by Melissa Jane
“Don’t be such a pussy,” I chide myself.
I’ve made it to the forbidden room, so I should be congratulating myself on my efforts. A faint glow brings the room to life before it brightens, casting long shadows over the stone floor. Although I can’t see their faces, there’s a group of mostly men gathered farther in. A woman in black lingerie walks around the circular room lighting more candle sconces. Positioned in front of the group is a clear box which I assume is a stage. It’s currently empty, but by the looks of it, will be the focus of attention very soon.
Positioned away from the group, I worry I’ll stand out, threatening to bring my night to an abrupt end. Straightening my shoulders and feigning confidence, I leave the comfort of my spot and cross the room to the gathering, my heels clicking on the polished concrete. Curious gazes assess me like I’m the new girl crashing a party of lifelong friends. I meet their stares head-on, ensuring my place amongst them. Somewhat appeased, they either continue their conversations or remain in their own company. I take the chance to observe. The tone differs from that where I’ve come from. Smiles and cheeky banter are replaced with a palpable tension I’d expect from discussions of war rules.
A man dressed in a tux walks on the clear stage where an upright drum stands. He hits the drum sending a reverberation through the room, the sandstone acoustics echoing the noise. The gathering quietens. The whole situation makes me incredibly nervous, and when I see the gentleman take the stage, I break out in a sweat. He’s a strikingly handsome man dressed in a crisp white shirt, unbuttoned enough to spy some chest tattoos. He wears a designer suit jacket and pants, and is exceptionally well-groomed. I wonder if he’s the owner of this establishment because he sure fits the role.
“Welcome once again,” he starts in a voice that carries authority. He reminds me of Kane in so many ways. “Great to see so many familiar faces. I trust this is the night you find what you’ve been searching for. I have some gems on offer, beautiful and exquisite in every way, some exotic and unique.” He pauses and takes a few steps. “You all know the rules of fair play. There are none. Fight for what you want and make no apologies… for if you don’t, you lose. But most of all, I bid you a successful and prosperous evening.” The man strides off the stage, and I move position to see where he disappears to on the other side of the room.
The gathering shifts, a new tension descending upon us. Suddenly, no one is friendly. Eye contact is avoided and jaws are set like stone, preparing mentally and physically to exit as winners.
What the heck is happening?
Seconds later, I feel the wind being knocked clean out of me. I’d so desperately wanted my answer to this whole convoluted charade, but now I would do almost anything to reclaim the last of my innocence. Another man dressed in a tux escorts a young girl to the stage. I pin her as being late teen, a collar wrapped around her neck, a chain connecting her to the escort. The girl appears dazed, her co-operation possibly due to being drugged, but I can’t be sure. They stop in the center of the stage then step behind her to remain unseen. The girl shifts and sways, her completely naked body on full display to at least two dozen pairs of prying eyes. I glance at those next to me, but they’re too transfixed to notice. It’s then I notice a figure to the side of the stage standing behind a podium, the faint glow of candle casting shadows across his indifferent face.
“Bid starting at five,” he begins.
Five what?
Dollars?
Thousand?
A bidding frenzy commences, and I watch in horror as the men and women in the gathering try to outplay each other all to win—a girl.
I’m disgusted and need to vomit. What’s more revolting is that no one cares about their perverted behavior. What is this world I’ve stepped into? I knew the venue was of a different flavor even before I set foot in it, but I never guessed it was a haven for rich deviants. As the first auction settles and another girl is paraded on stage, I recognize her instantly. Clutching my vulnerable stomach, I stagger back, hitting someone’s elbow who pushes me away like I’m a hindrance.
She’s one of the young women who were hanging off Shawn’s arm at Ophelia. All blonde and killer curves, she appeared unlike the first girl. Present and aware of her surroundings, she smiles hoping to secure a high bid. While the first girl may have been sold against her will, this one is in complete juxtaposition, weirdly happy to be the center of a bidding war.
