by Casey Morgan
The furniture in this room was made of black-cherry wood. Under the lighting, it made the wood appear blacker than cherry, which was the point. Each piece of furniture had the Black Diamond insignia carved into it somewhere.
There were no tablecloths on any of the tables, but that only made room for diamond-shaped lanterns, each with their own dark candles inside. The candles must’ve also been filled up with scented wax, because the room was filled instantly with the smell of bourbon pumpkin.
I picked a seat at one of the tables. One of the few that had more than two seats around it, and waved the rest of the guys in. My brother came in first, followed by Eric, then Travis.
Not surprising, since Travis, despite his sales pitch to Gwendolyn about these kinds of events and the value of them for people and businesses needing to raise money, he wasn’t a fan. He was still uncomfortable with some aspects of the auction. And I didn’t blame him. While I understood that these were also a necessity for keeping our membership (an unfortunate side effect of being members was that we needed to attend these auctions annually, and bid on something, whether we saw something we liked or not), I didn’t like the “meat market” vibe of it all.
Travis growled my exact thoughts as he claimed his seat around our table, and began to watch the front of the room.
Sylvan, the man in charge of membership for this club, and the auctioneer for this event, was the first to stride forward. Goatee and long, dark hair, he looked like a warlock. A magician intent on transforming fates. His yellow-gold eyes only aided in this otherworldly appearance. Aided in the control he seemed to have over the women he managed to ensnare for these kinds of things.
A few of whom were beginning to prance up toward him, all wearing numbers. Those numbers were engraved with small white diamonds on a bigger, black-diamond pins.
Nothing too remarkable about these women, I found myself wishing I could’ve stayed with Gwendolyn instead of being forced to attend this. One look around the table told me I wasn’t the only one pining for our darling little barkeep.
“It’d be one thing if this place were just a meat market,” groused Travis, staring daggers at the few women he could see already lining up to get on stage. “That would be bad enough. But no, it’s got to be a price gouge too.”
“Why do you pay for a membership then, if you hate it so much?” That was Alex, reading my thoughts exactly. “As for the prices, they’re supposed to be above market. That’s the whole point of fundraising.”
Travis scowled at the look he was getting from my brother. One that said he must be dumb to not know what those concepts meant, after all that time in college. After making the amount of money he’d made. “I got to keep my membership so I can mingle with the rich suckers around me. Remind them that they aren’t untouchable. Unbeatable, by people who weren’t born with a silver spoon in their mouths.” As he said this, more impeccably-dressed men flooded in the room, and spilled through the tables.
Young and old, these men came from every sort of money, every background. Every ethnicity, and while I knew a few by name, I’d mostly kept to myself. My social clique within this social group.
“You do realize you are among those wealthy suckers now, right?” Eric’s soft voice bloomed into the space, almost competing with the heaviness of the pumpkin-bourbon smell. “You’re just as rich as they are.”
Travis grumbled at this, throwing something at Eric.
Part of me wanted to point out that me, my brother and Eric also came from a line of those “rich suckers,” but I didn’t bother. I knew and appreciated my friend’s hang-up. I appreciated his nobility around this, when all of the other men seemed to overindulge in the power that their money gave them. In their ability and privilege to treat these women, however willingly, like priced cattle or horses at a livestock show.
Underneath my thoughts, Sylvan started the auction. Brought up the first woman to sell her valuable item. Sexy of course. Dark skin, full lips, dark eyes. She put on auction her willingness to experiment. To have her boundaries pushed.
The bids went wild, but no one at my table bothered with her or with any of the women after her, until number 9 appeared.
I saw her first. When I did, I wasn’t sure if my eyes were playing tricks on me.
Flowing pearl-white cocktail dress. Matching shoes. Flawless opals in her ears and around her neck. Immaculate red hair, put up in a style that reminded me of Cinderella and Tinkerbell all at once. Ringlets hung down by her soft, almond-colored eyes.
“Gwendolyn!”
I sucked in a breath, unable to believe that it really was her. That she was here, standing on stage.
After my hot, tense whisper, the other guys saw her. And they did as I had done. Held their breaths.
But not me. I blurted out a number for her, the moment she got done expressing what she was offering. One night to take her virginity.
What the number I yelled was, I didn’t know and didn’t care. All I knew was that I wasn’t going to let any of the other men have her. Even have a chance to bid on her and win. And they were already giving chase.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Alex
What. The. Actual. Fuck?
Even after staring at it for the last two minutes, even after hearing my brother blurt out some number in response to what the beautiful, familiar-looking woman in a sparkling white cocktail dress has just put on auction—her virginity— I still couldn’t believe she was here.
Gwendolyn. My heart pounded around this, drying out my mouth, and disconnecting my brain from my spine. Is it really you? What are you doing here?
Of course, my logical mind knew exactly what she was doing here. That she was here for the money, though, the moment she heard David’s bid go up, her eyes quickly found us. Our table, and soaked us all in. Gratefully. Needfully, especially when other offers began to pop and crackle from the space around us. Escalate in intensity, not just from my brother, but from a whole pack of other men who’d decided they were going to take him down.
