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One good thing about tonight’s dinner was that it wasn’t as formal as yesterday’s. As much as Eric detested wearing a suit, at least the one he wore tonight was his own and not that damn borrowed tuxedo. But the longer the meal went on, the more unbearable the tension became. Eric was on high alert, alive to every single noise and flicker of movement…all while trying to keep up his façade in a situation that revolted every cell in his body. He forced himself to nod and laugh at some crap Bry was saying.
Bry and all the male guests struck him as being even louder and brasher than they had before, and they’d been far from low-key so far this weekend. Eric’s lip curled—they were probably trying not to think about the terrifying tragic event they’d been witnesses to earlier that day. The murder they’d beencomplicitin, just by standing there and doing nothing to prevent it.
As a SEAL, Eric had lived through horrors—had been responsible for some—but the fate of that unknown man, murdered out in the hills, would haunt him and, he hoped, all the scum here.
He knew plenty of people, military and civilian, who drank to forget. Eric bet that Phil, Tom, Bry, Bradley and the others were also drinking to assert themselves, to get back some sense of self. What impact would that have on the auction? He wondered if they’d told their wives what had happened, like he had Rhianne.
Rhianne sat by his side as taut as a violin string. Oh, she looked beautiful—the simplicity of her sleeveless blue dress a nice contrast to the other women’s overly fussy gowns—but she was noticeably distracted. Her constant checking of her watch and eyeing of the ornate clock in this dining room said as much.
She was also angry at having to be there, and specifically at him for insisting they see this out instead of breaking her sister free earlier. There was pure flint in her blue eyes, and her movements were so tight and her words so clipped that it was amazing Arturo hadn’t noticed, especially since Eric and Rhianne had been seated fairly near to the head of the table, which Arturo presided over, meaning they were within earshot. Eric had hoped to use this advantage to overhear more of Arturo’s preparations—get a sense for what the setup would be and how many guards would be present—but he strained to understand the orders in Spanish that Arturo gave to his staff. A guard entered by another door and sidled up, coming close at Arturo’s impatient crook of his fingers to bend low and murmur a question to him. Arturo snapped out a reply and dismissed the man.
“What was that?” Eric muttered to Rhianne.
“Setting up,” she translated curtly. “Making ready.”
The buzz in the atmosphere heightened the closer the time got to the appointed hour, and Eric saw more than one guest flinch when a harsh crackle came from the walkie-talkie Arturo carried.
He didn’t seem pleased with whatever news it relayed.
“Raquel?” Eric nudged Rhianne to pay attention. “He’s talking about a brunette versus a blonde, right?” Unless the words were slang or code Eric didn’t know.
“The order the girls are being shown. It’s being changed,” Rhianne whispered from behind her hand. “This is inhumane. They’re not lots—not things or objects—they’re living, breathing human beings.”
“I know. I know.” Eric tried to soothe her. “Just be patient.”
He sounded confident and calm, he hoped, but inside he was filled with foreboding. He liked having a plan, a clear course of action—but in order for that to happen, he needed a much better idea of what he was dealing with than he’d been able to collect here. On a mission, reconnaissance mapped out the environment and the people in it, their routines, their weak spots…their pressure points. But here, with so much ebbing and flowing and so many different people and personalities, he couldn’t even get much of a feel for his fellow weekend guests, let alone the house’s inhabitants.
And now, Rhianne—his partner in this, the one person he was supposed to be able to rely on—was becoming a looser cannon by the minute. Eric swallowed. He didn’t need the extra twanging of his nerves to tell him how risky the situation was and how much danger he and Rhianne were in. All he could do was pray that it would all be over soon. He thanked whatever god might be listening when the meal came to an end and Arturo stood, meaning they all did too.
“I know you’re all eager for the show to start.” Arturo sent a smile around the group as he walked them down a short corridor, then flung open the ornate door halfway along to reveal something that looked like a nightclub, with lots of small tables.
“Oh there’s a stage, like a theater!” gushed one of the women. “How classy.”
“This is…my home entertainment room, shall we say.” Arturo smirked.
Jesus.Eric did not want to imagine what kind of shows Arturo had performed on that stage. He gripped Rhianne’s hand tighter.
Entering, Eric mentally mapped out the exits, including the wings to this ridiculous raised platform at the head of the room, and the distance to the main doors. He also calculated the number of guards left outside. But were his numbers correct? He still wasn’t sure he had the full picture on what they’d be up against if they had to fight their way out.
“Here, honey.” He helped Rhianne sit at a table that had the best view of the stage. The room wasn’t that big. The tables were close enough together for Eric to hear the eager, whispered conversations of the couples at the adjacent tables and for it to sour his stomach. Rhianne was as still as a living statue.
“Now.” Arturo stood center stage, holding up a hand for silence. “Some rules.”
“Look but don’t touch?” called Bry.
“Eh…” Arturo pretended to consider. “Not exactly. A hands-on examination of the merchandise is permitted. How else can you know if it’s juicy enough for you?”
“Oh my God,” Rhianne gritted out, the ripple of laughter covering her words.
“But my rule is that women are not permitted to bid in the auction.”
“What?” came from a table to their left.
“Instead, the men are encouraged to come up to inspect the wares,” Arturo continued, ignoring the outburst. “Then they can confer with their wives before bidding. I want to keep things civil, with no bickering between the couples.” His smile was slimy as he promised, “There is no need to fight. There are beauties enough for all. Now, let the bidding begin!”
That he was treating this like a cheesy TV game show made it all the more sickening. The music blasted out, like an intro, and the lights picked out the first girl who was ushered out onto the stage. Rhianne had barely seemed to breathe for the last few minutes, but on seeing the girl, she audibly gulped in air and her fingers left off gripping the edge of the table.
Eric understood. It wasn’t Robyn. But this girl was so young that it roiled his stomach. “I have to go look,” he hissed, standing and joining the few other men nearing the platform. It seemed this girl wasn’t that popular—at least half the men stayed in their seats.
