by Taylor Lee
Frowning, Nicki shrugged off her half-naked state, assuming that the rest of her outfit was in another room. At that point, one of the women approached and opened a small silver case containing what appeared to be jeweled barrettes connected by a gold chain. Looking closer, Nicki shivered. While she’d heard about nipple clamps, she’d never seen them—and she sure as hell had never worn them. The largest of the women called out in Russian to one of the guards at the door. The guard strode toward her, a lewd grin on his broad pockmarked face. Before Nicki could react, he had her in a headlock, the back of his hand pressed against her wind pipe. He held her wrists firmly behind her with his other hand. In broken English, he hissed in her ear.
“Be still or I will strangle you.”
While Nicki was sure he was bluffing, she didn’t want to test him. She was already dizzy from the drugs, and now from lack of air. The Russian woman roughly grabbed one of Nicki’s breasts and yanked on the nipple. When Nicki cried out, the woman smirked and roughly rubbed the tender tip between her fingers and thumb bringing it to a hard peak. Before she could protest, the woman snapped on the nipple clamp, tightening it mercilessly. Nicki shrieked as much from shock as from pain. Except that it did hurt! In minutes both nipples were clamped with the jeweled clasps, the gold chain hanging between her full breasts.
Following the women down the hallway, she entered a large room off what looked like an auditorium. Horrified, she saw fifteen to twenty young girls huddled against the far wall. They were dressed in the same harem pants as hers, and all sported jeweled nipple clamps with a connecting gold chain. They wore as much makeup as she did, and all looked older than they likely were—until you looked into their terrified eyes. After waiting until the servant women left, Nicki moved toward the group and motioned them to come to her. At first the girls resisted, too frightened to move. Nicki took a deep breath, and prayed with all her heart that what she was about to tell them was the truth.
“Please, come, sit down. Come close. I don’t want anyone else to hear me. Listen to me. I am like a policeman. I am here to help you. Do you hear me? My team, strong men, are coming to save us. Do you understand? You have to hold on, not give in. We all do. Do you hear? Right now we have to do what the bad people say we do, but you need to watch me and do whatever I tell you. Do you understand?”
Some of the girls burst into tears. Nicki shushed them then quickly touched up their makeup, wiping away the streaked mascara—knowing that the servant women would be beaten if the girls looked like they had been crying. In low tones, Nicki encouraged them to be strong, told them she was certain that help would come. She believed in her soul that Rafe would save them. Rafe and the rest of the men would never leave her or the girls behind; they would never let these hideous men succeed. And neither would she. If it was the last thing she did, she would kill the man who raped and murdered her mother.
Chapter 38
The doors to the private elevator slid closed. Conscious of the cameras and certain microphones, the eight men inside were silent. Words weren’t necessary. Like a pack of cunning lions on the prowl, their communication was virtually telepathic. Rafe forced himself to take deep breaths, to contain his anger, focus it solely on the task ahead. Counting the floors, he reminded himself that each level they passed brought him that much closer to Nicki. Closer to the men who had captured her and beat her—closer to the men who would not live to see the next light of day. When the light for the penthouse flashed, a surge of unspoken energy rippled through the men in the burnished copper and teak cab. The doors opened directly into the foyer of the penthouse apartment. The blueprints they’d studied indicated that the extraordinary complex high above the New York skyline housed no fewer that thirteen rooms, not counting the six bathrooms and two full kitchens. Grayson and Caleb stepped out, followed by Cam and Danny. Rafe and Abdullah, resplendent in floor-length thobes and bishts came next. Sergio and Jeff brought up the rear. The six men in western dress formed a tight phalanx around Rafe and Abdullah.
