Finding me too much trouble to apply makeup like they have to the other women, they brush out my hair and leave it loose down my back before attaching heavy cuffs to both my wrists and ankles then securing my arms at my sides by chains that attach to the ankle restraints. My ankles are connected too, by a short chain that makes every step a hazard.
There are more than a dozen women in here with me. I recognize a few of the younger ones from the boat. We’re all naked, my towel long gone. I’m the only one whose chains connect at the ankles, though. Theirs lock their arms to their sides but give them some mobility.
They’re heavily made up, each more beautiful than the last. Each more terrified than the last. We’re made to walk down a long, narrow corridor that’s dimly lit toward the single door at the end.
It’s loud in here. The sound of our chain gang reverberating off the walls.
An armed soldier leads the procession with several to accompany us. Although I hear some of the girls sniffling, no one cries outright, no one screams, no one tries to run.
No one but me. Not the running part, though. My goal is not escape. My goal is damage. Do as much damage as I can to the men and women who allow this. Make as much noise as I can. Do whatever I can to let these girls know someone will fight for them at least.
I doubt it’ll give them hope, though. I think that’s been beaten out of them.
But what happens after tonight?
What happens to them when I’m gone?
What happens to Mara who tried to save me? She has no idea what she’s up against. The man who took her, the men I can now hear on the other side of that door, they’re predators.
And watching their prey, terrorizing their prey, that’s half the fun.
We come to a stop once we reach the door. I can hear the same music from when we first arrived, and the waiter was returning to the kitchen to replenish his tray of drinks. It’s pretty and elegant and doesn’t belong here. Not to these men. Not to this setting. Not to us in our chains.
“Where’s Felix?” I ask the guard who still has my arm. He hasn’t let it go for what feels like hours and I’m sure it’s already black and blue.
He doesn’t answer me.
Hell, he doesn’t even look at me.
“Do you know who I am?” I ask him in Spanish, thinking maybe he doesn’t speak English.
He glances down at me, eyes cold and hard, then shifts his gaze to the door again.
“I’m Scarlett De La Cruz. Manuel De La Cruz’s daughter. I’m Cristiano Grigori’s wife. His fucking wife. And when he finds out what you’re doing to me, he’ll kill you!”
My heart twists because he won’t find out. And he won’t kill anyone.
He’s dead. Felix made sure of that when he gave him Marcus’s location. Was it an ambush? Did he have a fighting chance?
All I get for my effort is a tightening of his grip.
I wince but soon my attention is drawn to the door that opens. Soft light pours into the corridor and a severe looking woman wearing a depressing gray suit looks from her clipboard to us. All the way down the line, she glances at each of the girls, then me. She doesn’t linger on any of us though. Instead, she points to the first girl, checks something off her clipboard and gestures for the girl to be brought after her.
The girl resists but only momentarily because she isn’t given the time to fight. She’s taken through that door and it’s closed. We all stare after her, all of us quiet.
I strain to hear the sounds on the other side of that door but it’s the same. Nothing different. Soft music. Men’s quiet voices.
But after a moment, it changes.
The music is gone, a gong struck, the hum of conversation ended.
A man’s voice then announces the auction is about to begin.
I swallow hard at the thought. It’s not easier or less terrifying even knowing that it doesn’t matter what happens to me anymore. I’m still afraid. And as much as I want to focus on the other girls, there’s a part of me that’s just too scared.
The auction begins. I know from the sound of the man running it. It’s so strange, it could be an auction for a piece of art or for a container on those TV shows or for a freaking cow. Nothing differentiates it from those things. The fact that there’s a human being, a girl out there being held against her will, being sold, it doesn’t matter to these men.
I know that, though, don’t I? Haven’t I lived with monsters all my life?
We’re not human to them. And if we were, we wouldn’t hold any more value than a cow. Maybe less.
The gavel comes down, someone hoots, and there’s the sound of clapping. So civilized.
The door opens and the woman with the clipboard gestures for the soldier to hurry the next girl out. We all shuffle forward.
The girl in front of me pulls back but it doesn’t matter. These men holding us, they’re so much stronger than us and there’s too many of them.
No gong this time but I hear a joint sound of male appreciation.
One of the girls starts to cry and another joins in. The hammer comes down marking the end of the auction and again the door opens, the next girl taken out.
This time, though, the woman returns before the end of the auction followed by another woman, the same one who greeted us in the kitchen. Their drab suits match, I realize, and they both look less than pleased.
“Which one started the crying fest here?” she asks, eyes on the girls.
The guard who is responsible for the guilty one, pushes his charge forward.
The woman steps toward her, cocks her head to look at her then touches her face, wiping away a tear. “Look what you’ve done to your face. Your makeup will have to be fixed. The others too.”
The girl swallows standing suddenly, very straight. I realize why when I see how the woman with the clipboard is holding her chin, nails digging into skin.
