The light above the center stage flares to life and a disembodied voice carries over a sound system.
“Ladies and gentleman, welcome to The Society’s eighth bridal auction of the season. Tonight we have twenty-three beautiful and exotic brides for you to choose from. As promised with this specific line of treasures, each piece has been left untrained so you may work and shape your purchase into your definition of perfection. Tonight’s unique pieces are truly delightful. Let the evening begin.”
With my curtain drawn, I don’t have to feign interest. I tune out the male voice as one woman after another is paraded into the light dressed in nothing but a robe that is swiftly stripped away to reveal a drugged woman who can barely stand in the stilettos they were forced into.
I snap pictures, making sure the flash is off, and stuff my phone back into my jacket’s interior pocket when a server refreshes my drink.
Jesus. The fucking acid in my stomach starts to churn. This is the part of the evening I dreaded. Seeing all these women being sold off like cattle. There’s not enough vodka to dull this shit from my brain.
One ankle crossed over a knee, I down the swallow of vodka left in my glass. I push away from the table ready to leave when my eye catches a movement. A large swath of fabric dividing the holding cells from the viewing platform sways, but it’s not the black curtain that holds me captive. It’s the woman with blonde hair so light it’s nearly the shade of an angel’s feathers.
I sit back down.
Bids fly in fast. Half a million...eight hundred thousand. Now it’s getting interesting. She throws her hands up and tries to cover herself, but it’s like a battle of the lesser of two evils. Either the tits or the pussy. She can’t decide which is more valuable. I smirk.
My eyes narrow on the feisty woman who is all tooth and claw. She abandons the idea of covering herself and swings at her handler, catching a swift backhand for her heroic efforts of fighting against the inevitable.
Two brutes wearing full-face masks and black suits step from behind the curtain. The smaller one grabs her by the shoulders earning him a nice elbow to the gut and the other receives a swift heel to the foot.
Ouch. Poor fucker. But not really. He deserves a bullet to the head in my opinion.
After a few more minutes of struggle, they place her in a collar with a chain linking to another around her ankles.
My chest tightens and I fist my tumbler so hard the glass cracks between my fingers. Knots form in my gut and I can’t help but appreciate the way her bare body moves as she continues to struggle. The shape of her full lips, the flash of defiance and anger in her crystal-clear eyes. The sensual dip to her hips and the shapely size of her legs all work to create a beautiful masterpiece. Heavy breaths force her chest to quiver. My gaze drifts down to find her peaked nipples puckered against the cold of the room and I momentarily forget where I am at.
She is the one and why I’m here.
Unlike all the others who let fate happen to them, this one fights back and as fucked up as it sounds, that has my cock hard and my blood pumping.
I shake the mess of my broken tumbler away, uncaring of the few nicks along my fingers. Beside me is a small box and I hit the button signaling my interest before punching in my bid.
“I hear one million from booth eight. Do I hear one point five?”
Someone challenges my bid with an even two million when the foolish woman thrashes around the stage, raising a knee and slamming it into the fucker trying to hook a leash on the collar.
“Two million. I have two million for the wild lady who will be a delight to collar properly and tame. Who is in for a little bit of a challenge? Shall we make this a bit more interesting? Do I hear three million?”
I hit the bid button and up my ante to a number I’ve yet to hear anyone offer.
“Fifteen point five million dollars,” the auctioneer sounds momentarily stunned. My gaze latches onto the woman and I don’t let go. Every angle, strand of hair, and curve is burned into my memory.
“That’s right,” I mutter into my otherwise empty booth. “I can do this all night. You might as well give the fuck up now and let me have her.” No one drops that kind of cash on pussy. Maybe for a harem of captives, but not for a solo prize.
The sound system grows quiet several seconds before the announcer comes back on. “Booth eight. Fifteen point five million dollars. Do I hear sixteen? Sixteen? Okay then, going once, twice... SOLD! The lovely lady with the spitfire attitude is sold to the bidder in booth eight. Congratulations on your new acquisition.”
Blue flames for eyes blaze across the glass fronts of the booths and I know she’s searching for the one who purchased her life. She can’t see past the dark tint, but somehow, she picks mine to glower at through the masses of white hair hanging in her eyes. I don’t know how but those knots in my stomach cinch tighter as I hold her gaze right back.
“Congratulations, Ares.” My curtain moves aside and a stoic-looking Ivan Volkov walks in looking smug. Black hair hangs around his shoulders and unlike his brother, he prefers a clean shave. But he can invest in clothes and all the hair oils his deep pockets can supply, but he will still look like an ugly son-of-a-bitch. At least his brother tries to hide his fucked-up face behind a patchy beard. They say it was a fire that scared them in childhood. Bullshit. Truth is, a deal went sideways back west and shit literally blew up in their faces about a half a decade ago. Like I’ve said, I have good intel.
“We thought maybe our newest member would like to get the first bid on tomorrow evening’s merchandise—see a few of our finer pieces before any other. Unless you’re capped out and don’t want to play.”
I know bullshit. And it’s coming out of his mouth at an alarming speed. They want to dick around and pretend we have some fucking long history of friendship together instead of them trying to move in on my city. And I hate dick measuring. It’s a waste of fucking time when you have the ego to match the size of cock I have.
Ivan Volkov’s Russian accent is not as thick as mine, but then again these bratva wannabes were born Stateside, never stepping foot in the motherland. Any Russian inflection they have rubbed off second-hand.
A parade of women is forced to kneel outside my booth. I stand, give them a glance and shrug. His little show of dominance is entertaining at best. After a couple of smooth years, the challenge shakes off the boredom. I cock a smile knowing the truth. I own himandhis brother, only he’s too fucking blind by money to see what’s going on here.
It makes me want to spit venom to call them my brothers, but I move my lips anyway. “Spasibo, moy brat.Truly. Thank you for helping me find my bride. But I don’t need more. I’ve already got a woman to run my bath and cook my meals. And now I’ll have one to pleasure my cock. Now fuck off Volkov. I can window shop for myself.” I return to my seat knowing I’m playing hardball with an armed man with fewer brain cells than a weasel.