Selling Scarlett

by Ella James

  When he says her name, I remember it. She was the escort who went missing a little while before Sarabelle. I raise my eyebrows and paste on a surprised, slightly impressed look. “You took Ginnifer Lucky, too?”

  Lockwood nods, standing up a little taller. “She fetched a good price. But you…well, they're paying better these days. All that drug money.” He grins, revealing stained teeth.

  I try my best to keep my disgust off my face. I want to sound curious, keep him talking but not make him mad. “You're the one behind Missy King, too, aren't you?”

  At the mention of her name, his eyes dance. “Missy? Yeah, I sold her. She's still in country, actually. Somewhere,” he says, grinning. “She was a good fuck, that little Missy. Spirited. Gave the governor trouble, that's what happened to that little lady. Bet she's keeping some Mexican drug lord real happy.”

  That thought makes my stomach church. “What's the point of selling Cross and I? People will notice we’re gone. If you need the money that badly, I recently came into some—”

  He interrupts me with a coarse laugh. “I was disappointed to see the deal was already done.” I really might be sick this time. I clench my legs together and ignore the humiliation I feel. So far, the shirt's still covering my goods, but if I move, it won't be. This is a man who raped Sarabelle. “You would have fetched a much higher price yesterday.”

  “I have money!” I say desperately.

  He snickers. “We're moving you two downstream because you're all up in our business. And I do mean business. Tail like yours goes for high dollar.” He grins, like he's proud of himself, and I squeeze my legs a even closer together.

  Lockwood is definitely leering at me. He walks a little closer to my bed, so when Priscilla strolls through the door, I actually feel almost glad.

  “How's our prince and princess?” she asks.

  Lockwood's dark eyes rove over her body, clad in a skin-tight black dress, before he glances back at me. “This one's a Curious Cassie.”

  I scowl at Priscilla. “I can't believe you help him sell women into sex slavery.”

  She laughs. “You over-estimate my moral code, darlin'. Besides, sex with strangers isn't as bad as you think.”

  “It is when you’re forced to do it!”

  She gives me a patronizing grin. “I guess you’ll find out.”

  “I just don't understand,” I say evenly. “What’s in this for you?”

  “You should know I’m not in it for the money,” she chides. “In fact, I’m usually not involved in Michael's extracurriculars at all. But this situation needed some tidying up.”

  “I used to work for that kid’s dad,” Lockwood says, pointing at Cross. “Missy was his mistress before she started wanting too much. I had worked for him in security, and then I moved to Vegas to work in the porn biz. Priscilla wanted the governor and after a night of drinkin' she and I got the idea. It was really more my idea,” he says with a little nod. “The governor asked me to take care of it, and, like that—” he snaps “—a new enterprise was born.”

  “I never liked her anyway,” Priscilla says. She rolls her eyes, like Missy was such a twat, and I realize she’s psycho. They both are.

  “But you dated!” I exclaim to Lockwood.

  “More like fucked.” He shrugs. “It made it even easier to get her across the border. She never knew what was coming.”

  “And after that, Governor Carlson got to be with me,” Priscilla says.

  “He didn't stay with you,” I point out.

  “Yes he did.” She grins. “He just got better at sneaking around.”

  I don’t know what to do with this information. I glance at Cross, glad he’s still asleep, and then a horrible thought occurs to me. “His father doesn’t know about this, does he?”

  Priscilla shakes her head. “Definitely not, but if he did, I’m not sure he’d try to stop me. I’ve got enough dirt on him to fill the Grand Canyon.”

  I need time to process all of this, but time I do not have.

  “Why is Hunter involved?”

  She shrugs. “He was in the wrong place at the wrong time, really.” She knocks Lockwood with her hip, and I want to vomit. “Besides, it's Michael's fault, not mine. I have restraint. He doesn't. When he heard what I did to your cocky little poker player, he made a rash decision, and then I had to cover for him. If he gets charged with something, it could lead back to Carlson.”

  As Priscilla explains things to me, Lockwood pulls her dress aside and kisses her breasts. “Oh, hell yeah.”

  He starts to hump her, and she steps back, leaving him panting like a horny dog. “Do you know what time it is?” she asks him.

  “We've still got an hour,” he says.

  “Until what?” I nearly shriek.

  Priscilla smiles. “Don't you like surprises?”

  Lockwood laces his fingers through hers, and together they leave the room. Cross is still asleep. My mind is racing. I can't believe what Cross's father did. I can’t believe Priscilla is such a monster. I can’t believe we’re trapped here. Everything about this situation is horrible.

  Hunter. Where are you?

  I try to wake up Cross. I call his name, I try to talk to him, I even since Katy Perry songs. He hates Katy Perry. I'm thrilled when, after only a few minutes, he rolls onto his back, giving me a full view of his unbound hands. Why didn't they tie him? His eyes flutter at the ceiling, and he grimaces like he's in pain.

  “Cross?”