What will become of her when she’s sold?
And why the fuck would she be so happy?
I make to leave but turn the wrong way, mind-fucked and confused. It’s then I see the next shock for the night. I’ve lost count of the nasty surprises, but it still delivers a punishing blow to the gut.
What the sweet hell is Shawn doing here? He stands to the left of the gathering, arms crossed tightly over his chest viewing the auctions taking place. He watches as the young twenty-something girl he probably promised the world to, gets sold to a filthy rich pervert.
How many has he told the same story to, manipulating them to be a part of it?
The room spins as pieces of the fucked-up puzzle begin to fall into place.
Sam, my own sister, who was raised by law-abiding, loving parents, recruits rich men from Othello to come join the elite society. Once they’re trusted and groomed enough to fit into this sordid world, they’re allowed to join the auctions, securing themselves a—who the fuck knows what they’re to be called. A slave? A sub?
And then there’s the other key player—Shawn, my husband. The man I held in the highest moral regard, who’s left his well-paying job at Usher and Gainsburg law firm to prey on vulnerable teens and young women, who may or may not be agreeable to be sold to the vile men Sam recruits.
I turn on my heel and vomit the champagne I’ve guzzled. My reaction to the atrocities goes unnoticed, the gathering too caught up in the motions going on in front of them.
The gavel sounds, signaling the end of another auction.
Shawn remains expressionless, completely numb to what he’s done.
How has my husband become such a monster?
How did I never notice?
I don’t ever recall any warning signs. Nothing ever stood out to me as being criminal or morally reproachable about him.
I take note of the winner, only because he creates such a raucous over his prize. This one is more like a slap to the face. The kind that riles my anger into retaliation. I see his profile and a part of me wants to laugh. I want to laugh at myself and the situation I fought against but could never win, because everyone in my life has worked together in royally fucking me over.
My bank manager, the same asshole who’s turned a blind eye to forged documents, hands over his auction details for his latest acquisition.
Is this what they call a golden handshake? I do something for you if you can repay me in other ways? A trade-off?
You sign off on my fraudulent mortgage documents and I’ll grant you access to pervert town where you can bid for girls to fuck your ugly face. Of course Mr. Burton would do anything for Shawn, even commit fraud, because he’s been given a spot at the helm. Their secret handshakes are something I can never compete with. Nor would I know how. Because I’m not a fucking disgusting human.
I’m overwhelmed and don’t know where to start. This nightmare is of the worst kind, and I feel the need to flee, my body slipping into flight mode. Simply standing here makes me feel dirty from the inside out, and tears of anger cloud my vision. I want to hurt all those in my life who have hurt me, but I’m shaking uncontrollably and not thinking straight. I turn to leave as the second girl I saw draped off Shawn at the club is escorted onto the stage. She appears much like the first, dazed and possibly drugged, but I can do nothing to help her because I’m stopped dead in my tracks, colliding with a hard chest wearing a suit. I tilt my face to meet his.
My game is up and, in all honesty, I’ll be thrilled if he throws me out onto the street. The look in his eyes tells me he has other p
lans. A firm and merciless hand wraps around my elbow, holding me in place.
“Big. Mistake.” Joseph’s red stubble scratches my cheek while he delivers his threat.
I attempt to pull away from his hold, but his fingers dig deep until an angry groan escapes my lips. “Let me—”
Before I can finish, Joseph hauls me across the room, and when we’re behind the privacy of the curtain, he throws me against the hard and unforgiving sandstone wall, his body pressed against mine restricting any movement.
“Get off me,” I seethe. I don’t give a fuck what situation I’ve found myself in, this dickhead has no right in manhandling me in such a way.
“You’re not in the position to be telling me what to do,” he snickers in reply. “Your curiosity has landed you in some very hot water.”
I chuckle in derision. “I somehow don’t think I’m the one going to be in hot water. Not after what I’ve just seen.”