The six ISA men didn’t attempt to hide the bulges under their jackets, signaling shoulder and ankle holsters containing a variety of weapons. The burly welcoming committee with similar bulges under their coats stood to one side. In negotiating his and Rafe’s invitation, Abdullah made the honored sheik’s attendance contingent on his bodyguards accompanying him into the penthouse. He explained that the “Saudi prince” rarely attended such events—and never without his personal guards. The host’s resistance weakened when Abdullah paid the required $1 million dollar entrance fee, half of which was non-refundable even if no purchases were made… and then sweetened the deal with an additional $4 million dollars. Abdullah had intimated that the sheik had a penchant for young, fair-skinned American girls of excellent pedigree, and would likely be purchasing a number of the auction stock, if they pleased him. A letter from a well-known Genevan financial institution confirmed the sheik’s credit worthiness and immediate access to cash. Rafe shook his head when Abdullah told him the host agreed to allow Rafe to enter with a heavily armed guard. He huffed in disdain. As always, money was power, and the greedier the adversary the more vulnerable they were.
A booming voice broke the tense silence as a portly dark-haired man rounded the corner. His thick accent confirmed his Russian heritage before he introduced himself as Boris Lubvik. His swarthy skin had a sickly grey undertone and was marred with red veined splotches. The slight sheen of sweat on his upper lip and sour odor emanating from his expensive suit were sure signs that their host relied heavily on the preferred libation of his country. His smile and unctuous welcome contrasted with his sharp beady eyes. They darted from one man to the next, then landed on the two Arab men in the center of the group. Rafe raised an eyebrow and turned away when the Russian man extended his hand. Abdullah shook his head and flicked his fingertips, a dismissive gesture indicating that the Prince did not shake hands.
The Russian’s face flushed a beefy red. Trying to recover from his obvious faux pas, he greeted them in a clumsy accent-laden version of Arabic.
“Ahlan wa sahlan.”
Abdullah responded, “Ahlan bik.”
Rafe replied with the more formal, “Masa an nu.”
With a slight frown, Rafe refused one of the guard’s offer to take his bisht, as did Abdullah. The ornate cloaks hanging loosely over their thobes did more than merely speak to their wealth: they hid an arsenal of weapons.
“Please gentlemen, won’t you join me? My other guests have arrived and are in the viewing room.”
Nodding to Grayson and the others, Boris continued in an oily voice, “Gregori will show you to the library where I hope you will partake of the refreshments we have provided.”
Grayson didn’t hide his contempt.
“That won’t be necessary.” Nodding to include Caleb, Cam and Danny, he continued, “We will accompany His Excellency to the viewing room.”
Grayson indicated that Jeff and Sergio were to stay in the foyer. At the agreed-upon signal, their job was to take down the burly sentinels and allow access to the SWAT team that waited in the staircases and landing below.
The Russian guards came to attention at Gray’s impertinent order, but Boris waved them off. Rafe could only guess at the anger that now seethed below Boris’s patently false pleasantries. Rafe thought with a sneer, the smell of filthy lucre brought even righteous men to heel… and turned scoundrels of Boris’s ilk into obsequious curs. Rafe forced himself to walk quietly behind the odious man. The mental image of Nicki’s unconscious, injured, exposed body, combined with the Russian’s exhilarated threat to rape her, tore at Rafe’s restraint. The thought of wrapping his hands around the Russian’s pudgy throat and squeezing the life out of him contented him for the moment. Both Grayson and Caleb moved closer—a solid show of enraged camaraderie. Rafe knew their anger was as intense as his; the most challenging task was for everyone to control their mutual rage, until they could implement their carefully conceived plan.
Abdullah and R
afe walked beside the Russian, the others following closely behind. Boris initiated a patter of small talk, pointing out various paintings lining the stunning hallways, noting casually their price on the commercial art market. With a simper, he indicated that if any pleased “his excellency” he’d be willing to consider a sale at a discounted price. Assuming that the art work was fake—and stolen, at that—Rage struggled to hide his scorn. Reminding himself that Nicki’s life and the life of God knows how many other girls depended on them, he refused to allow himself to react to the loathsome man.
