Broken Princess: Ruthless Rulers Book 3

by Hart, Stella

  The logical side of my mind knew that wasn’t true. The malicious men (and women, possibly) attending the auction wanted me because of who I was, not what I looked like. I could probably go up on that stage covered in mud and they’d still bid obscenely-high amounts for the pleasure of taking me home for torture and humiliation.

  Eva carefully dotted silky-smooth makeup on my cheek with a determined look flashing in her eyes. Then she frowned as her soft little fingers trailed down to my neck. “Oh, no. There’s another one here,” she said before letting out a sigh.

  I swallowed thickly as I realized what she was talking about. When Jamie first kidnapped me, he injected me with several rounds of sedatives. I hadn’t even realized the needles left a nasty little bruise until Eva pointed it out. Now it seemed glaringly obvious, and the ugly red and purple blotch was all I could see in the mirror.

  I looked away, throat closing.

  I wished with all my heart that Jamie had stuck me with something else that night. Put me out of my misery and killed me. That would’ve never happened, though. I was worth far more alive than dead.

  The price I fetched at auction tonight would fund many more of Liz and the Order’s malevolent schemes against our fellow countrymen, and there was nothing I could do about it. I couldn’t even try to throw myself down the stairs or jump out of a fourth-floor window, because Liz had ensured someone was always with me after she announced that the event had officially been brought forward by three days. She’d even transferred me to a different bedroom with a security camera in the corner, always blinking red to show that I was constantly being monitored.

  I closed my eyes and slumped back in the black velvet chair as Eva fussed over the bruise on my neck. Icy fingers of dread clawed at my guts with every shallow, tormented breath I dragged into my lungs, and adrenaline surged through my veins, making my heart hammer like it was trying to escape my chest.

  Even though I’d given up on the dream of going home again, the most primal part of my brain was still searching for any sign of escape, or any sign that Logan might’ve come to rescue me after all.

  Nothing ever came of it, and deep down, I knew nothing ever would.

  The clock on the wall was like the timer on a bomb, each tick dragging me forward, helpless and pathetic. There was no avoiding my fate; no amount of wishful thinking that would turn back time or stop this from happening. I was like an animal sitting in a truck headed for a slaughterhouse.

  “Done,” Eva declared a while later, stepping back with a satisfied smile.

  I lifted my gaze to the mirror again, and my stomach lurched. Even though my skin looked perfect now, and my eyes and lips had been enhanced with dark shadow and red gloss, I didn’t look beautiful. I looked haunted.

  “Try to smile,” Eva said, resting one hand on my shoulder. “Otherwise you’ll look sad, and no one wants to buy a sad girl.”

  “If only that were true,” I mumbled.

  There was a knock at the door. “Time to go,” a man in a black mask told us when it opened.

  Eva clapped her hands together and let out a little squeal. “I’m so excited,” she said breathlessly. “I’ll miss you, but I’m so glad you’re going to a happy new home.”

  She looked so earnest that all I could do was offer her a weak smile and a hug. Then I left the room and followed the masked man.

  He led me downstairs and through the hall toward the auditorium. Then he directed me around to a side door before pushing me through. His hand stayed on my back as he ushered me toward the backstage area.

  The velvet curtains were shut right now, but I could hear faint sounds of laughter and conversation drifting through from the other side as the auditorium filled up. Bile rose in my throat at the thought of all the people joking and chattering away while I waited to be sold.

  How could they do this? How could they act like it was normal and acceptable to buy another person? Who the hell did they think they were to try and decide my worth, or anyone else’s? No price-tag should ever be put on a human life.

  The man finally took his hand off my back as Liz sashayed over to me with an appraising look in her eyes. “Perfect,” she said. “I’m so glad we went with this dress in the end. Aren’t you?”

  I looked down at the white satin bodice of my gown as my hands reflexively moved to smooth the flowing skirt. “It looks like a wedding dress,” I muttered.

  She snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. The white is to make you look more innocent and virginal,” she said. “We’ve found that while the buyers expect the girls and boys here to be trained, they still want them to have the appearance of purity. Girls in white command far higher prices than those in red or black. I figured that out myself after watching just four of these auctions when I was training to take over from my uncle.”

  “Good for you.”

  Liz’s eyes narrowed. “If you weren’t about to go out on stage, I’d slap that sullen attitude right out of you,” she said. “You should feel grateful for tonight’s event. The money we get for you will go toward the betterment of our country.”

  “That’s a nice way to phrase your plans for a coup.”

  She tut-tutted. “Oh, Willow… did Jamie teach you nothing?” she asked, tilting her head to one side. “You won’t last very long if you talk to your new owner like that.”

  I lifted my gaze to hers in a defiant glare. “Good.”

  I wasn’t sure where this sudden fit of rebellion and bravery was coming from. After Jamie took me to that torture chamber on my first day here at the mansion, I thought I was broken, and I switched off my old stubborn attitude. Went blank.

  Now it was back. I was back. The same girl who refused to break for Logan was standing in my shoes, refusing to break yet again. I honestly preferred the thought of death over complete subservience to a slave-master, and that wouldn’t change, no matter what was thrown at me or done to me.

