The Auction Block

by Courtney Lynn Rose

  Oh fuck, I think I'm going to die.

  †††

  Jameson closes the door after helping me into the Range Rover. I sit, my hands folded in my lap, staring out the window. Blake's quiet, an introspective look on his face. Jameson glances in the rear-view mirror, catching my eye. Using his index fingers, he mimics drawing a smile on his face.

  I shake my head. I’m in no mood to smile. This is the most uncomfortable night I've had in a long time, and we aren't even at the damn event yet.

  Blake reaches forward, pressing a few buttons on a small panel. Slowly, a tinted window separating the front and back seats rises, cutting me off from Jameson. I turn my head to find him staring at me, his lips in a hard line.

  "We have an hour before we get there. I think we need to discuss a few things."

  I twist in my seat. "Like what?"

  "I'm supposed to pass you off as my date, yet I know damn near nothing about you. Regardless of my attempts over the last few weeks."

  "Make some shit up," I snap. His eyes narrow. "Look, Mr. Mason, it doesn't matter what you tell them."

  "It matters to me. Your face is about to be plastered alongside mine in every magazine and tabloid from here to New York. I'd like to know who's walking around on my arm for the night."

  "Well, that attitude won't get you anywhere. Try asking nicely, and possibly specific questions. I don't talk about myself, if you haven't noticed, so don't expect me to just open up and go all Lindsay Lohan— Oprah interview on you."

  His eyes widen, and a smile plays at his lips. "What's your full name?"

  "Lily Williams. I don't have a middle name."

  "Where in Texas are you from?"

  "Mr. Mason, is this really necessary?"

  "Stop with the Mr. Mason, shit. My name is Blake for Christ's sake, and if you don't want to come off as security, you're going to have to stop sounding like a god-damned Interpol agent for the evening."

  I sigh, loudly. "I'll try, okay?"

  He reaches over and places his hand on the back of mine, and the shakes come, uninvited. I can't hide them, and he doesn't move his hand, though it wobbles from the force of my own.

  "Lily, why do you shake when people touch you?" His voice is barely a whisper.

  "Please, take your hand off me . . . " as gently as possible through gritted teeth. Blake's touch is strange. It's warm and inviting, but doesn't fully penetrate the all-consuming fear that radiates through me.

  He moves his hand back to his leg, and stares at me, waiting. "Lily . . . please."

  "I had a fucked up childhood, okay? Leave it at that."

  "Okay. I'm not trying to upset you."

  "It's fine. Aside from that, what do you want to know?"

  "Hmm, what's your favorite color?" He smiles.

  I chuckle bitterly, shaking my head as I turn to face him. "I don't have one actually."

  "What? How do you not have a favorite color?" Shock floods his face and I can't help but grin.

  "I work for Interpol. It isn't like we get colorful outfits for assignments, Blake."

  "Oh, that sounds amazing. I've been waiting to hear it again since the night at line-dancing," he says in a husky tone, his eyes smoldering.

  "What sounds good?" I raise my eyebrows.

  "The way you say my name."

  †††

  The money flashing, pompous assholes mingling in the ballroom are nauseating. They make Blake seem like a saint. I'm scanning the room, my arm shaking in the crook of his elbow. His hand is over mine, and he glances down at me often.

  "Mr. Mason, a photo, please," says a nerdy kid wearing a Baltimore Sun badge.

  "Of course."

  I try to remove my hand from his arm, and he shifts, putting his arm around my shoulder, snuggling me closer to his side. The kid snaps several pictures, moving to his left and right, changing the angle of each shot. I try to smile and hide the seizure worthy convulsions racking through me.

  "Thank you, Mr. Mason, and Miss . . . .."

  "Williams," I say tightly.

  Blake squeezes me gently, another round of shakes rippling through my body.

  "Lily, how you holding up?" Jax's voice echoes through my ear-piece.

  I turn my head towards Blake's chest as if I'm nuzzling up to him, bringing the communicator-watch close to my mouth by running my hand up his chest. "I'm fine, Jax. This fucking blows."

  "I know. You're doing great, just keep smiling."

