Auctioned

by Cara Dee

  Nerves fluttered within Gray at this new information. Maybe there was a chance, after all. But he refused to think about it too much. If today had proved anything, it was how fast Gray could be jostled between resolution and utter defeat.

  “We’ll talk more about that later.” Finished with whatever he’d been doing, Darius slipped the syringe and the powder into his suit jacket that hung over his chair. Then he joined Gray on the bed, getting comfortable along the foot of the mattress. “We have a few hours to kill before dinner, and I want to fuck with your head a bit.”

  Gray rolled his eyes and dipped his spoon into the yogurt. “You don’t think my head’s been messed with enough?”

  “Not for this, I don’t. You clearly react on emotion, so I wanna bring back your combative attitude by reminding you of everything you have to fight for.”

  The first spoonful of yogurt slid down Gray’s throat, tasting like charcoal and reluctance. “I’m tired of feeling,” he whispered. “It hurts too much.”

  Sympathy made another brief return to Darius’s hazel eyes. “If it gets you home, it’ll be worth it, knucklehead.” He started making himself a sandwich. “I’ll ask the questions. Even if I know something already, I wanna hear it from you.”

  “All right,” Gray replied warily.

  Darius didn’t fire off a question right away. While he took a bite from his sandwich, he pulled out a phone, and—wait. Wait.

  “You have a phone?” Gray stared at him incredulously.

  Darius’s mouth twisted slightly as he scrolled on the device. “Even if there was any reception, they have a signal blocker on board.”

  Oh. Figures.

  It looked brand-new, and Darius didn’t seem too familiar with it. It struck Gray as a bit amusing, to be honest. So old-school. Darius could probably build a bomb with some rubber bands and soap, but a phone was alien.

  “Are you like that MacGyver guy?” Gray chewed on a cherry tomato and watched the man frown at the phone. “My mom used to watch that show.”

  Darius’s frown deepened at that, and he glanced up. “Good Christ, you’re young. How old is your mother?”

  “Forty-one. Why?”

  Darius raised his brows before they dipped down and his attention returned to the phone, where he appeared to be trying to use a music app.

  “Do you need help?”

  “No, I got it.” Eventually, anyway. A familiar song began to play, and Darius set the phone on the mattress. “This is your workout playlist if I’m not mistaken.”

  One of them, anyway. Darius must’ve copied it from Gray’s laptop or phone. Did his phone still exist? Perhaps they’d found it on the ground after he’d been taken…?

  Gray would have this song on repeat sometimes when he went running. Both versions of Dotan’s song “Home” were awesome, but he preferred the first one. The folksy, spiritual, pop-rock song had everything he liked for a run along one of the countless hiking trails back home. A slow build, shiver-inducing background vocals, and a crescendo that ended with an “I’m at the top of the world” feeling.

  Nothing cleared his head like a couple hours up his favorite mountain.

  The trick when he ran up to Coho Pass was to break through the tree line just as the chase of the drums caught up with him and shot a bolt of adrenaline through him. He could feel his thighs burning and tingling at the faint memories.

  He’d once done the trail with Abel, his best friend, and they’d reached the top of the mountain in one hour and fifty-four minutes. For regular people, it was a half-day trip. Hike up with a guide, eat lunch in the picnic park or at the restaurant, then take the tramway down. Gray and his mother had sent hundreds of tourists that way since she’d opened the inn.

  Gray swallowed hard and blinked. He couldn’t smell the fresh pine, the soil, or the forest air here. His salad bowl was forgotten in his lap.

  “Eat, buddy,” Darius murmured. “And tell me about your brothers. What are Gideon and Gabriel like?”

  Gray let out a breath at the mention of his younger twin brothers. His stomach churned, his chest felt tight. “They’re…” He had to clear his throat. “They’re wild, I guess.” Sometimes, you had to be sneaky to get the upper hand. Because no one could keep up with them otherwise. They harvested energy from anything and had no patience whatsoever. “They’re not exactly the brains in the family.” He indulged in a wry little smirk and forced down a piece of chicken. “Gabriel will probably be drafted next summer.”

  “He plays hockey, yeah?”