  He moans, then rolls back on his stomach. Crap!

  I hear Priscilla's voice outside and she comes back in, holding a bottle opener. She opens a cooler on the other side of Cross's bed and pulls out a bottle of beer.

  “What did you give him?” I ask as she opens it.

  She shrugs. “A tranquilizer. Not everyone has a good reaction to it.”

  “What do you mean, not everyone has a good reaction?!” I've managed to sit halfway up now. I jerk against the binds around my wrists. I want to slap her.

  With another shrug and not a glance my way, Priscilla saunters out of the room. “Cross,” I call.

  He moans. “Cross, wake up! Please!”

  But he doesn't move or say another word. Why did I take him with me to Hunter's house? He said he wanted to see the outside world, and I didn't think it would take longer than an hour. I try not to feel too guilty, though. That was my first chance to have sex. So what if I took it? It's not my fault a crazy guy kidnapped us.

  I push my breath out. Suck in another one.

  It's okay. At least I won’t die a virgin.

  I laugh out loud. Only for a second, but it’s enough to draw Lockwood’s attention. He saunters back sans hat, giving me a full view of his rotten, shit-eating grin.

  I glare at him. “What's happening in an hour?”

  “The buyers are coming.”

  “To get me and Cross?”

  He shrugs. “Maybe just you. Depends on if they want a guy.”

  “And if they don't?”

  “Maybe I'll cook him and eat him.” I can feel the blood drain from my face. Lockwood bursts out laughing. It's jerky and gaspy, and makes him sound kind of like a choking bird. “Naw. Naw. That's not the plan.”

  “You tried to kill him, didn't you? That's why you didn't tie his hands.” Horror washes through me as I realize this makes sense.

  He nods. “Nothing personal. But he knows things he shouldn’t.”

  “How do you know he knows?” I challenge.

  “His father told Priscilla. She don't keep secrets for anybody.”

  Of course. Freakin' Priscilla. Oh my God, I want to slap that bitch.

  From somewhere behind me, I hear a clock ticking. I guess it's mounted on the wall. “How much longer?” I ask Lockwood. It's kind of ridiculous to ask, but I figure why not.

  His gaze drifts over my head. “Looks like about thirty-seven minutes, seniorita.”

  I shut my eyes, and a minute later, I hear a rustling in the cooler, followed by his footsteps
and the closing of the door.

  Holy cow. This is really about to happen. I'm really getting sold! Not my V-card; me. I strain my abs and get myself half-sitting. I pull against the binds so hard my wrists sport blood-red lines. I've got to do something!

  As I work my wrists against the rope, the ticking of the clock threatens to drive me crazy.

  Try as I might, I just can't undo the freakin’ knot! It's complicated and tight.

  I wiggle my ankles. Nothing.

  I'm lying there, praying and trying to regulate my breathing, when I hear a moan. My eyes flip open. “Cross!”

  He sits up, looking dazed, and I think I might pass out from glee.

  “Cross,” I hiss, trying harder to be quiet. “Come untie me!”

  He blinks at me, and my heart sinks as I realize he's not really seeing me.

  “Cross,” I whisper. “It's me—Lizzy! I need your help!”

  He blinks, the slack look on his face never changing as he rolls his shoulder. Squinting, he looks slowly around the room. “I feel...stiff.” His voice is croaky. His eyes wander over the ceiling and the walls, and then finally to me. They widen. “Lizzy?” He flinches as he notices my binds, and I can see some of the stupor fading. “What the hell is going on?”

  “You don't remember?”

  He frowns. “I fell asleep, waiting for you.” He looks around the room again, but I hiss. “Cross! Come and untie me! I'll explain later, but you have to untie your feet and then help me!”

  He swallows as he blinks down at his feet. He leans over, placing one palm on his ankle, and I urge him, “C'mon! You've gotta move fast!”

  “Okay.” He gives me a concerned look while his fingers grapple with the rope. “Damn,” he mutters, “I'm thirsty.”

  “I'm so sorry, Cross. But Priscilla Heat and Jim Gunn have us!”

  His eyes bug out. “Holy fuck.” He grits his teeth and goes harder at the ropes on his ankles. “Where are we?” he asks while he works.

  “Mexico.”

  “Are we getting sold or something? Because that would be unbelievable.”

  I nod. “I really think we are. Except you...” I'm about to speculate on why they didn't feel a need to tie Cross's hands when the door opens again, and a tall Mexican man walks in.

  Chapter Forty-One

  ~ELIZABETH~

  He's wearing all black, from his boots to the fedora-like hat on his head. He has light brown skin and Spanish features. Once I see the dead look in his eyes, all I know is that he's not here to help us. In fact, he's probably here to buy us. Shit.

  His assessing gaze flicks over me, then over Cross, who I quickly realize has managed to slump over on his side. Did he do that in time to fool the buyer? I'm not sure, because I wasn't watching him. I watch the buyer's face; he's looking down his thin nose at Cross. I don't think he's spared a look for me yet.