When Boris stepped aside to usher them into the “viewing room” Rafe exchanged a quick glance with Gray and Caleb. From their reconnaissance, Rafe knew that the likely auction site was the large room surrounded on three sides by walls of windows, providing a panoramic view of the city below. To his surprise the dimly lit room had been transformed into an auditorium setting, with risers holding luxurious leather chairs. A small table covered with bottles of ostentatiously expensive liquors sat next to each chair. A cadre of large muscular men, their weapons in plain sight, stood discreetly along two walls. Their demeanor and facial features reflected the Russian army that spawned them. Seated in the luxurious chairs were approximately twenty men, their features obscured by the muted lighting. All of them were focused on the stage at the front of the room.
Rafe and Abdullah followed Boris down the aisle, to the two empty chairs on the front riser. Bottles of alcohol were noticeably absent on the tables next to their chairs. Apparently someone in Boris’s entourage understood that serving alcohol to Saudi sheiks was a grievous insult. Gray and Caleb positioned themselves at the end of the front row, next to the Russian hit men. Cam and Danny moved discreetly to the other side. Settling into the chair next to Abdullah, Rafe allowed himself to look at the stage.
Backlights illuminated the long platform. A raised dais occupied center stage. Behind the dais was a row of women. In the dim lighting they looked similar in size and shape. They each wore harem pants, and were naked from the waist up—except for the bejeweled nipple clamps torturing their tender flesh. Rafe’s gut clenched. The stage shimmered in the red haze of fury that flashed in front of him. Abdullah clutched his arm, restraining him. Rafe gasped for air as his eyes sought Nicki out. Even in the low lights, Rafe zeroed in on her. No one could mistake her slender yet curvaceous body, or haughty carriage. Even in this hideous setting, she held her head high; Rafe was certain that was defiance glittering in her eyes. Rafe wanted to connect to her, but knew the women were likely blinded by the lights, and moreover that she wouldn’t recognize him in his disguise.
The classical music echoing softly through the quiet room came to a halt. A tall blond man bounded across the stage and leapt up on the dais. Like a ringmaster hosting some grotesque circus, he strutted back and forth, microphone in hand. A brilliant spotlight threw his features into high relief, as he bowed slightly to the audience.
“Good evening gentlemen. It is my pleasure to welcome you. My name is Aiden Forrester. I describe myself as a purveyor of fine goods, be they luxury automobiles, fine wines, or—young women. All items certain to appeal to discerning gentlemen like yourselves. We will move immediately to the business at hand. We have for your buying pleasure a collection of young women guaranteed to meet, and even exceed, your exacting specifications. As you are aware, this is an invitation-only event and we promise you the utmost discretion. The rules are simple befitting this assemblage. The opening bid for each of our lovelies is $500,000, after which increments of $100,000 are accepted. You may enter your bid on the consoles next to your chair, a more sophisticated way of bidding that preserves your privacy and does not require you shouting at the top of your lungs.”
Aiden grinned at his own joke and there were a number of chuckles from the men in the audience who no doubt did not want their fellow bidders to know who they were competing against.
“We understand the competition for many of these women will be fierce, and we therefore appeal to your sense of fair play. As in all of your purchasing decisions, whether it is a new automobile or as in this case a fresh body to satisfy your carnal needs, the highest bid wins. The final decision—should a conflict arise—is mine.”
Rafe studied the young man, impressed by his confidence. Seemingly unfazed by the wealth represented in the room or the egregious crime he was engineering, the blond man showed all the signs of a soulless sociopath. No scruples stood in his way, and his message was clear: Anyone foolish enough to challenge him would not live to tell the tale. Rafe wondered, if Yuri had not sucked him out of the banlieues, would he have become an Aiden? But then, he knew the difference. Unlike Aiden, even as a sixteen-year-old hoodlum, he had a soul and a conscience that would haunt him all of his life.
Aiden turned to the group of young women at the back of the stage, and motioned to the blonde at one end of the line. She might have been eighteen, it was hard to tell. Her eyes were glazed with fear and the residue of strong drugs. She trembled at his gaze and stepped back. In seconds he was at her side. His hand snaked out and grabbed hold of hers. The pain on her face and her fruitless attempt to free herself confirmed his vicious grip. Dragging her behind him, he lifted her onto the dais and whispered in her ear. Immediately the girl stood straighter but was unable to keep her lips from trembling. Drawing a linen handkerchief from his inside vest pocket, Aiden carefully wiped the tears off her face.