His hand snakes around my throat squeezing until I feel lightheaded. I smile despite his threat. I know he won’t hurt me beyond what he’s doing. The asshole is simply trying to frighten me.
“You didn’t see anything, and it will serve you well to remember that.” While his threat is all too real, my biggest problem is not him. It’s why the hell my sister and husband are embroiled in human trafficking, and how I plan on extracting myself from the situation before the shit really hits the fan.
“Unless this is the fucking mafia, it will serve you well to let me go and to keep your threats to yourself.”
Joseph snarls and when he feels my knee ready to take aim between his legs, he quickly intercepts, positioning himself between my thighs.
“Sweetheart,” he patronizes. “The mafia are our best clients.”
17
Joseph drags me through multiple back doors, down dark passages and finally up a narrow flight of stairs.
“Why am I here?” I ask as he throws me into a top-floor office, his body blocking the door. “You can’t hold me prisoner.”
Joseph eyes harden with indifference. “I can do whatever the fuck I want.” He pulls a Glock from behind his back and aims it my chest. I step back, my breath catching in my throat.
Perhaps I have underestimated him. I raise both hands to placate the situation.
“Get that chair and sit your ass down.” His eyes flick to the wooden suede chair positioned in front of the mahogany desk. I do as he says and wait, my eyes still trained on the gun. Two men enter the room, one carrying rope, and together they bend my arms around the backrest and tie my wrists to the wood. They pull hard, rope burn searing my skin. I wince and bite my tongue, not wanting to further annoy Joseph.
He saunters forward, gaze narrowing, as he tries to work me out. Pulling the other chair over, he sits directly in front of me. “What are you doing here, Blythe Blakely?”
Is this a trick question? Is this where I reveal my amateur sleuthing has taken me too far into the depths of hell.
“I had an invitation extended to me.”
“Wrong answer.” Joseph straightens the gun he now has resting on his knee.
“I heard about this club and wanted to check it out.”
“Wrong.”
“How is that wrong?”
“Because this isn’t a club, and no one who’s a part of the society ever talks about it to those who are not.”
“Well, I did. And as soon as I got here, I knew it wasn’t the place for me. That’s all.”
“Wrong again.”
I heave in frustration. “What do you want me to say, exactly?”
He pulls back the safety. “Why. Are. You. Fucking. Here?”
I don’t know how to reply, so I remain silent. In that time, his eyes turn from indifferent to curious. I can hear the cogs turning in his brain as he fits his own puzzle together. “You know, Blythe Blakely, I knew there was something about you when we spoke earlier.”
“Oh?” I say, purely because it feels like he has more than just a nibble on the end of his line.
“Yeah,” he says as if he’s convincing himself. “Your face is very familiar, but the color of your hair and complexion threw me briefly off the scent.”
I swallow hard knowing he’s made the connection. Joseph pulls his cell from his pocket and hits dial before holding it to his ear. He holds my gaze, a small smile playing on his thin lips.
“My office, now,” he orders, hanging up and watching for my reaction. I give him nothing, which is pointless because in a few moments he’s going to flaunt it in my face. I hear footsteps racing up the stairs, followed by a knock at the door before it opens.
“Yes?” the familiar voice calls. I look up and meet her gaze, yet Joseph’s focus remains on me. “Jesus, fuck! Blythe, what are you doing here?” Samantha’s horrified green eyes flick from Joseph to me, then to my restraints. “Joseph! Are you insane? Blythe is my sister.” She moves to untie the ropes but the firing of the Glock into the ceiling stills us both.
I feel Samantha’s trembling hand against mine. White powder filters down like snow from the roof directly above while we wait for the eerily calm Joseph to speak.
“Take two steps away from your sister,” he orders and Sam immediately complies.
“Can someone please tell me what’s going on?” she asks cautiously.
“I’m hoping you can tell me since your sister here…” he points the Glock back at me, “is excellent at playing dumb.”
“How am I supposed to know,” Sam replies defensively. “I only got here an hour ago and didn’t even know she was here.”