“But there’s always one example to be made,” the woman says and gestures to the other woman to step forward. “I’m going to give you a choice. Each of you sobbing will have the same choice to make if you’re still crying like babies when I’m finished with this one.”
The one from the kitchen steps forward and raises her hand to show what she’s holding. It’s a large wooden paddle that I imagine can do real damage.
“We’ll need to make sure our customers understand there’s a reason you’re crying. Six strokes of the paddle will do it. Or.”
She gestures to the other woman again who raises the other hand. This one is gloved and holding a long, bulbous item. It takes me a minute to register.
“We can let them know we’re stretching a tighter than usual anal passage for their pleasure.”
The girl tenses her buttocks and I realize no one is making a sound now. Not a single one of them. Not even me.
“You have until I finish my sentence to choose your punishment or you’ll get both.”
“Please—”
“Both it is then.”
“Paddle!”
The woman with the clipboard smiles at her, almost kindly. I swear she’s the devil. She releases her and nods to the kitchen woman.
“Turn around and touch your toes. If you rise before you’re given permission, she’ll begin all over again.”
The way we’re all bound, I realize it still allows them access to us in any position they need us.
The girl nods, starting to cry again.
“Don’t ugly cry. That won’t sell.”
The girl turns, bends and touches her toes. I get the feeling this isn’t the first time they’ve done this but there’s still a collective gasp at the sound of the first paddle stroke. The girl, to her credit, doesn’t make a sound though. She jumps with each stroke, the soldier having to hold onto her before she falls over.
When it’s over, she is allowed to straighten, her face red as she faces us, eyes watery, knees wobbly.
“Anyone else?” the woman asks.
They all shake their heads.
> “Didn’t think so.” She turns to the soldier. “Get her cleaned up.”
He nods and the punished girl is whisked away. I don’t miss the erection in the man’s pants as he passes me.
Perv.
The gavel comes down then and everyone’s attention returns to the door. It all goes much more quickly than I expect. One after another is taken through that door. The girl who received the punishment is the last to go before me, her makeup righted but not completely. Her bottom bright red for the marks.
When it’s her turn, she disappears. I hear a howl from the men. I guess she’ll bring in more with, than without, the marks. Felix will be pleased.
The woman with the clipboard returns before the gavel comes down and looks me over. She’s unimpressed. But so am I.
“They’re just girls,” I say to her. I know it won’t make a difference.
She meets my eyes. “But you’re a woman. A woman with many enemies.” She lifts my hair off my shoulders and sets it behind my back then looks me over. “Go,” she tells the soldier holding me.
“Ma’am—”
“I said go. I’ll bring her in. There are girls in the barn.”
He licks his lips and from the look in his eyes I get the feeling he’s anxious to get to the barn.
“If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.”
A moment later he disappears. The woman and I stand alone in the corridor.
“What do you want?” I ask her, knowing how helpless I am even against this woman who stands several inches shorter than me.
She tucks her hand into her pocket and brings it out, opening it to show me a pill in the palm of her hand.
“I’m no friend of Felix Pérez,” she says.
“That doesn’t make you my friend,” I say, eyes on that pill. I know how these people use their words. Know they’re all monsters.
“No, it doesn’t,” she says distastefully. “Your fate is sealed. You won’t be walking out of here after this night. This will make it easier for you.”
The capsule in her palm looks harmless but I’m sure it’s not. “What is it?”
“Cyanide.”
I shift my gaze back to hers. “You want me to kill myself?”
“It’ll be the best death for you.”
“And you’re doing this to spare me?”
She snorts. “Of course not. There are men out there who have paid Felix well to attend this evening’s event once they learned of your presence. They’ll be displeased because, well, like I said earlier, you have enemies.”
“And you want my enemies to become Felix’s enemies.”
“Oh no, they’re already that. I just want them to act on it.”
“Why don’t you swallow that pill. I’ll take my chances with the snakes out there.”
She gives me a one-sided grin. “Last chance.”
“Alternatively, you could shove it up your ass,” I say, somehow sounding much braver than I feel.
She closes her palm just as the gong goes off. “Looks like it’s your turn.”
40
Cristiano
“Any chance we can get eyes on the estate? Gauge what we’re walking into,” I ask Charlie as we drive toward the location in Eindhoven. I watch the dark sky, the raindrops only a nuisance on the windshield now. Clouds are rolling angrily in the distance, illuminated by still-silent flashes of light.
Antonio is coordinating more manpower and Dante is sitting beside me staring out the window, hands fisted.
“We can’t get closer than the public road leading up to the house. They’ve got their own drones,” Charlie says.
“Of course, they do.”
I have him on speaker phone but I’m not sure Dante’s listening.
“From what I’ve learned about past auctions, they issue, at most, two dozen invitations. In most cases, the buyer himself doesn’t attend. They send someone in their place. None of these men want to be in the same room together if they can help it. None of them want to be seen.”
“Makes sense. How do they know what they’re bidding on?”
“A brochure would have circulated prior to the event.”
“A fucking brochure?”
