darius, eyes downcast, and he counted every person he saw. To get a better estimate of just how many people were on board.

  Two, three, four.

  Dinner was held on the top deck, which was completely open and offered a 360-degree view of a stunning sunset. A pool took up most of the front. Closer to the middle, where they’d come up, was an elevated sundeck.

  There had to be at least twenty people up here, and Gray gave up on counting for now. Men—and a couple women—were dressed to the nines and enjoying themselves with champagne and fancy snacks that four young guys were delivering on serving trays. They didn’t look like ordinary waitstaff, though. Dressed much like Gray, in underwear and nothing else, they looked every bit a slave as he did.

  A table for twelve was set under a canvas ceiling along the aft deck, and Gray scanned the guests discreetly in hopes of seeing…could he call them friends? Fellow victims. The innocent guys in a sea of monsters.

  Darius was greeted by some of the other shitheads, most of them complimenting the “lovely marks” on Gray. Overnight, his bruises had turned dark and blotchy.

  Gray tuned it all out when he spotted four familiar faces. Cole, Charlie, Lee, and Milo were kneeling by the railing, and they were attached to four of the eleven or twelve metal posts. Their bodies were bruised and battered, and Milo’s face broke Gray from within. The kid was shaking, tears running down his cheeks, and he could barely open his eyes.

  “Can you buy Milo?” Gray spoke under his breath and had to repeat himself a couple times before Darius heard him. “Dar—Mr. B. Milo—can you buy him?”

  Darius cleared his throat and glanced over at the boys. “He went for over two million. I don’t think his owner’s looking to part with him anytime soon.”

  Two million.

  Jesus fucking Christ.

  All because he looked like a child. He was a child. White-hot rage festered inside Gray and grew like a cancer. If Darius thought a few days of torture and forceful fucking were gonna change Gray’s mind about helping the others, he was dead wrong. He wasn’t getting off this yacht without the other guys.

  “I’ll see what I can do.” Darius’s final words offered a bit of comfort.

  Gray fucking ached to get close enough to the guys so he could tell them they had a plan. But for one, Darius had forbidden him to. For two,
there wasn’t a plan that included them all. Yet.

  The twelve who were seated included the buyers, two spouses, Red, Vanya, and one man Gray didn’t recognize. Kneeling behind Darius’s chair, Gray observed and listened. It was a dinner for pompous fuckwits to brag about their cruelty. The majority of them were Americans who’d taken up residence in other countries, mainly in South America and the Middle East.

  During appetizers, the British man who’d wanted to buy Gray last night complained about his purchase. Whoever he’d bought didn’t scream when having his fingers broken.

  Gray wondered who he’d bought. Cole was the one who struck Gray as tough as nails.

  When the main course was served, a man with a thick drawl invited them all to his estate in Belize.

  “I’ve heard of your hunts, Mr. K,” Red said, intrigued. “What was it last year, trap shooting?”

  “My wife and I attended,” another guy said. “We had great fun, indeed.”

  “That is correct, ma’am.” There was pride in the Texan’s voice. “We acquired six local boys, and they all got a turn in the cannon. Sometimes we miss—or we shoot them in the leg instead of the head. Most of them die upon impact with the ground, but if they don’t, they get a second try.”

  While Gray had to swallow shock and bile, someone clapped. Vanya. That disturbed little man. He looked positively gleeful.

  What the fuck was wrong with people?

  Throughout dinner, Gray heard gory tales that came straight from nightmares. A few of the buyers collected girls too, and each death was more horrifying than the last. Electrocution, forced overdose, drowning, being buried alive. Gray listened as one man told them about the time he threw two girls into a cage and said only one would get out alive. He’d had fucking dinner guests over to watch.

  Gray swayed, a dizzy spell catching him. He didn’t wanna live in a world where this was happening. They were laughing about medieval torture and making plans for future events.

  “You haven’t said a word, Mr. B,” Red noted curiously.

  Gray caught himself and took a deep breath. In this position, he could see Darius cutting into the last of his steak and putting it in his mouth. He appeared unfazed by the whole thing.

  “Physical sadism never impressed me much. A mentally challenged toddler can inflict pain.” He chewed slowly and wiped his mouth with the linen napkin. In the meantime, the others around him looked a little offended. “Violence is necessary sometimes, of course.” Darius was cleaning up his speech, Gray noticed. “But there’s a reason Mr. S here needs a choker made of barbed wire for his boy and I don’t.” Everyone’s attention shifted to Gray, who went rigid and looked down.

  “You’ve had him less than twenty-four hours,” Vanya stated.

  The Texan scoffed. “Of course he doesn’t need restraints. You’re a shooter. When we use rope and whatnot, you use heroin.”

  Another one piped up in agreement. “If anything, I always thought drug users were lazy.”

  “He’s not on anything now.” Darius sat back and sipped his wine. “Controlling his mind—that’s the real challenge.”

  “Mental sadism always fascinated me.” Red was eating up every word. “Do tell us your methods. I love a man who possesses that skill.”

  Gray clenched his jaw. What was Darius up to? There better be a good fucking answer.

  “I gave him hope,” Darius murmured. “You have to see his journey here as a tool. Most of you forget that—or neglect it, and it’s a shame. He’s had weeks of being pushed down mentally. When I bought him, he was already defeated.” He paused to polish off the rest of his wine. “Unlike what many believe, you can gain strength from physical pain. You could, unknowingly, be giving your slaves stronger minds by beating them. But me? I want my property desperate and weak. That’s when the real play begins.”

