“Do our family justice,” my brother Matteo had said to me before I had passed out in Italy. Then today, I was dropped off at the auction with a hood over my head.
The man sits back in his seat, breaking our stare. His eyes drop down the length of my body and stop on my thigh. My dress had a slit up the side, but since Richard shoved me down, it’s ripped clear up to my hip on the right side. You can see the strap to my black lace thong.
He doesn’t answer me as his eyes return to mine.
“Hey, jackass?” I snap. “Where the fuck are you taking me?”
He pours himself a drink from the bottle that sits in the glass bucket. “If you won’t be silent, I’ll make you.” He finally speaks directly to me, sounding bored.
Oh, this fucker … “Gonna beat me into submission? I’ll kick your ass,” I warn, wishing I still had my high heels on. The sharpness of the heel could come in handy when you want to poke someone’s eye out.
“No,” he replies in that same tone, but I see a glint in his eyes. Something tells me he’s going to be one of those sick fuckers who likes to prove their dominance. He swirls his drink, the ice clanking, and his eyes drop to my exposed hip again. “I’ll remove your thong and gag you with it.”
My jaw tightens while my tied hands fist in my lap. “Trying to silence me so I can’t scream rape?” Typical man who has to force a woman in order for him to feel like he’s in control.
His drink pauses in his hand, and he looks oddly satisfied to answer that question. “If I decide to fuck you, you’ll choose to remove your clothes for me.”
The audacity. I roll my eyes. “Fat chance, asshole.”
Taking that drink, he then sets it down at the minibar and begins to unbutton his suit jacket before slipping out of it. He places it neatly on the seat next to him. Then he undoes his cuff links, rolling up the sleeves to his black button-up. Tattoos cover his arms and knuckles—mainly black with very little color to them. I can’t make out what exactly they are from here, but I catch sight of a skull ring on his right ring finger. It looks oddly familiar, but I can’t place it.
I’m not surprised, though. My brothers all wear a tacky gold ring on their fingers to signify their connection to our world. It’s how the cults like to show they have power.
Once satisfied and comfortable, he reaches down and picks up a small lunch box. I shove myself farther into the seat when he comes to sit on the long bench to my right. “Stay away,” I order, placing my hands up.
He grips my arm and yanks me from the seat. My knees hit the floor, and my body falls between his open legs. My breathing picks up, my heart now racing with the fear of the unknown. He holds my tied hands in front of him with one hand, and the other goes to the lunch box. He pulls out an ice pack. “Hold this to your face,” he orders, glaring down at me.
“What? Am I too ugly for you now that I have bruises?” I snarl. If that’s the case, I’ll slam my face into the door every day.
He leans down, his face inches from mine. His expensive, suffocating cologne covers me like a blanket, making it hard to breathe. I try to pull away, but he holds me in place. “If you’re going to sport bruises, they’ll be from my hands. No one else.”
I don’t look away from his stare and snap, “Prefer your women black and blue?”
He reaches his free hand into his pocket and pulls out a pocketknife. He flips the blade open, and I suck in a long breath. I close my eyes as he lowers it to my face, but I feel the zip tie snap open, my wrists pulling apart in the process. Then he’s shoving the ice pack in my right hand. “I won’t say it twice,” he says before pushing me away.
I fall onto my ass, my back hitting the minibar. He goes back over to his original seat by the door and picks up his drink, dismissing me.
CHAPTER THREE
BONES
I WATCH HER return to the bench seat across from where I sit. She’s much smaller in height and overall size than she looked on stage. She’s got long, thin legs, and her neck is so fragile I could wrap my entire hand around it—easily breakable. I’m not sure if that’s naturally or from malnutrition.
She stares out the window, holding the ice pack to the side of her face. It angers me that the pathetic man hit her. Men like him are weak. He needed his ass beat. I’ll do it. Later. Her evening gown was supposed to make her look like a princess, but it’s ripped up her thigh, and my eyes keep going to the lace material that covers her pussy.