  Blake smiles down at me, but it doesn't reach his eyes. I answer with a smirk and he rolls his eyes, chuckling.

  "Are you up to something?"

  "Why would you think that, Mr. Mason?"

  "Don't be obtuse, Lily. I know that smile already."

  I let out a genuine laugh. His eyes widen, his smile finally reaching his eyes. He removes his arm from around me, sliding his hand into mine, our fingers lacing together.

  Just breathe, Lily, you'll be fine.

  "I'd like to introduce you to some people. Think you can manage being lady-like for an hour?" He raises an eyebrow.

  I shake my head at his audacity, a slight smile playing at my lips. "Of course, Mr. Mason."

  "Blake," he snaps, and my eyes widen.

  "Blake," I whisper.

  I feel strange saying his first name. He's a mission, one I can't let become something more, but my world goes into chaos around him. I keep losing my train of thought, and feeling almost . . . shy, in a way. It's fucking annoying to say the least.

  He leads me to a small crowd of people standing near the makeshift stage and stops in front of a beautiful, older couple, a tight smile directed at them.

  "Carmen," he says leaning down to plant a kiss on her cheek. "Dad." He shakes the man's hand.

  "Hey sweetie, isn't this a wonderful event? You must be so excited." She glances at me, her eyes widening.

  "May I introduce my date? Lily, this is my father and stepmother. Carmen and Dr. James Mason."

  James sticks his hand out, and reluctantly I shake it, willing my hand not to tremble. I repeat the same with Carmen.

  "It's a pleasure to meet you," I say in a low voice.

  "Lily, how did you and Blake meet?" Carmen tilts her head to the side.

  It's a good thing I'm quick witted and intelligent, and did my research on Blake before tonight.

  "I work at the halfway house Blake runs," I say, squeezing his hand.

  He stares at me, a shocked expression on his face. Thankfully, he recovers himself before his parents notice.

  "Oh, are you an advocate of his campaign?"

  "Yes, ma'am. Twenty-seven million slaves within the human trafficking trade is heart wrenching. Blake's effort to help them and bring the slave traders down is awe-inspiring. I couldn't imagine working for a better cause."

  "Lily's very knowledgeable when it comes to the inner workings of human trafficking. Her efforts are helping us locate more auctions than we ever might have without her," Blake says, gazing at me . . . a hint of . . . something in his eyes.

  "What area do you practice in, Dr. Mason?" I try to be polite, though I know all this information already.

  "Psychiatry. I'm a leading therapist at Sheppard Pratt."

  "What about you, Mrs. Mason?"

  She moves next to me, slipping her arm around mine. "I'm a judge at the Circuit Court in Towson."

  Blake squeezes my other hand. We move to the closest table and she lets go of me, walking to sit opposite us. I sigh in relief.

  Blake releases me, and pulls a chair out for me to sit in.

  "Are you okay?" he whispers, leaning toward me as he sits down. I nod. "If you need a breather at any point, let me know."

  "Okay. Thank you, Blake."

  He smiles, his eyes sad as he gazes at me. "You're welcome, Lily, and thank you for coming tonight. You look sensational, completely breathtaking."

  Blake Mason has got game . . . that's for damn sure. I blush, looking down at my hands.

  For the next hour, several men
come to chat with Blake, and I damn near lose my shit. Each one of them makes a point to touch me in some way when they ask him who I am. The innuendos and comments make me want to puke, and remind me why I dislike most men in general. Blake's cheeks redden and his eyes narrow at each comment as he retorts with something equally rude. The men pretend like he's given them a compliment.

  He keeps a watchful eye on me at all times, which is both endearing and annoying. I'm supposed to be watching him, not the other way around. A bell chimes throughout the room, and a hushed blanket falls over the party-goers as an older man steps onto the stage.

  Let the games begin . . .

  13

  ~Lily~

  "Hello, and Welcome to the 8th Annual House of Ruth Charity Ball," the Master of Ceremonies says in a proud, clear voice. "If everyone would please take your seats, dinner will be served momentarily."

  Blake hands me a white and blue card.

  "Blake," I whisper, leaning toward him.

  "Yes," he says, his lips next to my ear.