He was currently in a bidding war with them, all by himself.
So I decided to join. I stood up, and gave out a number. “$100,000,” twice my brother’s initial bid, and at least $25,000 more than the current bid.
David shot me a look, growling under his breath. “What are you doing?”
“Bidding. Duh.”
“Against me?” David sounded hurt and irritated by this, but he was quickly losing ground.
“$200,000!” Some older gentleman on another part of the floor just smashed both of our bids.
A flurry of other bids went up, and as much as I liked seeing my brother so irritated and flustered, I didn’t like how quickly this was getting out of control. Out of mine or my brother’s. “We can’t let anyone else get her,” I said, throwing up another number. “$400,000!” While I let the auctioneer have that, prattle and rattle on to the other men in the room, seeing if they were willing to catch up, I added, “so we need to keep those bids coming.”
David frowned. “So you’re going to bid against me to do that?” His brow furrowed. “And when I thought we agreed not to be in competition against each other for her.”
This hit me in a bad way. Almost as bad as the leers and snickers I was starting to hear from the tables closest to us. And from men I was more well acquainted with than I ever wanted to be. “I realize that, but as long as it stays at our table, what’s the problem?” I whispered this, hearing those chuckling and snickering gentlemen outbid us. Or come close.
David threw out another number. “$688,000,” he said, and returned to our conversation. “The problem is, it’s unnecessary, Alex.”
“$750,000,” I said, hearing those other fuckers clinging to a game that was clearly mine. “It makes us look legit, David. Like we actually are legitimately bidding on something, rather than just sitting around and watching. Or playing unfairly.”
Briefly, my eyes caught Travis and Eric. Both of whom looked equally and differently
uncomfortable and disgusted by this situation. Not about our table specifically, but about the other men in the room. About how vulnerable and scared Gwendolyn was beginning to look, when those bids would come in from other tables, and she was forced to see her value skyrocket, but potentially lose the thing I knew she really wanted.
Me. Us.
And in order to do that, we had to stay in the game, in whatever way possible.
“$999,000,” I said, mocking all that money with the thousand dollars separating me from 1,000,000.
And the only way to do that is to make it not worth it to them. Any of them, no matter what the cost.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Travis
I hated everything about this. Not so much the brotherly bickering at our table, not even the amount of money being thrown around, or the fact that David and Alex were bidding against each other, as well as the entire room. In a way, that was a little expected, since they’d been in competition their entire lives.
No, what bugged me the most was every other guy in the room. Every other rich motherfucker who was already acting like Gwendolyn was his. Or should be. Or that it would just be fun to throw that amount of money around for some poor, helpless-looking virgin.
Not my words, but what I felt from every single man in the room. I didn’t even want to call them men. They were more like suit-wearing beasts, who went around acting like they were morally upstanding and of good breeding and emotional fiber, but they weren’t.
I knew they weren’t.
While I hadn’t grown up in a life of luxury or more money than I knew what to do with, I had spent the last handful of years after college dealing with them on a daily basis. Witnessing and tasting their filthy greed for myself.
Their unearned sense of entitlement, which I knew was going to be the biggest danger to Gwendolyn. Most of these men had grown up with women doing whatever they wanted, however they wanted, as long as they paid enough. This would be the case for her, no matter how much I had stupidly told her she would have some control.
Sure, she could set forth her stipulations. She could offer up what she was going to offer up, but ultimately, nearly every man in this room would find ways to undermine what she had agreed to give them. They would find any and every opportunity to butter her up with extra cash. Extra goodies, in order to get what they really wanted and believe they had paid for, rather than being true gentleman about it.
Which is why I entered the ring. I threw up a bid, because if I didn’t, I was going to throw up. I was going to rush the stage, grab onto her, and say this was a bad, bad idea. That I should have never, ever suggested that she come here to solve any kind of problem, but I couldn’t.
Not only would that have gotten us all thrown out of the club, but probably all expelled from it too. Leaving Gwendolyn vulnerable to these other bids. These other beds, as a result.
“$1,000,000,” I said, though I was sure that was getting pretty close to what I was currently on track to make so far this month. I was sweating. Nauseous, but I wasn’t going to let some other guy feel all pompous and special because he crested that invisible line in the sand.
Thank God there were no bids directly after this. The room was actually silent for a few moments. In those moments, I gave myself a moment to look at Gwendolyn. Send her some reassuring, protective vibes. Through my eyes I said, you’re mine, Gwendolyn. Ours. Don’t worry, but I will get you out of this. Out of here, and to where it’s safe. You’re so, so brave, baby. And I’m not going to let that bravery come back to bite you.
As I looked at her, I saw her swallow heavily. Tears and fear most likely. But also love and joy for me. For the rest of us sitting there, bidding on her.
That moment of sweet safety was quickly gone from us, however.
A new bid rang out into the room. Over $1,000,000. Quickly followed by more. Within seconds, it was close to double my initial offer, and I hated myself for thinking I had done anything remotely like a smooth move.
It seemed Eric felt similarly. He swore under his breath, before standing up from his seat. “Fuck it. I am so tired of this shit. I’m going to get it handled, and handled permanently.” With that venomous whisper, all eyes were on him.