  Even though Logan had been the first person to try to break me, I had a feeling he’d be proud to see me now, standing here with my head held high despite the fact that I was about to walk into a lion’s den.

  It was because of him that I learned to be so resilient. It was in all of his attempts to destroy me that I found my secret strength and ridded myself of my old anxieties. Dark and twisted as it was, I would always be grateful to him for that.

  I was also grateful for the fact that I was able to experience love and desire for the first and only time with him. We didn’t have long together, but we burned bright and hot anyway, and that light and warmth wouldn’t dissipate just because we were apart.

  Now I knew exactly where my bravery was coming from. Him.

  “Time to go,” Liz said, turning to a nearby table. She picked up a black and red mask with tall, curved horns and put it on before motioning toward the steps leading up to the main stage. “This way, darling.”

  I marched up the steps behind her and went to my spot on the stage, marked out by a red X on the dark hardwood. The curtains swung open, and a bright spotlight switched on above my head.

  A thousand pairs of eyes locked onto me. Hungry, lecherous, delirious eyes.

  Liz dipped her head in a deep nod aimed at another masked man on the edge of the stage. He stepped up to the central podium with a microphone and held his arms out wide. “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to this very special auction. We’ve had quite the turnout tonight. Every seat has been filled.”

  The audience clapped and cheered enthusiastically, as if this were the introduction to a comedy show. I gritted my teeth and schooled my face into a blank, unfeeling mask, refusing to let any of the soulless assholes see a single flicker of emotion. Fuck them. They didn’t deserve anything from me.

  “You all know how this works,” the man with the mic went on as the applause died down. “So without any further ado, let us begin. We’ll start the bidding at ten million dollars.”

  Black and white paddles lifted and dropped along with the auctioneer’s gavel as the audience made
their sick offers. Fifteen million. Eighteen. Twenty. Thirty. Thirty-eight. Fifty. It went on and on, the number jumping higher and higher as the rich bastards tried their best to outbid each other.

  I watched and listened with my head held high, still refusing to show any emotion. With every smack of the gavel on the podium, my mind edged a little further away from this mad, terrible place, detaching me from reality. I felt like I was floating in a ball of light above the auditorium, watching as another tall girl with auburn hair stood on the stage awaiting her fate.

  A moment later, one bellowed word dragged me back down to the pitch-dark depths of my reality.

  “Sold!”

  9

  Logan

  Leaning against the window frame, arms crossed over my chest, I watched and waited. Night had fallen fast upon the estate. No more than two hours ago, the sky was painted with streaks of pink, gold and blood-orange, but now those bright hues had faded into an endless black canvas.

  The darkness out here was strange and foreboding; a blackness that seemed absolute. When I focused intently on one spot, I could see a sliver of a crescent moon and a smattering of stars scattered across the heavens, but hardly any of that light seemed to filter down far enough to make a difference.

  After glancing at my watch for the hundredth time, I turned away from the window and headed across the room to get a glass of water, making every possible effort to mask the sound of my footfall.

  As Gemma told me earlier in the tasting room, Lilith Hall Resort only had one suite left for tonight, so I’d been forced to share with my father. It was a double room with a white barn-style divider door between the two sections, so we couldn’t see each other, but he was still close enough that he might hear me walking around or trying to leave.

  I couldn’t have him questioning me about where I was going, so I’d spent the earlier parts of the evening plying him with glass after glass of wine under the guise of taste-testing for my future wedding reception.

  Around seven, he finally stumbled up to our room and passed out. Unfortunately for me, he was a light sleeper, even when he was drunk, so I had to wait until he was thoroughly unconscious before I attempted to go anywhere.

  On top of that, the estate downstairs was still buzzing, with resort guests enjoying the nightly entertainment, food, and drinks the place had to offer. There was no chance of creeping out past security and into the wine tunnels until everything had died down.

  And so I waited.

  By ten o’clock, the lively sounds from downstairs had faded, and I could hear my father snoring loudly in his section of the suite. I opened the barn doors to my right, just a crack, and peeked through at him to confirm he was officially down for the count. Then I grabbed a thick jacket and headed out.

  There were a few security guards dotted around the place, but they didn’t question me too deeply when they spotted me heading outside. All I had to say was that I wanted to take a nighttime stroll around the gardens and they shrugged and left me alone. Easier than I thought.

  It was freezing outside, the type of winter chill that reached right into my bones. As I headed to the back of the winery, I could feel every hair on my body rise with the bite of the cold through my clothes. The crescent moon was behind a cloud now, and it was so dark I could barely see my hands in front of me.

  A bitter breeze blew up as I walked, tossing dried leaves against my legs, and the moon slipped out from its cloud, casting an eerie glow over the nearby shrubs as they bent in the wind. Ahead of me, half-hidden in the gloom, was the wine tunnels. They’d been cut into a hillside covered with a thick blanket of foliage.

  A large oak door guarded the entrance. I expected to find it bolted shut, but it creaked open as soon as I pressed one hand against it.

  “Weird,” I muttered as I stepped inside.

