by Nicole Fox
On the one hand, it would be good to see her. To see that she is alive, at least.
On the other, I don’t want to see her treated as cattle. I don’t want to spend the next five days bidding on the woman I love, playing a dangerous game that might get us both killed.
I hold my breath as a shadow separates from the dark room and steps towards the middle.
When the fire’s light hits her face, my heart breaks.
It is my wife.
At once, I’m consumed with relief and guilt and the desire to grab her and run and the knowledge that I can’t do that without getting us both killed.
I stifle a moan, but luckily it is lost in the stir as Eve walks out.
She is easily the most beautiful woman in the room. And I know it is not only I who think so. Several men in the room sit forward and crane their necks to see. I want to snap each one of them in half.
She doesn’t look scared, but she doesn’t openly flirt with anyone in the room the way the woman before her did. Eve walks out with her chin held high, her chestnut hair falling in thick waves down her back, and plants her feet firmly on the floor. She doesn’t shy away from facing the crowd in front of her.
And her gaze is devastating.
There is fire in her eyes. Anger and a promise. A promise that she won’t let anyone here forget what they did to her.
She meets every set of eyes, and when our eyes meet, it is all I can do to not rip off my mask and run to her.
For a moment, I wonder whether she’ll recognize me. Whether she’ll be able to tell it is me based on my eyes and mouth alone, but I am farther away than the other guests, and her eyes fall on me only for a minute before flitting away.
“Okay,” Edgar says, stepping forward and clapping his hands. “Everyone is free to mingle. Have a drink, talk to one another and the women. And don’t forget, if anyone catches your eye, be sure to put in a bid.”
For a moment, it is like a middle school dance. The women on display and the guests not moving. We just stare at one another uncomfortably, waiting for someone else to make the first move.
I would, but I don’t want to draw attention to myself or my obvious preference for Eve.
Fox-Face, however, has no such qualms. He groans merrily as he pushes himself to standing, adjusts his pants around his chubby middle, and makes his way directly to Number Thirteen, the woman who winked at him.
Eve grimaces as the man passes by her, then marches towards a distant wall, pressing her back against it.
As soon as both sides make a move, the rest of the room stirs.
The auction week has officially begun.
I make myself another drink but don’t taste it. I don’t want to drink too much and dull any of my senses. I can’t afford it.
So, I fidget with the glass, swirling it in my hands, and watch Eve move around the room.
She tries to stand against a wall, but Edgar walks over and quietly encourages her to join the party. They are too far away from me to hear what he says, but I guess his words are not as kind as the fake smile on his face.
A woman in a purple dress approaches me, but I don’t even glance in her direction. Even when she is standing a foot to my right, I just stare straight ahead.
I don’t want to talk to her or any woman in the room. Only Eve.
The woman tries to catch my eye for a few desperate seconds before she slips away to find another man.
I feel bad for dismissing her, but I don’t want to give her any sense of false hope. I won’t be making a bid on anyone but Eve. Ever. And the woman’s time will be better spent cozying up to another guest at the auction.
Peter Struthers bumbles over to Eve and brings her a drink. She tries to demur, but he pushes it into her hand. I have to bite my tongue to keep from ripping his hand off.
I keep my eye on them as I circulate, doing my best not to tip my hand so obviously as to draw unwanted attention. Eve looks miserable talking to Peter. He is laughing and smiling and moving increasingly close to her, but she just stares at him with blank eyes. Though, her lack of enthusiasm doesn’t seem to discourage him.
During the conversation, I notice Eve reach up and adjust something around her neck. That is when I notice the collar.
I was so distracted when she first walked in that I didn’t see the red strip of leather fastened around her neck.
When she turns to avoid another of Peter’s advances, I see the gold charm hanging from the front, and I curse under my breath.
They have a collar on her like she is a fucking animal.
Heat builds in my core, and my breathing grows heavier. My heart feels like a bass drum in my chest, and my vision tunnels until Eve is all I can see.
I have to get her out of here. I have to save her.
“Hey there.”
I turn and see a hippy blonde woman standing next to me. She has dark makeup around her eyes and bright red lipstick on, which only serves to highlight how pale she is. I wonder when she last saw sunlight.
I want to dismiss her the way I did the first woman who approached me, but I realize that I have to show interest in the other women. If I want this plan to work, people have to believe that I am here to shop.
So, I turn towards her and raise an eyebrow. “I thought I was supposed to be the one doing the approaching.”
She blinks, trying to decide whether I’ve just insulted her or not, and then smiles, her lips twitching from the effort. “I was always taught to go after what I want.”
I reach out and pinch a strand of her hair between my fingers. She flinches from the brief contact, but then smiles. “And you are the most handsome man in the room.”
“I have a mask on,” I remind her.
“A mask can only hide so much,” she says.
I glance towards Eve. She is now talking to Fox-Face. Her cheeks are the same shade of red as her dress, and I desperately want to know what he is saying to her.