  Gray swallowed hard, queasy. Uncertainty flowed freely in his veins, and he began going through everything Darius had told him in the cabin.

  “Incredible,” Red said in awe. “Because when they’re desperate and weak, they’ll believe anything.”

  No. There was no way. Darius was just acting.

  “How did you give him hope?” Vanya asked as the Texan said, “Now, I don’t believe that. Not that they’ll grow stronger from receiving pain.”

  “You first, Mr. K,” Vanya allowed.

  So Darius addressed the Texan first. “We’re primitive creatures, my friend, but we live in an intelligent world. These boys were brought up to know the difference between good violence and bad, and the pain you’re putting them through makes you no better than a schoolyard bully. They may end up on the ground by force, but they’ll know you’re mentally weak as shit. Pardon my French.”

  A low murmur traveled across the dinner table, some pondering the truths Darius had spoken, some in obvious disagreement.

  Darius was too fucking good, in Gray’s opinion. He was doubting himself and how quickly he’d believed Darius. When we’re desperate and weak, we’ll believe anything. It hit too close.

  “I’m not mentally weak,” the British guy scoffed.

  Darius reached into his pocket and retrieved a cigar. “Don’t tell me that. Tell your slave. But if you think he submits—if you think his mind collapses—when you beat him, think again. Your property wishes you dead.”

  The Texan seemed to be switching gears. “What you’re sayin’ is you want complete enslavement. You want power over their thoughts too.”

  Darius furrowed his brow. “Don’t we all?”

  Red tinkered a laugh and snapped her fingers for a guy to refill Darius’s drink. “This calls for a toast. And where’s dessert?”

  Vanya wasn’t finished, and he spoke up while the deck filled with waitstaff and two guys who lit candles everywhere now that the sun had set. “You must’ve promised quite hefty rewards to make your slave compliant so quickly.”

  “Oh, my dear son,” Red said, “that one is fairly obvious. All he has to do is promise freedom.”

  The word smacked Gray in the face, and he flinched.

  “Is that what you did, sir?” Vanya asked.

  Darius inclined his head. “I did more than that. I made him believe I was here to rescue him.”

  All the air escaped Gray’s lungs in a painful whoosh as if it’d been knocked out of him, and something inside of him shattered. No. Please. He wouldn’t live through this. Close to hyperventilating, he tried to force himself to think clearly, but everything was a haze. He heard laughter at the table. It’d all been a game for Darius—no. It couldn’t have been! Abel and Madigan had asked him for help! Dumbass, he could’ve seen them on your Facebook and put two and two together. Oh God. Maybe Gray was fairly private on Facebook, but he did have all his friends listed there. He wasn’t a code to crack. All one had to do was pay attention for more than ten minutes.

  He must’ve missed a question, because the next thing he knew, Darius was scooting back his chair and gripping Gray’s jaw.

  “This is why. Look at the boy’s face.” Darius tightened his hold, and Gray let out a whimpered breath. His eyes filled rapidly with tears, and the betrayal burned like lava. “He’s crushed.”

  Gray glared murderously through the tears. “You sack of shit,” he rasped. “You lied to me.”

  Darius chuckled and withdrew his hand, then spoke to the others while he pulled something from the inside of his suit jacket. “This can be done over and over, because they’re clinging to hope, and you’re all they’ve got.”

  Anger blazed through Gray, and he flew at Darius with his fists clenched. Unfortunately, everyone but Darius was shocked, and he swiftly grabbed Gray by his throat and hauled him to his feet. Gray choked and shoved at Darius, who pressed a sharp object to Gray’s neck. Oh shit. No! A second later, a needle pierced his skin, and he was injected with something.

  “I’ll fucking end you!” Gray shouted hoarsely.

  There was more laughter, and Red applauded. Fucking cunt. Gray’s head swam in something
thick and sluggish, and his tongue felt weird.

  “When he wakes up, I’ll start all over again.” The smug satisfaction in Darius’s voice made Gray angrier than he’d ever been. He hated the world, he hated these monsters, he hated everything. His heart hammered in his chest, and tears streamed down his cheeks. The rage exploded further as his fighting got weaker. He lost control of his limbs, his arms and legs prickling and going numb.

  “Kill me,” he sobbed. The defeat crushed him. It felt like his chest was about to cave in. His eyelids fluttered, and he sagged against Darius. “Just…k-kill me.”

  Everything went black.

  Five

  “What the hell are you saying? You’ve been spying on us? That’s a violation of my privacy.”

  Gray twitched and furrowed his brow, the words plucking at the cobwebs of sleep. Something about spying…

  “I’m sorry, Mr. B, it’s an insurance policy.” That voice was unfamiliar. “To be absolutely positive the wrong guests don’t get on board. I assure you, we haven’t heard anything, but it’s essential we get a glimpse of our esteemed guests’ private routine.”

  The shuffling around the bed pulled Gray further away from sleep, and he shifted slightly—ow. The lingering aches and protesting joints were a painful reminder of everything that’d happened. Darius betrayed me. He fucking drugged me. Again. The memories from last night were hazy at best. He remembered waking up a few times in the middle of the night, disoriented, and he remembered sleepy murmurs—Darius’s voice. Not what had been said.

  What Gray did have a perfect recollection of was what a goddamn idiot he was.

  He wasn’t going home. He wasn’t gonna see his family again.

  “There. All gone. I’ll get out of your way. Apologies again, sir.”