by Bethany-Kris
“In my younger twenties. I didn’t get much out of it.”
Mika laughed. “I think you’ll have a better experience tonight.”
“I certainly hope so.”
More than Mika knew.
Mika lifted his phone and showed off a message that looked like a bunch of numbers and gibberish. “This is our invitation to the event. We show it at the door, and we’re permitted entrance. Nothing more.”
Good to know.
“So, I don’t really need you, huh?” Calisto asked. “Your driver must know where the place is.”
Mika’s head snapped up. “What did you just—”
Calisto pulled the gun from his back, the one he had taken from Poppy’s place. The weapon met Mika’s forehead with a crack as Calisto pulled the other gun he’d been hiding from the bag holding the money. He pointed the second gun at the driver.
“I don’t really need you,” Calisto repeated.
Mika’s hands twitched like he was going to reach for something.
“Drive,” Calisto barked at the driver. “Move your hands a single fucking inch from the steering wheel and I will put a bullet in the back of your head.”
“Do what he says,” Mika said quietly.
“Your desire to climb higher in your business makes you an easy target, Mika. Tell your girl Poppy that I said hi.”
Mika opened his mouth to speak. Calisto pulled the trigger. Blood sprayed the passenger window as the man’s body jerked to the side.
Calisto didn’t take his eyes off the driver.
“Nathan, is it?” Calisto asked.
“Y-yes.”
“Did someone named Emma come into the club tonight, looking for your dead boss, here?”
Nathan nodded.
Calisto kept his gun aimed at Nathan, but leaned over to grab the phone from Mika’s dead hands. He only needed the message on the phone. That’s what the fool said.
“Keep driving.”
“Okay,” Nathan mumbled.
Fucking sickening.
Calisto was pretty sure these fools had never come face to face with anyone worth being frightened over. They probably thought they were top dogs in their worlds, when in fact, they were at the very bottom of the food chain.
That was their problem.
He had a hell of a lot to lose.
“Drive faster,” Calisto ordered.
The car sped up.
Calisto walked through the dimly lit hallways of an unmarked building that, from the outside, had looked like nothing more than a warehouse. In front of him, another man walked alongside another man who had greeted him outside of the building not ten minutes earlier. Calisto simply had to flash the message from Mika’s phone in front of their faces to be allowed inside. The men had asked him a few questions, of course, and checked him over to search for any weapons. Calisto expected it and answered with a cool smile and his usual vagueness. He’d left the guns in the SUV, knowing he would probably be checked.
His voucher to the event was Mika.
But his money got him through the door.
Kostya was the man’s name. He was far more Russian than Mika had been.
Thanks to the dark-tinted windows of the SUV, no one noticed a thing when Calisto put a bullet in the back of the driver’s head. Once Nathan brought Calisto to where he needed to be, he took care of that little issue.
There was only one thing left.
Emma.
“You have accounts to use tonight, yes?” the man asked, turning to look at Calisto.
“Offshore.”
“Those work fine. Almost there.”
Calisto followed behind in silence, unsure of what he was walking into. At the end of the long hallway, a woman waited with a wicker basket in her hands. He was more shocked to see a female at an event like this than he was over the intricately designed masks in the basket.
“Please, take one,” she said.
Calisto grabbed the one that was passed back to him. It was black, would cover half of his face, leaving only his mouth and jaw exposed, and had a satiny feel.
Once the other two men had donned their masks, the woman pushed open the door behind her.
Calisto didn’t know what he expected to see. Cement floors, maybe. Dingy walls. Cages for the victims caught up in all of this. Well-dressed men with their faces covered to hide their identities as women were paraded in front of them for surveying like cattle.
The only thing Calisto had right was the well-dressed men.
The room opened up to what could only be described as professionally decorated gallery with earth-toned walls, stylish furniture, and artwork on the walls. Men and women, impeccably dressed, milled around with their faces hidden by similar masks to the one Calisto had put on his own face.
Some of the walls had been draped with red curtains, but none of them had windows to look outside. Doors opened at the other end of the very large room, and people traveled in and out without question. Servers walked between the people, refilling glasses of whatever liquor was being imbibed. Laughter flowed freely.
What in the fuck was this?
It was like a goddamn cocktail party.
Calisto swallowed back the heaviness pooling in his gut. “Shall we?”
The man who had been mostly quiet nodded at his friend. “My boss will direct you through the process, as I don’t have the cash to participate fully tonight.”
Great …
“Come,” Kostya demanded. “We will get account set up for you, comrade.”
“Then what?” Calisto asked.
“Then we look at stock behind the curtains before auction.”
Stock.
Like cattle.
Calisto felt cold all over.
He let his mask hide it.
Somehow.
Emma
Something shoved Emma from behind, nearly causing her to stumble in the heels she had been forced to put on earlier. White heels, she remembered. Just like the white-lace pantie and bra set—brand new with tags still attached—and the white chemise that a pretty, older woman had yanked over her head.