  "You realize I’ve no idea what half this shit is, and I don't drink . . . hardly ever."

  He leans back, staring into my eyes, an amused smile playing on his lips. "No worries, hon, just try it. The wines are good, and cost a damn fortune."

  I glance out of the corner of my eye, and his stepmother is watching us intently. Sighing, I smile at him and sit back.

  The food is amazing. I've taken three bites of dessert and can't manage anymore, though I'd like to. The servers clear the plates, and the band takes the stage. Polite applause resounds through the room.

  Shouldn't have drank the wine . . . fuck, my head is fuzzy . . . shit.

  Blake stands and holds his hand out. "Dance with me?"

  I take a deep breath trying to process his request. Slowly, I place my hand in his, trembling, and he helps me to my feet. The room blurs for a second, tilting me to the left, slightly. He puts his other hand on my waist, steadying me.

  He raises an eyebrow. "You okay?"

  "I told you . . . . alcohol and me . . . bad idea."

  At least I'm not slurring my words.

  Blake leads us onto the dance floor, where we join at least forty other couples. We move across a small space, dancing together in a unified, fluid motion. As the first song ends, he lets go of me and we both clap for the band. Taking my hand in his again, placing his other on my waist, he tilts his head, gazing into my eyes. He looks confused.

  "You dance well." He pulls my body tightly against his.

  "So do you." I smirk.

  The song is a slow, sensual number. Blake doesn't take his eyes off mine. In the back of my mind, it registers that I'm not shaking for the first time in nineteen years at a person's touch.

  Must be the alcohol . . . this is a bad idea.

  Liquid courage. I've never had courage in situations like this. When it wears off, I'll go back to being me . . . angry, scared, and untouchable.

  "Have you been talking to Caleb about me through email?"

  He chuckles low in his throat. "Yes, but I delete them just in case you get the urge to hack that to."

  "Deleting them wouldn't stop me from finding them. You ought to just say to me the shit you say to him," I say, searching his eyes with mine.

  "I didn't think you'd want me to," he whispers, his eyes on fire.

  "I have no idea what I want anymore." I stumble over my own feet.

  Blake tightens his grip, steadying me. Letting go of his hand, I slide mine up his shoulder, around his neck. He places his free hand on my waist with his other one, and presses his forehead against mine. My fingers move slowly up his neck, curling in his hair.

  Why can't I be normal sober?

  "Lily," he whispers.

  My breath catches at the huskiness in his voice. Closing my eyes, I tilt my head. His lips meet mine— soft, warm, and wanting. His arms tighten around me, and I close my fist in his hair, the band's music hardly noticeable above my heart pounding in my ears. He runs his tongue along my bottom lip, and a quiet moan escapes from my throat, everything south of my belly button clenching.

  Stop this now, before you regret it.

  I pull away from him, gently. "I'm sorry . . . I— "

  "Don't do that," he whispers sternly.

  "Do what?"

  "Apologize."

  "Blake . . . I shouldn't have . . . "

  "Stop, Lily. Just let me enjoy being with you for tonight, okay?"

  "Why are you attracted to me?" I gaze at him. Did I really just ask that?

  He chuckles. "You’re unlike any woman I've met. Your attitude is something . . . no woman has ever dared speak to me the way you do."

  "You like me because I have a smart mouth?" I raise an eyebrow.

  "Yes. And you're funny, and beautiful."

  "Because being pretty is so important."

  "You're more than that."

  "You don't know anything about me."

  "I'd like to."

  "No, you wouldn't," I whisper.

  "Don't do that. Don't go all stone-hearted on me right now. Just have fun, or try at least."

  I nod. The song fades, and Blake and I jump as someone next to us clears their throat. Straightening ourselves, we look over to find a stocky, sharp man staring at us. Blake stiffens, standing taller.

  "Mr. Khoui. I wasn't aware you'd be here this evening," he says in a guarded tone.

  "Ah, Mason, I never miss a good party. Who is this lovely morsel?"

  Morsel?

  His tone's sobering, and my scalp prickles as this man gazes down my body. Blake squeezes my hips.