  Gray nodded. “He’s a great goalie. Abel told some scouts from the Stars about him, and now he’s got people from all over coming to check him out.” Gid, if he ever got drafted, needed to work on his temper. He was fast as hell and a good winger, but he got heated quicker than an enforcer. No NHL team would spend millions on a forward who’d end up spending most of his time in the penalty box.

  “So you have a best friend in the NHL. One brother might be heading that way. What about you? You’re a hockey player too.”

  “Not on their level,” Gray chuckled quietly. “I can give them a good run for their money, but we part ways where they live on steamed vegetables and protein powder and I stuff my face with a cheeseburger.”

  Darius’s mouth turned up. “Abel may have mentioned that you’re not the best at taking care of yourself.”

  Oh, please. “I took care of myself just fine,” Gray scoffed. “He’s extreme, and he shows his care in quirky ways.”

  Darius cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

  This sort of got Gray going, because Abel had been such a big part of his life. “He’s different. He has a lot of anxiety, so his feelings often come out in bursts. And they can get violent.” Gray picked at his salad and felt the fond memories flooding him. “If I didn’t get enough sleep or if I looked tired to him, he could punch me in the shoulder and yell at me. Because it upset him so much. He has bipolar too, and emotions aren’t very easy for him to deal with. But once you tap into his language, and once you know you’re one of his people, you have a brother for life. You’ll know that when he’s shouting at you to eat better and demand that you tell him all your problems, it’s because he takes everything personally. He can’t stand it when people he loves suffer. He will legit have a meltdown.”

  Darius hummed and nodded slowly. “He’s an intense kid. It’s good he’s got you and Madigan. Not many would get that involved in someone else’s mental health.”

  “It’s because of him I started thinking about studying more psychology,” Gray admitted. “But I don’t know. I kinda flunked at the end. I couldn’t even choose a major.” He’d spent his college years taking random classes and earning credits he wasn’t sure could lead to anything. “For the longest time, I wanted to work with kids. Then I changed it to coaching. Then psychology…” He scratched the side of his head and shrugged with one shoulder. ’Cause it didn’t matter anymore. “Anyway. Can I ask you questions too?”

  “Hm. Sure.” Darius narrowed his eyes. “But I reserve the right to shut you down if we get too off topic.”

  Gray snorted softly and polished off the last of the salad. “How many brothers and sisters do you have?” He was getting the impression Darius didn’t come from a small family.

  “I have three brothers who’re alive. We lost Jake in Afghanistan.” Darius uncapped a bottle of water and took a swig. “Two stubborn little sisters who have us all wrapped.” He smiled faintly before he hid it. “They’re the babies in the family.”

  “Usually how it goes, isn’t it? With sisters, I mean.” Not that Gray would know, having grown up surrounded by brothers. “Sorry to hear about Jake.”

  Darius dipped his chin in acknowledgment. “Willow and Elise are adopted, so they’re not much older than you.”

  Huh. That was interesting. It was a pretty big gap. “How many of them have military backgrounds? And yeah, you’re included in that bunch.”

  Darius narrowed his eyes again, but in the end, h
e went along with it. “Including Jake, three of us. I won’t count Willow. She’s just a nosy hacker.” He paused, deliberating. “She helped us find the company that owns these yachts.”

  Gray lifted his brows. “She sounds badass. Your own intelligence department.”

  That made Darius smile, and he didn’t hide it this time. “She’s pretty hardcore. The rest of us are grunts. Jake followed in Pop’s footsteps and joined the Army. Ryan became a Marine.”

  “Is it true what they say, once a Marine, always a Marine?”

  “Oh yeah.” Darius reached for his cigarettes. “It takes a special person to put up with a Marine. Luckily for him, he’s got two.”

  “Huh?” Gray tilted his head before he connected the dots. “Oh…like, he’s poly?”

  “Don’t get me involved in those new terms.” Darius stuck a smoke between his lips and lit it up. “He’s in a triad with his wife and another man, that’s all I know. I reckon it’s a good thing, what with all the kids they’re popping out these days.” He blew out some smoke and nodded at Gray. “Now we’ve strayed too far. Back to you. Tell me about Craig.”