Emma had still been drowsy then. She remembered arms putting her in the back of a car, someone removing her clothes and cleaning the vomit from her hair, and then readying her like she was a little doll about to be displayed.
Her skin had been shaven. Lotion was applied. Her face was washed, her hair brushed, and her nails clipped.
The drug that Mika had given her knocked Emma out in a big way. She had barely been able to move for hours. Her words wouldn’t come out right, and her mind wouldn’t slow enough for her to think, fight back, or do much of anything.
She was useless.
“Keep your head up,” a voice said from behind Emma. “Stand still, be quiet, and everything will be just fine, pretty girl.”
Emma blinked under the weight of the white sash that covered her eyes. She recognized the voice making demands behind her as the woman who had cared for her earlier when she was brought in blindfolded and unmoving.
Once the woman had been satisfied with Emma’s appearance, she had tied a clean, white sash around her head and sat her in a chair.
How long had she waited until someone came?
Long enough.
Emma’s faculties slowly returned, along with her awareness. She had known all along that something was terribly wrong, but it was only when she could think clearly once more that she understood just how much trouble she was really in.
“You’re young, fit, and clean,” the woman said, her hand pushing against Emma’s back to move her along. “You will fetch a good buyer, and a damn good price tonight, if you just do what you’re told. Believe me when I say that you want someone from tonight to purchase you instead of being overlooked. Those who don’t make the auction are discarded. We can’t afford the trouble of keeping you, after all.”
Emma shivered.
She refused to speak.
“The lights will feel hot,” the woman s
aid. “Do not remove the blindfold or you’ll find your hands bloody and red after being beaten with a whip.”
Lights?
What?
“Ready, here we go.”
Emma felt her body be propelled forward with one hard shove. Her heels clattered on the floor—a sound that reminded her of heels clicking down on hardwood. She didn’t have a damned clue what the woman was talking about, because a cold chill raced over Emma’s skin the moment she stopped moving. Goosebumps bloomed across her arms and legs. She could feel the urge to tremble start in her shoulders.
And then she heard the click.
Beneath the thick sash covering her eyes, Emma could tell the lights had been turned on. Several lights, probably. Her body heated instantly.
The clapping and muffled murmurs followed right after.
She almost spun on her heel.
Almost.
Emma stopped herself from moving, remembering the woman’s words. She didn’t want to find out what being discarded meant. She also didn’t want to be sold off to the highest bidder in whatever this awful charade was.
Her fingers itched with the desire to rip the blindfold off. She wanted to see who was talking, who was clapping, and who was watching. Was it a few people? A lot?
Embarrassment and fear swirled in Emma’s midsection. She could feel that the chemise she wore only fell to her pubic bone. The panties that the woman had put on Emma earlier had been nothing more than frilly, flimsy fabric.
Somehow … somehow she just knew.
Her body was being appraised.
Looked at. Admired. Judged.
Priced.
She clenched her fists hard at her sides, letting the bite of her fingernails keep her from crying. The tears still welled in her eyes, but she clenched her lids shut beneath the sash and refused to let the wetness escape. She allowed one, soft and shaky breath to release from her chest.
Control, her mind chanted. Keep control.
How was she going to get out of this?
What had she done?
The panic bubbled up faster than Emma expected it to. Every muscle in her body seemed to protest at the same goddamn time, right along with her suddenly screaming nerves. She was two seconds away from a breakdown.
She couldn’t do this.
She didn’t want this.
What was this?
A voice, clearer than the murmurs, echoed from up above.
Emma froze solid.
“Number three-two-seven-four. Caucasian. Twenty years old. Clean body, clean blood.”
A sickness rolled in Emma’s stomach.
This was what she was reduced to? A number, specifications, and the best price she could fetch?
“Not pure, based on information provided,” the voice continued. “Extra examination wasn’t necessary to confirm.”
What?
How did that person know she wasn’t a virgin?
Emma quickly remembered Poppy, and how her friend had sold her out to the lowest of the low. The betrayal still stung harshly on the back of Emma’s tongue, but she ignored it for the moment. She had more important things to worry about.
Like getting away.
Somehow …
“Special circumstances for three-two-seven-four includes a demand from the seller that it be removed from the state as soon as possible,” the voice said from up above somewhere. “The file information will be shared with those who show interest in bidding on the piece, including the full details. I can assure you that the piece’s paperwork and heritage is impeccable. It is best placed in a permanent place or a collection.”
A … collection?
Oh, God.
Emma couldn’t breathe.
She thought about all the stupid shit she had done to get herself in this position, and the man she had fooled to do it.
No one would help her.
No one would save her.
Emma was grabbed by her arm and pulled backwards without a word. She heard the click again before the lights flashed off and the wave of heat was gone.
“Well done,” the older woman whispered in Emma’s ear.
Somewhere behind her, the clapping started again.