  "Lily, this is Anderson Khoui, a businessman from Nevada. This is Lily, my date."

  He puts his hand out for me to take. Hesitantly, I place mine in his, the tremors starting in my shoulders. He takes my hand, and lifts it to his lips.

  "Pleasure." Reluctantly, he lets go of my fingers.

  I put my hand in Blake's, and he squeezes, trying to calm my nerves.

  "Have a good evening, Khoui."

  "Same to you, Mason," he says turning to leave.

  As he moves past us, the tattoo on his neck catches my eye— a solid black Taurus sign surrounded by blue flames.

  Oh, fuck me . . . "Blake," I say as the shakes move through me. "Get me the fuck out of here, now."

  "Where?"

  "Take me to Sammi, Com HQ." The tightening in my throat hardly lets the air pass to my lungs.

  This is impossible. This can't be happening. Blake keeps my hand firmly in his as he leads us through the ballroom toward the backdoor. Stopping in the hallway as before the doors leading outside to pull off the stupid heels I’m wearing, a million images of my youth flash through my mind— each one with that tattoo in the forefront.

  Blake throws the backdoors open. I let go of his hand and storm across the lawn, making a beeline for the boathouse at the property line. The door opens with a bang, startling them. Whipping around, I tear the ear bud out and throw it at Jax as he slams the doors closed.

  I knew they'd follow us.

  "You asshole!"

  "Lily, keep your voice down," Blake says quietly.

  "Shut the fuck up, Blake or I will punch you in the mouth," I snap, turning my narrowed eyes on him.

  "You knew all along who was after him, didn't you?" I take a step toward Jax.

  He stares at me, eyes steeled against my wrath. "Of course, I knew."

  "And you didn't think to fucking mention it?"

  "Why would I? It doesn't matter. Your job's to protect him, which you're failing at."

  My eyes widen. You’re not going to turn this on me, Jax. "Fuck you, Jax. Ten years, and I've never failed an assignment. You should've told me The Taurus was the group after him. It changes the fucking stakes and you know it.”

  "Who's the Taurus?" Dresden asks.

  "The Taurus is the biggest human trafficking ring in the world. They capture and sell 85% of all slaves in the sex trade," Jax says coolly. “Which you all w
ould know if anyone bothered to research anything, as opposed to just waiting for me to give you the information.”

  "What does that mean for us?" Vlad says, stepping from behind Dresden.

  "What that means, is we're in deep shit. The Taurus is a hundred times more deadly than anything we've gone up against in the last ten years," I say.

  My eyes dart to Blake, standing open mouthed, a shocked expression pasted on his face.

  "That just means you'll have to stop locking lips with the assignment, spend less time eye fucking each other, and do your god-damned job," Jax says condescendingly.

  I tilt my head to the side, my insides hardening. No one speaks to me like that. I take a step forward, but someone grabs my arm, jolting my body into a round of shakes. I glare down at the pink-fingernailed hand clamped around my forearm. Raising my eyes, I stare into the face of a pissed off Sammi. She slowly removes her hand, and turns her gaze on Jax.

  "You listen here, Jax Unnami," she says in a menacing tone. "That girl deserves any bit of happiness she can get, and if you speak to her like that again, or make her feel wrong for whatever feelings she has for that young man, I promise you, I’ll squeeze the life out of your career at Interpol, and then you'll really know why they call me Boa."

  My mouth drops open. Sammi's never been cross with anyone, let alone Jax.

  "And furthermore, she's too young to stay hidden from the world anymore; no matter how much you want to keep her on a leash. Your misplaced concern for her well-being has done nothing but ruin her chances at a normal life. At twenty-seven, she should be out living life and having fun, not hunting sadists and murders through the rings."

  "Twenty-what?" Dresden says in shock.

  "Oh, Sammi," I moan. "How do you know that?"

  "What the fuck do you mean twenty-seven?" Dresden says in a growl.

  "Did you think you could hide things from me, Lily? You've no idea the things I can find with a computer."

  "How much do you know?" I close my eyes, waiting.

  "Almost everything," she says in a low, sad tone.

  Fuck me.

  "Have you told anyone?" I grit my teeth.