“What do you do?” she asks.
I shake my head. “No. Nothing personal.”
After several seconds of silence, the woman asks me about the weather. It is so cliché I almost laugh, but I can’t muster it. Not when Eve is being hit on by every man in the room.
I talk to the woman for several minutes, letting her do most of the talking while I watch Eve move around the room.
Finally, she is standing back near the bar, and I can’t resist her for another moment.
“You must excuse me,” I say to the blonde woman, interrupting her in the middle of a sentence.
I weave through people, raising my glass in the air as I squeeze around the bodies, and then Eve is right in front of me. Mere feet away.
Her hair shines gold in the overhead lights, and she turns her head to register me in the corner of her vision, but quickly goes back to making her drink.
My heart is pounding as I approach her.
I don’t know how to do this. I don’t want to surprise her and blow the mission before it has even begun, so I can’t just walk up and tell her who I am. I have to let her figure it out slowly.
So, as I pass her from behind, I curl my fingers around her waist and then drag them across her lower back.
She starts at the touch, but when I tug softly at the ends of her hair, she turns to look at me.
I look into her caramel eyes for only a second, but it is long enough to see the question she is asking.
Is that …
I nod slowly, answering it for her, and immediately her eyes fill with tears.
Then, she bites her pouty lower lip and turns to keep making her drink, but her fingers are trembling.
She knows it is me.
9
Eve
I think I’m imagining it when I smell Luka.
The spicy scent of his cologne mingles with the woodsy smell of his skin.
I’ve been seeing him everywhere. Every time I close my eyes, he is there.
Surrounded by these horrible men and women who are studying me l
ike a dog at a kennel show, I want nothing more than the familiar comfort of my husband.
Then, I feel a hand on my waist.
My instinct is to pull away and slap whichever disgusting man has put his hands on me, but then I feel the pressure of the fingertips along my back.
The touch is tender and intimate.
And so, so familiar.
Before this moment, I would have said there is no way I’d recognize Luka by nothing more than the brush of his fingers, but in the instant his body touches mine, I feel relief.
It feels like arriving home after a long time away.
I turn to my left and see a tall, broad man wrapped in a deliciously tailored suit. A black mask covers his face, but I can see the tense line of his upper lip and his clenched jaw. Usually, there is a dark beard there, but I’ve seen my husband with a clean-shaven face often enough to recognize the square line of his jaw.
It is Luka. It has to be.
Still, I’m hesitant to believe it.
Have my delusions grown worse? Am I having full-blown hallucinations now? Could it really be him?
As though I’ve voiced the question aloud, the man in the black mask nods his head slowly, and tears well up in my eyes.
I bite my lip to hold in a sob and turn back to the bar.
Luka is here. He is here.
And the fact that he hasn’t grabbed me and made a run for it means that he can’t just take me and bolt. It means that I have to play along.
Even though I want to chase after him as he begins to mill around the room, I grab my drink with shaky fingers and turn in the opposite direction.
“In your case, I guess they really did save the best for last.”
A man in a navy-blue suit with silver embroidery on it is standing next to me. He has on a white button-down underneath, open to reveal a swirl of brown chest hair.
Not waiting for any response from me, he reaches out to grab a lock of my hair. He twirls it around his finger like he already owns me.
“You are the sexiest woman in the room,” he says.
His mask is the same shade of blue as his suit. It has a beaked nose like a bird that sticks out so far it almost hits me in the face when he leans in to whisper in my ear.
“I put a bid on you the moment cocktail hour started.”
I spin to the board and see five hundred dollars typed in green next to my number. It is the only bid.
“Is that all I’m worth to you?” I ask, eyebrow raised.
I can’t see the man’s face, but by the way his head pulls back, I think he might be insulted. Then, he laughs. “Of course not. Believe me, baby, I have more money than any man in this room.”
His suit is nice, but I don’t imagine many people here have the kind of connections Luka has. He is independently wealthy and he is owed many favors from a lot of wealthy men. There are few money matters that he can’t handle. And since I am apparently the prize, I know Luka will do whatever he can to walk out of here with me.
The man keeps his eyes on my chest, tracing the deep neckline of the dress over and over again like he is trying to remove the fabric with his mind.
“Men who have to say they’re rich usually aren’t telling the truth,” I say with the smallest of smiles. I mean every word, but I want the man to think I’m flirting with him.
He does.
His mouth splits into a grin, and he steps closer to me until I can practically taste his overpowering cologne. It takes everything I have not to retch as he drawls, “Stick with me, and I’ll back it up.”
I lift an eyebrow and bring my glass to my lips, taking a slow sip.
The man watches eagerly. When I drag my tongue across my upper lip, his eyes widen.
“Keep that up, and I might have to go raise my bid,” he says, his voice husky.
I smile and turn away from him, ready to move along to another man.
I want to make it clear I have no particular preference for Luka, but I also don’t want to get myself in too deep with any other man in the room.