Joseph sighs in frustration. “Perhaps your stupidity runs in the family. So, let’s try this again… Samantha, have you been opening that sweet mouth of yours and breaking society rules?
“No, I haven’t! I swear. I haven’t mentioned it to anyone.”
“Yet, your sister sits next to you in a place she should know nothing about, and you still plead ignorance.”
“I’m not being ignorant, I’m—”
“Enough!” Joseph bellows, lunging forward and wrapping his hand around her throat the same way he did mine. She staggers back from the force until she’s bent over the large desk with Joseph on top of her. Sam attempts to fight him off but he squeezes harder until I hear her gasping for air. I lean forward so I can awkwardly stand enough to turn my chair. Panic takes hold because he’s a lot more aggressive with my sister to the point where he could kill her in the blink of an eye.
“She doesn’t know anything,” I yell. “I’ve been following her the last week because she wasn’t returning my calls. I followed her here,” I continue in desperation. I see Sam’s legs kicking—time’s running out. “It just so happens I found out what this place is called and secured an invite. I passed all the checks, all without Sam knowing. Let her go, please! You’re going to kill her.”
“And if I did, you’d be to blame,” Joseph snarls, releasing a gasping Samantha. She slips from the desk to the floor clutching her throat, red-faced and wheezing. “You see, the problem is, now you know more than your sister.”
I shake my head, not understanding. “What could I possibly know that she doesn’t? I don’t even know how she got the job here.”
I look to my sister and see a flicker of guilt. That flicker is enough to boil my blood. A flicker in the scheme of things is nothing. A mere brush-off. An insult to our relationship.
“I’ve got another,” we hear Joseph say into his cell before he pockets it. There’s a silent stand-off between the three of us, Joseph concluding he can gather more information from the tension in the room than he can by assaulting us.
The door smashes open and the same two men come in. Hauling Sam into the chair Joseph had occupied, they give her the same treatment they gave me until we’re both fully restrained. Mascara runs down my sister’s pink cheeks, and for a moment I feel sorry for her. She hadn’t expected this to happen when she was preparing for work earlier tonight. But another part of me wishes my hands were free so I c
ould reach across and slap her.
“What a collection we have here.” Joseph smiles like an asshole, passing his victory gaze between us. “I certainly did not see this coming. But I must admit…” he crosses one arm and taps his chin with a finger as if in contemplation, “this could certainly be used to our advantage. Mine, I mean. It will certainly not be an advantage to you.”
“I don’t care what you have going on here,” I plead. “Just let us go and we mind our own—”
I’m backhanded across the cheek so hard my chair balances precariously until Sam wraps her legs around mine, effectively stabilizing me.
“I’ve got clients asking for Sam down—” The familiar voice cuts short when he rounds the door, eyes widening in horror when he sees his wife sitting tied up in front of him. He notices Sam in the same position and frowns in confusion. “What the hell is going on? Blythe, what are you doing here?”
Joseph bursts out laughing in amazement, and we all look to him thoroughly enjoying himself. “Ho-ly. Shit,” he exclaims. “Just when I think it couldn’t get any better.” He lunges for me, his hand knotting my hair, a Glock pointing up under my chin. His humor has now vanished, replaced by an unrivaled rage. “Now tell me again, what the fuck you are doing here?”
“Get the fuck off her,” Shawn bellows, making moves toward Joseph.
Joseph takes a swing in defense, but Shawn expertly dodges it. They grapple, jabbing each other when possible, both fighting for control of the gun. It fires into the roof once more, and Sam and I both scream and duck, not knowing if we’ll be hit next. The men fall to the floor, Shawn on top when he delivers a punishing blow to Joseph’s jaw who sneaks one in return. The two men who’d roped us return and, in seeing the commotion, wrestle to pry apart Shawn and Joseph. It takes some effort, the Glock sliding across the floor, the mass of bodies moving unpredictably throughout the room.