  The tunnel was hemmed in by perfectly-arched stone walls. Wooden chandeliers carved to look like deer antlers hung from the high ceiling, bathing the space in soft golden light, and smooth oak racks with bottles hung on one side. On the other, there was a polished marble tasting table littered with sparkling decanters and glasses. Further down, stacks of barrels lined the walls.

  I headed down the tunnel as quickly as I could. It was impossible to shove aside the worries corrupting my mind as I ventured deeper and deeper, but I gritted my teeth and tried my best to block it all out for the time being. Dread and paranoia wouldn’t help Willow. I had to stay strong for her, had to keep believing she was still alive and well in that mysterious old manor on the other side of the tunnel.

  About a mile in, the light went away. I used my phone to guide the way, and ten minutes later I found the old side tunnels. From what Gemma had told me earlier, I needed to take the right-hand one with the hardwood door.

  I pushed on the door and found it unlocked, just like the main tunnel entrance. With a clenched jaw, I went into the shadows and down the narrow path enclosed by dark weaves of wood and moss-covered stone, past barrels wrapped with years of dust and spiderwebs, through smells of cold, dank earth and layers of dead leaves. The deeper I went, the darker it got, until the light from my phone barely even penetrated the pitch surroundings.

  About five minutes into the older tunnel, I started to hear odd noises from up ahead. Then an orange glow pierced the blackness, hovering around seven feet in the air. A flaming torch.

  Shit.

  I switched my phone light off and blindly felt my way around the darkness until I found an alcove behind a series of old barrels. I crouched there in the dirt, just like that unlucky girl I heard about earlier, and I waited with bated breath, heart threatening to pound right out of my chest.

  I heard footsteps now. The light drew closer and closer, and soon three figures came into view. They were dressed in familiar black cloaks, and their faces were hidden under matching black masks. One of them was holding the flickering torch high in the air, guiding the group through the darkness.

  I pulled my jacket hood all the way over my head and sank back as far as I could, keeping my face down as the people drew closer. When they passed, I caught a few fragments of their conversation. Something about a girl and an auction being brought forward due to massive interest. Then something about millions of dollars, followed by a name.

  Rhoades.

  Panic spread through me like a blast of icy-cold air as I finally put two and two together. Earlier, Gemma mentioned hearing about an auction somewhere in the area. Now I had a good idea of what that auction was. My mother and her cronies were selling Willow to the highest bidder.

  Tonight.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I muttered through clenched teeth, breath turning ragged as I pictured Willow standing on an auction block, face pale and tearstained, body bruised and bloodied.

  The shadow council members vanished into the other side of the tunnel, unaware of my presence. I waited until the echoes of their footsteps had died down, and then I slipped out from the alcove and ran like mad.

  Five minutes later, I reached the end of the tunnel. It was closed off with an oak door, unlocked like all the others, and on the other side lay a snow-dusted path. A tall wrought iron gate lay at the end of the path, guarded by two men in white outfits, each holding semi-automatic weapons. A hulking manor loomed about a quarter-mile beyond the gate.

  It was the same Lilith Hall I saw in the old photo earlier.

  I was right to believe that it hadn’t really burned down. Every light in the palatial place was on, and I could see people wandering the halls and grounds. Way off in the distance, a helicopter was landing in a field, and another was taking off at the same time. I could see several planes as well, with airstairs jutting out the sides. I couldn’t tell whether the people on the stairs were getting on or off the planes, because they were too far away, but either way, it seemed obvious that the place was a hive of activity.

  I looked to the left and then the right with furrowed brows, searching for a way up to the mansion that would allow me to skip the guar
ded gate. It wasn’t possible. Both sides of the tunnel exit were fenced off, so the only way to go was forward.

  I took a deep breath, lowered my hood, and smoothed down my jacket and pants. There was only one way to play this, and that was to march right up there like I owned the place.

  With a neutral expression plastered on my face, I trudged up to the gate and nodded briefly at the guards. “Evening.”

  “Good evening, sir,” one of them replied, eyeing me warily. “Please state your business.”

  I raised a brow. “You know why I’m here. The auction.”

  “Do you have the papers to prove it?” the other said, shifting his weight.

  I scoffed and narrowed my eyes, giving him the most withering look I could muster up. “Are you kidding? Do you have any idea who I am?”

  “Sorry, sir. We can’t let you pass without proper documentation, no matter who you are.”

  I sneered and took a step back. “You know Liz Thorne, right? Tall, blonde. Used to be Liz Hale. She owns this place. Runs it, too.”

  “Uhh… yes, sir,” the first guard replied.

  “Well, she’s my mother,” I said, whipping my wallet out. I grabbed my driver’s license and held it right up to his face. “Is that good enough for you?”

  He took the ID card and eyed it with a frown. “Hm. You really are Logan Thorne.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I’m very sorry, Mr. Thorne,” he began in a reluctant tone. “But we can’t let anyone in without express permission, even Mrs. Thorne’s relatives, and I don’t recall anyone informing us of your visit tonight.”

  I shrugged. “Fine. I get it. I’ll call Mom and ask her to come down here to let me in. She probably won’t be happy, but like you said… I can’t come in without permission, right?”