As I turn away, however, the man reaches out and grabs my hip.
Unlike Luka’s soft touch, the man’s fingers are hard and possessive. They wrap around me like a shackle and spin me towards him.
He moves closer to me until my drink is wedged between our bodies, the only thing keeping him from being flush with me.
“Running away so soon?” he whispers.
I see him glance over my shoulder, and then suddenly, he backs away. His lips are pressed together in a tight line, and he swallows nervously.
I’m confused until I feel the warmth of Luka’s hand on the small of my back.
“Now, now,” Luka says in a playfully deep voice. “We all have to share.”
The man in the bird mask smiles and bows, either to me or Luka or both, I’m not sure. “Of course. Clearly, I am not the only man here with exquisite taste.” He winks at me before throwing another cautious glance at Luka and then turning to survey the room. “You two have your fun, and I’ll try to occupy myself with something else.”
Luka presses his hand into my lower back, leading me towards a chair against a set of tall windows. He sits down and then gestures for me to sit on his lap.
I do my best to look the part of the nervous slave, but I practically leap onto him, grateful to feel his familiar bulk and warmth against me.
Luka wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me closer to him until his lips are right by my ear.
“Hello.”
A shiver works its way down my spine, and I try not to melt into him. I want to press my lips to his neck and bury my face against his chest and let out every emotion I’ve been holding in since I was taken.
“How did you find me?” I whisper.
He draws a circle with his finger against my rib cage. “I’ll always find you, Eve. Always.”
For the first time in several days, I feel like I can breathe. The vise-like pressure that was wrapped around my chest is gone, and I take deep, greedy inhales in an effort not to hyperventilate with happiness.
“What is the plan?” I ask.
Luka shakes his head imperceptibly, and I follow his eyes towards the rest of the guests. No one is really looking at us.
Around the rest of the Bratva, Luka has enough power that no one wants to be caught staring. And even people who don’t know Luka is the leader of a crime family avoid direct eye contact.
Luka is large and intimidating, and it works in his favor.
Now, though, he is wearing a mask and this event is rooted in competition.
People are watching us more closely than normal, but I notice they have the good sense to look away when Luka notices them. Still, this isn’t exactly a safe place. There is no way to know who may overhear anything we say.
Luka readjusts me on his lap so I’m balanced between his muscular thighs, and his hand wraps around my back and smooths down the leg.
My dress is riding up dangerously high, and Luka takes full advantage, dipping his fingers below the hem until I can feel him caressing the black panties I am wearing.
A small sigh escapes my lips, and Luka presses his mouth to my ear. “Look like you are having a worse time.”
I try to pull my face into a frown, but every brush of his finger against my inner thigh leaves me a little looser and brings more color to my cheeks.
I know I need to look miserable, like Luka is taking more than I’m willing to give, but I can’t. I want to give him everything.
Before I can stop myself, I reach up and curl my finger down his face.
I can feel the beginnings of stubble on his jawline, and I want to drag my tongue across his face like a cat. I want to twine myself around his legs and claim him as mine.
I don’t want to talk to any other men or be with anyone else. I just want Luka, and part of me hopes that if everyone can see us together, they’ll realize they don’t have a shot in hell of ever making me happy. Not the way he could.
Though, my happi
ness isn’t their main concern. Not by a long shot.
“I’m going to take you home with me,” Luka growls.
To anyone else in the room, he is just an auction guest making known his intent to purchase. But to me, it is a promise.
Luka is going to get me out of here.
All at once, the panic inside of me eases, making way for the other emotions I have pushed aside. Namely, guilt.
This is all my fault.
The reason Rian Morrison is after us is because of me. Because of my failed relationship with her brother.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, voice breaking around the words.
Luka frowns. “For what? You have nothing to apologize for.”
“But I do,” I say. “This is all my fault. If I’d been brave and told Cole Morrison how I felt from the start, none of this would have happened.”
“Eve,” Luka says so low I can only feel the vibration of the word in his chest.
I shake my head. “But I let myself be promised to him. I was too scared to run away and now you have to risk your life to save me, and—”
Luka’s finger against my center silences my tirade.
I hold my breath, surprised by my own desperation for his touch.
But Luka doesn’t move. He looks around the room to ensure no one is watching us too closely, and then he leans in, finger still poised against me like he has all the time in the world.
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he says, his breath warm against my neck. “This isn’t your fault, and I’m going to fix it.”
Unable to help myself, I shift my hips, pushing myself against his finger.
Luka slides his hand further under my dress, but before anything more can happen, the man who announced the start of the auction reappears and waves his arms to draw everyone’s attention.
“I’m glad to see you are all having a good time,” he says, looking over towards where Luka and I are sitting together in a chair. “But dinner is about to be served. So, if you all could follow me into the dining room, we will begin the next portion of the evening.”
The quiet conversation grows louder as everyone migrates towards the dining room, and in the brief moment of chaos, I lean in to Luka. “Where is Milaya?”