Chapter Thirty
Eric
I meant what I said. I was tired of this shit. I was tired of this game. Tired of dealing with pithy little individual competitions, selfishness everywhere, and when Gwendolyn didn’t need to know which one of us was better, more capable. She needed all of us to come together, and save her. Protect her from all these other men who didn’t know or care for her. Not really. Who only had their own selfish, self-indulgent reasons for bidding. For looking at her the way they did, which I knew Gwendolyn saw. Clearly.
And she was petrified. Terrified by it.
I stood in the room, knowing what I had to do. Knowing that I had to do something just as unorthodox as how all of us really felt about her. Had grown to feel about her over the last few days, and as we had all agreed we would be with each other for her. Her well-being. Her sake.
We’d agreed to share her. We’d agreed to give her the chance to say yes to all of us. To accepting us all sexually and romantically as partners. As fourths making up one whole of her world, but we couldn’t do that if someone else got her. If she fell into some other bastard’s clutches, that was all going to go goodbye. And not just because we couldn’t get to her, but because I doubted she would ever want anything to do with us again, after we had brought her to a lion’s den, only to be gobbled up by a strange, cruel beast.
“$4,000,000,” I said, letting that number ring out into the room. Push back against any and every bit of competition. Every scrap of oily consumerism for Gwendolyn’s heart and soul. Her flesh and blood. “And this is not my bid, but a combined bid that my table is doing. Take out whatever fees you must for accepting this, but this is our bid, and we will now move forward bidding as one table.”
“Plan and bid heard,” said Sylvan. “Unorthodox, but I’ll allow it. Since it was clearly stated, along with the bid amount for number 9.”
I sat down in my chair after that, feeling all kinds of shaky and nauseous. But also angry and frustrated, since it had fallen on me to do something simple but effective toward this problem. Without me, our table would have fucking lost the whole cake.
I looked at the other men, scowling at them. “You’re welcome,” I said. “You see? This is why you need me in this damn group, okay?” I curled my fingers up into my hand, leaving one hand free to point accusingly. “All of you love Gwendolyn, but none of you had any fucking clue what to do here. None of you thought for one moment about bidding together. Bidding as a group.”
David glowered at me.
“Most of you,” I amended in a whisper. “But you still didn’t suggest that we do that instead, David.” I forced myself to take a deep breath, watch the room around us. There were no bids to counter ours. Not yet, and I hoped it stayed that way.
While I didn’t hear any bids, I saw a lot of glaring. A lot of dirty looks, despite the flawless silverware (made of platinum) and the crystal glasses actually made out of diamonds around those tables.
As far as I was concerned, they could glare all they wanted. We were going to get our Gwendolyn, and I was going to make sure that happened.
That’s why I had bid $4,000,000. $1,000,000 for each of us. To be equal. To be fair. To prove to us and her that we were all equally serious. All equally invested in what she had given us, and what more we wanted from her.
“Any follow-up bids for number 9?” A pause. Full of amusement. “The current bid stands at $4,000,000.” He turned toward Gwendolyn. “They must really want a piece of you to offer that much for you, darling.”
Gwendolyn quaked a bit under this, but remained strong. Focused on me. On the rest of our table.
“Anyone else want to find out what they’re missing out on?” Sylvan turned back to the audience, goading them. Squeezing them for any more cash, but I
had just stolen all possibility from them. All the money they were willing to part with spiritually and mentally.
No one else dared to counter my offer. Our offer as it stood. Silence reigned then.
“Going once, going twice.” A smack of his fancy cane upon the ground. “Number 9 and her virginity sold to table 6 for $4,000,000.”
The moment these words were out of his mouth, all four of us dashed out of our seats, and toward the small stage. The small raised platform built for these kinds of events.
“Claim your prize, gentleman,” he said, as we did just that, each of us grabbing onto some part of Gwendolyn. To stabilize her (she looked like she was about to faint), and to protect her from any more eyes and ideas. As we all hurried out of the room, Gwendolyn in the center and all four of us guarding the four directions like her guardian angels, Sylvan said, “Enjoy her to the fullest, gentleman. I’ll get the accounting straightened out, since you all will be paying a portion of the bid amount.”
“So be it,” said David. “Whatever needs to be managed, will be managed later.”
“Indeed, it will. Tomorrow sometime, when her night with you is at an end.” Even as Sylvan said those words, I knew it wasn’t going to be the end. It might be a night to remember for all four of us with Gwendolyn, but it certainly wasn’t going to be the end.
It was just the beginning. I knew this for a fact as we burst out of the club, down the stairs, and toward freedom. After tonight, none of us would be the same again. Not me, not David, nor Travis or Alex.
Not Gwendolyn either.
And I was also sure that that was the best thing that could ever, or would ever, happen.
Chapter Twenty-One
Gwendolyn
$4,000,000.
Even though this number was ricocheting around in my head since it was first uttered by Eric, and it has continued to live in the dark recesses of my brain since being won by all four of my boys, and quickly ushered out of Black Diamond, I still couldn’t wrap my mind around it.