  Gray blanched. Craig was the last person he wanted to discuss, and it was beginning to bother him just how much access Darius had had to Gray’s personal life. He must’ve read private messages in order to know about Craig, ’cause the only person who knew about him was Abel. And Abel knew how to keep his mouth shut.

  “What about him?” Gray asked stiffly.

  “Touchy,” Darius noted. “He’s your boyfriend, ain’t he?”

  Or perhaps he hadn’t read that many messages at all. Gray chewed on his lip, phrasing himself. But what it boiled down to was that he wanted to know what Darius knew. “You didn’t read my texts, did you?” Because there was no forgetting the last messages he and Craig had exchanged. Once again, Gray had told Craig to divorce his wife if he wanted anything.

  He could still hear the crunch as the phone hit the asphalt. The two men who’d taken Gray had made sure he couldn’t be tracked.

  “Of course I did,” Darius replied. “So did your mother.”

  Gray winced. “I didn’t want her to see that.”

  “Why, ’cause the fucker’s married? You stood your ground.” Darius lifted a shoulder. “We had to go through everything, knucklehead.”

  Gray released a breath, frustrated and mildly irritated. “Then you know he’s not my boyfriend.”

  “There’s still a story.”

  “Not a very original one,” Gray muttered. “I fell for my hockey coach. Turned out he was closeted and wanted me too, but he was married and kept postponing the divorce. Then the wife was diagnosed with cancer, and I deleted his number and switched hockey teams. Wife recovers, coach seeks out the gullible queer again, and the queer can’t bring himself to stop messaging the coach.”

  “So he’s a rat bastard.”

  And Gray was weak. Moving on.

  “All right,” Darius said. “I guess he wasn’t the best approach. Tell me about your ma instead. You seem to have a special relationship with her.”

  “I was her favorite,” Gray quipped. The humor was nowhere to be found, but it was a dig that had gotten Gid and Gabriel riled up so many times that it slipped out automatically. “It drove the twins up the wall when they missed out on pancake breakfasts in the garden. Like it was our fault they headed out at first light…?”

  Darius merely studied Gray, brows pinched.

  “She makes the best pancakes,” Gray went on. “The thin ones—with lots of butter. Served with strawberry preserves she makes herself and whipped cream. Man.” He could go for a stack right now.

  Leaving the bed, Darius flicked his cigarette out the window and then sat down on the edge of the desk with his arms folded over his chest. “Gray, do you realize you talk about yourself in the past tense?”

  Gray frowned.

  “Think back on what you said about being your mother’s favorite,” Darius said quietly. “You did the same when you talked about Abel. You speak as if you’re never going home.”

  Gray lowered his gaze and didn’t know what to think. Or what to say. He hadn’t thought about how he spoke. Did he believe all hope was lost? Had he given up? No, he couldn’t have. But maybe he was being careful. Maybe he was protecting the small flame that still flickered. His mind crashed at the slightest thing, and he couldn’t take any more defeat.

  “Perhaps you gotta mess with my head some more,” he suggested lamely.

  Darius shook his head grimly. “Not if even the smallest part of you has accepted a fate we gotta work against. That’s not a mind-set we should cement—unless you wanna turn into a self-fulfilling prophecy.” He went quiet, and Gray had no response. Darius spent the next minute or two clearing the bed, and he didn’t speak until his back hit the mattress. Hands under his head, gaze aimed at the ceiling. “I admit, you’re not as easy to figure out as I’d expected. Reminding you of your family clearly doesn’t work.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Darius sighed. “You have no fucking reason to apologize.” He tipped his head in Gray’s direction. “You think it’ll help if I explain what we have to do tonight?”

  The spark of interest wasn’t nearly as big as it should be, but it was a start. “Only one way to find out, right?”

  Gray could admit he was curious about the hows of the plan. Though, that quickly turned to dread when he thought of executing said plan. Was it even possible? Darius had said there were approximately thirty-five people on board.

  “Tonight is about laying the groundwork.” Darius sat up and mirrored Gray’s position so they sat across from each other. “We’ll be including two others today too.”

  “Cole?” Gray guessed.

  “And Jonas from the staff. You didn’t see how he reacted when Linus jumped overboard, but it settled it for me. I’ll explain.”

