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Because it feels pretty damn heavy as it falls down on top of me right now.
“And now, what you’ve all been waiting for…”
The auctioneer is milking his showmanship like this is a goddamn circus and I’m some main attraction the audience paid good money to see. It would be weirdly funny if none of this had anything to do with actual human trafficking. Like someone’s gonna hand me three chainsaws and tell me to start juggling instead.
The crowd falls quiet. A thousand eyes bore into me, scanning my body up and down with a kind of appreciation and hunger I really don’t want.
Not here.
Not now.
Andnotfromthem.
“Our ultra-exclusive featured lot for this evening, with a high starting bid for obvious reasons.” He teases the last few words to pull a chuckle from the onlookers. “She’s in excellent health—and, as you can see,finephysical condition. George, if you will?”
A man suddenly appears at my side and jerks my right arm out away from my body.
“Look at that muscle tone. That creamy, yet somehow caramel-y, skin. Doesn’t she look simply delectable?”
The man—George, I’m assuming—lowers my arm and makes me turn around so my back faces the crowd.
“As you can see, Lot Three Sixty-Seven has a figure perfect for child-bearing. A beautiful taper at the waist, with an ideal flare at the hips and firm, rounded buttocks.”
George suddenly slaps my ass. I want to yelp in surprise, but I quickly swallow it back down because I will not, in any way, give these bastards the satisfaction.
“George, could you please…?” It sounds like the auctioneer is making a gesture. My guess seems to be correct, because George kneels down and yanks at the tear in my dress until the fabric falls away from my leg.
And then he lifts my foot in his hand so my bare leg is exposed, all the way up to my ass.
“Look at that, ladies and gentlemen! Exquisite, sumptuous beauty. Truly a work of art worth every penny just to feel those thighs wrapped around you, am I right?”
The crowd murmurs their agreement, a few chuckle at the teasing—and I feel like I’m going to throw up.
George lowers my foot with all the gentleness of an actual gentleman. He stands, turns me back around, and then steps behind me.
More laughter. More leering. More indignity.
“Now, to the wary buyers amongst you: you may have noticed a few cuts and bruises on our beauty here.” The auctioneer lifts a hand to placate the suddenly disappointed crowd. “But before you start changing your mind, our benevolent host wants to reassure you all that this was the result of unwarranted attacks by unwanted guests who have been dealt with accordingly.”
I’m not sure how to feel about that. Did they kill Martin? Dad?
Would I feel bad if they did?
“And, for those of you wholoveto break in a good and stubborn filly, you will absolutelylovethis: she took each of them on. By herself. Believe me when I say, ‘You should see the other guy.’”
The ones who aren’t laughing at the auctioneer’s jokes are now staring at me and licking their lips. One man in particular makes my stomach turn into knots when I lay eyes on him. He’s older, though not much more than his early fifties, and built thick. A manicured beard covers half his face, drawing the bulk of my attention to his eyes.
Cold, dark, deadly eyes.
Eyes that are staring at me with dark promise.
“Do I hear a bid for eight hundred thousand dollars? Yes! I have eight hundred thousand. Do I have?—”
“One million dollars!” A woman dripping with diamonds and pearls, and clearly not much younger than seventy, calls out at the same time she lifts a numbered card.
“Do I hear?—”
“One-point-two million!”