Emma blinked rapidly when the blindfold was suddenly pulled from her eyes without warning. The brightness of the space around her made it hard to focus when she had been staring into darkness for longer than she cared to think about.
A man moved in front of her quickly, and put his hands on her shoulders, pushing her down. He wore a black mask, keeping most of his face hidden.
“Hey—”
“I’m sure Dory told you to keep quiet,” the man said. “So do so and sit down.”
Emma did as she was told, not liking the way the man’s eyes flashed with the promise of violence. She had a feeling that physically fighting back against these people would do her no good. They trafficked humans, obviously. What else were they capable of?
Killing her wouldn’t make waves to them.
It would be nothing.
“Five parties have shown interest in you tonight. All are considerably wealthy, and have the means to make you disappear, Emma.”
“You know my name?”
“Of course, I do. The seller who brought you in had quite an extensive bit of information to go through about just who you are and where you came from. Unbelievable that you managed to wind up in our hands. Usually, we wouldn’t work with someone like you—as you’re too high-risk—but we didn’t have much of a choice tonight. Better this than killing you, hmm?”
Emma choked on air. “Is that what you think?”
“Somehow, my dear, you found your way here. We’re simply going to use it to our benefit.”
Emma briefly wondered how much damage she would be able to do to this man’s face with her fingernails before someone would come into the stark white room and stop her. The thought didn’t last long.
“Cross your legs, head high, and smile if it pleases you,” the man said.
“Fuck you,” Emma uttered under her breath.
He laughed in response.
“Oh, you silly girl. Some of these clients love defiance. Keep showing that off for them, they’re watching, after all.”
Emma glanced around quickly, taking in the space. For the most part, Emma was forced to keep her blindfold on at all times. This was one of the very few times where it had been taken off since she arrived.
The room was circular in nature. A single door was off to her right, while the high vaulted ceiling had specialty lighting directed down on the chair she sat in. The floor was a brushed, black marble. Shiny enough to showcase her terrified, confused reflection staring back at her. White walls with what looked like indented panels of mirrors surrounded her from every direction.
Watching her …
She stared into one of the mirrors. Wetness filled her gaze, but she blinked it away.
“Yes, exactly,” the man said, nodding at one of the mirrors. “One-sided glass. As I said, keep the defiance up. I know personally that a few of the clients interested in you love the challenge of breaking a new slave’s will. Believe it or not, but that actually makes the bids fly.”
There it was.
The first time the word had been said.
Slave.
Emma was frozen to the chair as more lights turned on. With a single pat on her head, the man made a beeline for the only door that would lead out of the room. Not a second later, the voice from earlier was back, echoing up above.
“Cost per bid is five thousand. Bidding starts at one hundred thousand. Increments of ten thousand per bid. Transactions are instant. Begin.”
Immediately, red lights flashed above the mirrors. One after another … after another.
Emma tried to keep up; she tried to count them. There were too many. She found herself clenching her fists tight again, just to keep calm, and biting the inside of her cheek to stay quiet.
Fuck these people.
Fuck their money.
She still wouldn’t cry.
“Stand.”
It was the only thing Emma heard before the sound of a door opening somewhere behind her echoed in the darkness. She had been blindfolded when the red lights stopped blinking, directed out of the circular room, and put in another where she was made to sit again and wait.
At some point, Emma had gone numb.
Maybe it was when the man speaking into the speaker had announced the bids had crossed the million-dollar threshold. Maybe it was when he said it crossed the two million mark.
Emma didn’t know.
But she couldn’t feel the tips of her fingers, anymore. Her mouth was flooded with the metallic taste of blood, as she couldn’t stop biting her cheeks and tongue long enough for the bleeding to quit. Her fingernails had cut into her palms.
She still couldn’t feel a thing.
She still couldn’t breathe.
Emma’s eyes stung from holding back tears and her throat was raw from keeping the panic at bay. Someone had purchased her like a piece of meat at the market less than thirty minutes before. She was someone’s something, now.
Well done, the old woman had said afterward.
Like she should be proud.
Like it was good.
Who were these people?
Uncertain of her fate, Emma stood like she had been told. Being blindfolded left her shaky and unsure of her position in the room as squeaks and soft murmurs echoed around her. She couldn’t discern enough about the voices, but something was familiar.
Cologne.
Woodsy, deep, and warm.
A man.
Emma knew that smell. She was sure she did.
“Tradition for the new clients,” a man said, the one from earlier who had taunted her about the bidding war. “Other bidders almost enjoy seeing a taste of what they lost out on. She didn’t quite break the record, but she came pretty damn close at the two-point-two mark. Another two hundred, and she would have.
“Congratulations. Remember the remarks in her information, she needs to be out of the state by morning.”
Emma shuddered, and finally, her body began to feel again. Pain constricted her chest, squeezing tight and making her ache. Her palms stung and her eyes watered. Nausea caused her to sway on the spot. A hand grazing her shoulder with the softest touch grounded her to the floor instantly.