“These are animals we’re dealing with, Cristiano.”
“Christ.”
“It’s a pretty sophisticated operation. These sort of auctions are extraordinary from what I’m learning. They’ll save the special girls. Your uncle kept pretty good records from what I’ve found, and I get the feeling this is scratching the surface.”
“Do you know what he did with the information?”
“Nothing yet. But you should see what he’s got. Who he’s got. It would surprise you. Although he wasn’t on the cartel’s payroll, he had plenty of ammunition to get what he wanted from a number of people in various countries at various levels of power.”
“Dirty bastard.”
“We walk in,” Dante says.
Charlie stops talking.
I turn to my brother.
He looks determined. “You and me. We walk in like we’re invited. Like we belong there. Once we have Scarlett, we’ll need a distraction so we can get out.”
I study him, head tilting as I think about this.
“They won’t be expecting someone to walk through the front door. You and me walk in, Brother. We get Scarlett. Someone pulls a fucking fire alarm. I don’t know. But we get out. We deal with the mess after. Once she’s out of harm’s way.”
“That’s risky,” Charlie says. “But Dante may be right. It may be your best bet to get on property and get to Scarlett in time. There’s a forest and a fucking stone wall once you cross the property. Getting in any other way will be difficult and we’d have to wait for soldiers to arrive on site.”
“What do you want me to do, bid on my own wife?”
“We do what we need to do to get her out,” Dante says. “Period.”
“If our men aren’t there by the time you get her, I’ll call in a disturbance. Get the local police out there. They won’t want the attention. The attendees will scatter like cockroaches,” Charlie says.
I consider this. It could work. And it may be our only option.
“She may not have much time, Cristiano,” Charlie adds as if he’s just read my mind.
The driver takes the exit off the highway and a few moments later we’re on a dark, single lane road, two cars close behind with soldiers. More coming from other directions but it’ll take time and we’re out of it.
“Pull over. We’ll switch cars. Antonio and I will go in. Dante, you ride in the next car.”
“No,” Dante says.
“What do you mean no?”
“I mean I go in with you. It’s my plan. I’m not sitting it out. And I want this.”
“You’re not trained well enough—”
“You really think I’m not trained? That for the last ten years since finding my family massacred, I haven’t been preparing for a moment like this one? Like the one we just had? What kind of fool do you think me, Brother?”
I study him, my younger brother, my, what I presumed carefree brother, living the life he should live with girls and liquor and fun. Not the half-life of a damaged boy turned damaged man.
“Pull over,” I tell the driver.
He does and we all step out. The rain’s picked up and I’m getting wet but I’m still considering my brother. He needs this. I know it.
I nod. “I’m driving,” I say. “Antonio, Charlie, I’ll give the signal. You two work out the distraction.”
41
Cristiano
Rain now drums against the roof of the car. The windshield wipers work frantically to clear the glass.
The street leading to the house is quiet. We’re late to the party.
Dante is sitting beside me loading extra rounds of ammunition into his pockets. I keep looking at him to see if I can read distress, any sign of upset after what just happened. He’s got the radio turned up to some heavy meta
l shit music and is focused on his Glock.
Narrow canals parallel the road on either side with trees lined up at the perfect distance from one another almost as if someone used a ruler when planting them.
As the road curves to the right, I see lampposts along the side of the road. In the distance, the tall gates of the estate, the gargoyles perched atop the pillars on either side lit up like two devils.
I turn to Dante who is looking ahead at the entrance, too.
“Whatever happens, none of this is your fault. You know that, don’t you?”
He turns to me. “You don’t need to baby me, Brother.”
“I’m not babying you. I know you’re not a fucking baby. But you’re still my kid brother. You’ll always be my kid brother.”
He studies me. “Nothing is going to happen,” he says, turning back to the gates as we near them, turning the volume up on the radio when we see the first armed guards come into view. I slow the car, pushing the button to roll down my window part of the way, irritated by the rain pelting my face. Dante tucks his weapon out of sight and sings along to some of the lyrics. The guard leans his head down to look inside the vehicle as he pushes his automatic rifle behind his back.
“Gentlemen,” he says. He has to scream it over the rain. Lightning electrifies the sky just beyond the hulking house.
Another man shines a flashlight inside checking out the backseat.
“This is a private residence. You’ll need to turn around.” He’s soaked, umbrella barely hanging on in the wind.
I turn the music down. “I expect Pérez to have booked a private residence considering.”
He studies me as his colleague knocks on the trunk of the car.
“Why are you so late?”
“We got lost. This place is the fucking end of the fucking world and road signs don’t exactly help when you don’t speak the language.”
“Name.”
My brother turns the music back up and leans across to look at the man. “You don’t recognize my brother? He’s fucking famous.”
The man looks from him to me. He gives up on the umbrella with the next gust of wind and tosses it aside, letting the rain cascade down his face. “Name.”
I Thee Take: To Have and To Hold Duet Book Two Page 18