  He steps closer to Cross, poking his bicep with the tip of his black leather boot.

  Then he turns toward the door, flicks his fingers in a come hither motion, and two other men walk in. Neither is as tall as the buyer, and it's clear they're working for him, rather than the other way around. They're wearing black like he is, but they don't look as clean or well-groomed, and where he points, they scurry.

  I tense, terrified because I expect them to skip right over Cross and come to me, but instead they each grab one of Cross's shoulders, and they roll him over. He's so limp I wonder if he actually passed out. One of them starts to unbutton his blue jeans, and I shriek.

  The buyer's gaze snaps to me. “You can't do that!”

  “You be quiet,” he hisses. His accent makes his voice sound like a snake.

  “He's not for sale.”

  “What about you?” He steps closer to me, taking my face in his hand and running his finger over my cheek. “Are you for sale?” he asks me. “We get many requests for feisty girls.” His gaze flicks between my legs. “They told me you are barely used.”

  I blink up at him, feeling like I might be sick.

  He releases my face and chuckles. “She is just a baby.”

  Abruptly he's leaving my bed and walking toward the door. I glance over at Cross, and I'm relieved to find his jeans still zipped.

  The buyer struts toward the door. He pulls something out of his back pocket, and as he reaches the doorway, two men lean in to hear what he has to say. I gasp as I see they're both holding machine guns.

  The shock of it is so horrible, I forget to translate what he's telling them. The two sidekicks move to stand behind the buyer, and all of a sudden they're all talking at once. Then the three of them step back, and Priscilla and Lockwood come in. It looks, from the little I saw, like the gunmen actually had to admit them.

  Super.

  You would know they're guppies in the big pond.

  This time, I can hear their conversation clearly.

  The buyer speaks in Spanish: “We'll take them both. The man, especially, will fetch a good price in a larger market. Possibly Europe. Dark hair and blue eyes is a good look. For the woman, I am thinking Asia. I can see she is lacking in experience.”

  I keep my eyes trained on the ceiling as my heart races. I dare a quick glance over at Cross. He seems asleep, but is he really?

  Lockwood says, “How much?”

  The buyer makes a tsking noise and continues speaking in Spanish. “I want to see more of them. A fresh woman is a fresh woman, but what is the size of the man's part?”

  “He is large,” Lockwood says in Spanish.

  Oh my God. Does he actually know that? My cheeks and head feel too hot, like any moment now, steam might start flowing from my ears. Please, no.

  “What is the quality of the girl's tits?”

  “You can feel for yourself,” Lockwood says, also in Spanish.

  He waves at me, and Priscilla holds her arm out like a game show display girl.

  I'm swallowing convulsively. The man nears me, and I wonder if I throw my legs up, if I can kick him with my knees despite my tied up ankles. He scrutinizes my face and then he reaches for my chest.

  As his hand comes down to grope me, I experience my first real moment of hopelessness. What if this is really my new life? His fingers are inches from my breast when I close my eyes, but his hand never makes it. He crashed to the floor, knocking me off the bed, and his two sidekicks start yelling. The buyer jumps up as I fumble onto my knees, leaning my shoulders on the bed. I'm shocked to see Cross standing, clutching a handgun.

  It must belong to the buyer, because the buyer's face is a mask of shock as he reaches into his shirt.

  For the longest moment in the history of moments, Cross and the buyer stare each other down. Then, out of nowhere, Lockwood fires a shot at Cross. Cross ducks, and the guards at the door come in and start screaming. One of them has Lockwood on the ground in seconds, aiming what looks like an AK-47 at his face. Priscilla is screaming, sticking her arms in the air, her huge boobs bouncing as she jumps in place. “I give blow jobs! Don't hurt me! I'll give you a blow job!”

  At first I think she must have lost her mind, but one of the gunmen actually lowers his rifle and makes a grab at her crotch.

  She thrusts toward him, leaving Lockwood, me, Cross and the buyer in our standoff. I shift my attention to translating Cross's Spanish, and I'm stunned to realize he's negotiating some kind of deal.

  I catch something about, “Giant stockpile of guns” and “American airplane, not far from here” before my eyes and my attention drift to the buyer.

  Part of me will always regret that I don't get to see that play out. When the guards start going berserk again, Priscilla is on her knees, Lockwood is on his back, and Cross, only days out of a coma, has elicited a respectful—if skeptical—expression from the buyer, who is obviously more interested in getting an airplane loaded with weapons than he is in whatever money he could make from us.

  The buyer is wearing his skeptical-but-coming-around expression, and Cross is owning it, and I am just sitting there, not li
ke a badass heroine at all, wondering if they're just going to kill us when they realize there’s no plane, when another man with a big machine gun runs into the room and cries, “Chota!”

  “Chota?” the buyer says.

  “Chota!”

  “CHOTA!”

  And, just like that, the buyer, his sidekicks, and his gunmen run like hell.