Turning to the men in the audience, Aiden’s voice was solicitous as though it pained him to see the young girl’s tears. As though it was not him and his band of criminals that had stolen her off the streets, kept her in a semi-conscious drugged state, and terrorized her with their lewd overtures.
“Please understand, gentlemen. The lovelies we are offering tonight are young and innocent of the ways of the world. They are shy and somewhat fearful… which makes them an even more delightful acquisition. You will have the opportunity to introduce them to amorous amusements they have only read about, and pleasure yourself in return.”
Jerking the young woman forward, Aiden turned her backside to the audience pointing out her round bottom, curvy hips and long legs. Like a doting dog owner at the Westminster Kennel Club, he showed off her wares, one feature after another, wrenching on her hair to better display her throat. Making a final turn, he faced her toward the audience and tugged on the chain attached to her tender nipples. Her whimper of pain was amplified by the microphone he held to her lips.
Aiden opened the bidding with an ingratiating smile, now ignoring the tears coursing down the girl’s face.
“All right gentlemen, what do I hear for the opportunity to treat this young woman to your particular brand of hospitality? I should have noted that if you require only infrequent visits with the items you purchase, my partner and I have excellent accommodations to house the young women. With reasonable notice, we will be pleased to have your property ready and prepared for your use.”
Eventually, the terrified young girl was sold to a diminutive Chinese man for $800,000. The ugly ritual continued, as one semi-naked woman after another was dragged up on the podium and displayed like livestock. Or, in a more apt analogy, the slave auctions of the past. Rafe glowered. Unfortunately, this was not an event in the past. Rather, it was a 21st century human auction held in the richest, most sophisticated city in the Western world.
Rafe entered bids for each of the three girls they’d come to find. Actually, he eschewed the bidding process and simply offered $2 million for each one. Aiden and his cohorts didn’t question the peremptory bid, simply announcing that a final bid had been registered. After a relatively short time, nineteen openly weeping girls had been bought by the wealthy unscrupulous men, and were shuttled off the stage to be prepared for the individuals who now owned them.
Rafe’s chest grew tighter and tighter, recognizing as the group of cowering girls dwindled, the likelihood that Nicki would be the final prize. And why wouldn’t she be? Even in this humiliating venue she stood proud and calm,
never taking her eyes off the audience of despicable men.
There was a noticeable shuffling of feet and even a few open gasps when Aiden walked back to haul Nicki up to the dais. Shoving his hand from her arm, she marched forward and stepped up on the dais. She raised her chin in a familiar gesture that flooded the back of Rafe’s eyelids with moisture. Aiden, flushed with anger, leapt up on the podium and grabbed hold of her arm, bending it up behind her back. With his other hand he jerked mercilessly on the chain between her breasts. Nicki did not cry out but Rafe saw the flash of pain in her eyes. His breathing slowed as his body prepared for the coming assault.
Clearly furious, Aiden’s lip curled in an ugly smile.
“As you can see, our final prize, this stunning redhead, is arrogant. I recommend that only men who are able to tame a feisty haughty bitch bid for her. Forgive my coarse language, but I do not exaggerate. This is a woman begging to be taken down and taken down hard.”
There was a murmur of interest throughout the crowd. Aiden raised his hand.
“I will accept opening bids in a moment. But first there is another prize for all of you, not just the lucky—or unlucky—man who wins this impudent woman. Her body is decorated in such a manner that every man should have the opportunity to view the erotic artistry—for a price of course. Those wishing to stay for this last sale will make a $1 million non-refundable down payment. Once we have received the down payment, we will strip this young woman for general viewing.”
Rafe immediately punched in a bid of $5 million dollars. Looking at the console on the podium, Aiden frowned.