  Nine

  When dinnertime came around, not much had changed in the hope department. Gray remained crushed at his own weakness and resigned about the whole outcome. But there was something more useful than hope that Darius had managed to smash straight into Gray’s soul. Determination.

  He wasn’t gonna go down without a fight, and he’d inflict as much damage as he could on the motherfuckers who deserved it.

  Dinner was once again served on the upper deck, and Gray had work to do this time. Darius was a man who thought of multiple scenarios and created plans for each one, so it wasn’t until they reached the deck that Gray knew what his first task would be.

  There was a spot available next to where Cole was restrained.

  Darius slipped a small baggie into Gray’s hand, then ordered him to kneel by the slave posts.

  The whole area was bathed in the rays from the sunset. Judging by the sounds of laughter and champagne glasses clinking, no one would know a boy was murdered here earlier.

  Gray kneeled between Cole and Milo, and Darius bent over to shackle his wrists to the gleaming post. While doing so, he grabbed the baggie again, only to slip it into the waistband of Gray’s underwear.

  Gray had only gotten a glimpse of Milo, and it’d been enough to sicken him. The young boy could barely see; his eyes were almost swollen shut. Blood was trickling from his neck and ears, and his torso shifted in shades of blue and purple.

  Gray swallowed hard as the heavy shackles circled his wrists.

  “Be good for me, boy.” Darius gave Gray’s cheek a smack before aiming for the bar by the pool.

  “We have drinks here, dear Mr. B,” Red hollered.

  Darius’s steps faltered, and he threw the ugly bitch a smirk over his shoulder. “You don’t have staff toys there, do you?”

  “Oh.” Red put a hand on her chest and laughed. The sight of her made Gray’s hatred flare. “Right you are. Enjoy our selection, handsome.” While she returned her attention to the men around the table, Darius reached the bar where Jonas stood stoically and ready to serve.

  There was another guy from the staff too, an
d he was sent away.

  “Are you okay?” Cole asked under his breath.

  Gray stopped staring after Darius and faced forward instead. “Yeah. You?”

  “I guess.”

  There was no use in saying no. Despite being living, breathing bruises, they were alive.

  “Milo,” Gray whispered.

  “He won’t answer,” Cole replied quietly. “I’ve tried. I don’t know if he can hear.”

  It didn’t seem like it. The sick son of a bitch who’d bought Milo had aimed too much violence at his face. Robbing him of his senses.

  “I need you to listen to me.” Gray addressed Cole again and eyed the table to make sure the others were occupied. “If I get the chance tonight in the dungeon, I’m going to throw myself at you to create a diversion. It’s important you don’t do anything to earn a punishment.”

  “Wait, what—”

  “Please just listen,” Gray whispered urgently. “We’re getting out of here. You don’t have to believe a word of what I’m saying, but there’s a plan.” He saw Cole stiffening in his periphery. If it was in disbelief or hope, Gray didn’t know. “All I need from you is for you to keep your mouth shut. And I need to know as many stateroom numbers as possible. Where our guys are located, I mean. I gotta know the room numbers.”

  Cole let out a short breath, still tense. “You’re not serious. Everyone knows your shithead owner fooled you, Gray. The fat fuck who bought me tried to do the same with me yesterday.”

  Gray ignored the sting of humiliation and scanned the dining table. Only one man fit the description of “fat fuck,” and it would be the British guy. The one who’d complained that his slave didn’t scream when having his fingers broken.

  “You don’t have to believe me,” Gray repeated under his breath. “You won’t lose squat by helping me, though. Just give me as many room numbers as you know, and don’t move when I come at you later in the dungeon. You can even fight me off if you want.”

  Cole didn’t reply.

  Fuck. Licking his lips nervously, impatiently, Gray let his gaze travel across the deck to the bar where Darius was speaking to Jonas. The guy was around Gray’s age, he guessed. A bit shorter and more slender, though he still managed to look hardened. His sharp features and closely cropped hair helped. His movements were methodical and fluid, and he mixed drinks while listening to what Darius said. Every now and then, Jonas would nod hesitantly or shake his head minutely.