As I choose my seat, Hux tucks me in, and Dax takes my side. His phone buzzes faintly in his pocket before he slides it out to check the screen. He doesn’t say anything, but his shoulders tense, and the way his thumb hovers over the screen tells me the message isn’t good. BeforeHux can settle on my other side, Garrett slides in, his hand hot and firm on my thigh.
“The time has come,” Sharon’s voice cuts through the murmurs as she moves to the edge of the podium, taking the microphone with her, “to see your first Lot. Please show a warm welcome back to Trixie.” Mostly the gentlemen start to cheer, but a few women whoop too, the energy in the room turning electric. The back door opens, and my breath catches in my throat.
Trixie exits, striding confidently in black kitten heels and nothing else. Completely naked and holding a pair of handcuffs, she catwalks across the ballroom floor, putting on a brilliant show of self-assurance whilst swinging the metal loop around her finger for it to catch the light. Her perfectly rehearsed smile stays in place, her shoulders squared to push out her chest. She has a phenomenal figure, pert breasts, and slim legs. It’s no wonder a handful of paddles shoot into the air.
I gape, blinking through the shock yet unable to look away until Trixie has retreated to stand center stage. Once there, Trixie clasps her hands in front of her, pressing her boobs together, widens her stance slightly, and lowers her head in submission.
She stays like that, listening to Sharon calling out the bids like an auctioneer and shouting ‘sold’to a portly woman with vibrant orange curls near the front. Trixie looks up, smiles at her temporary owner, and makes her way over. I lose sight of Trixie’s head, so I shift into Dax’s space to see she’s dropped to her knees by the chair and remains there for the rest of the evening.
Then it happens again. This time it’s Zara, a blonde who has a braid resting over each shoulder and a teddy bear in her hands. She’s much more lively, skipping along the dancefloor, letting everything bounce. When she comes near enough, I catch a glimpse of bold freckles over her nose and cheeks that must be artificial. She follows the same routine, clasping her teddy bear and bowing her head in submission on stage, before going to kneel by the man who has purchased her.
One after the other, the students reenter the room. All butt naked with a prop of some description, all embracing the crowd’s attention on their exposed skin. Cards shoot into the air, the guests practically salivating over the human beings paraded before them. The numbers climb higher and higher, absurd figures being thrown around. Witheach Lot, Sharon’s enthusiasm grows. She’s laughing and joking. At one point, she smacks the ass of a naked guy when he passes. It’s a circus, and she’s the ringleader.
I’m not sure at what point I faze out, my mind taking a path of its own. When the next student exits the back room, all I see is Axel. My sweet, innocent Axel being gawked and pawed at. The smart, loving man I know reduced to being livestock, all for the benefit of the woman cackling on the edge of the stage. My hands grip the fabric of my dress as I fight the urge to turn away, but I force myself to watch. I owe it to him to bear witness to what he has been subjected to. I’m plagued by the images of what Axel might have endured, what parts of himself he sacrificed, and I can’t stop the tears that spill down my cheeks.
“Peach?” a voice whispers in my ear. The hand on my thigh squeezes, trying to ground me, but I reject the comfort. I need to watch and experience every depraved moment. I need this to reignite the fire in my soul that I let fizzle out. Everyone who parades themselves naked around the room becomes Axel to me. One woman grabs her prize, shoves two slender fingers into his mouth, and when he gags, the whole table around them hollers.
My heart shatters.
“Peach,” Garrett twists my chair, breaking my trance on the room. I can’t fully make out his dark, bottomless eyes in our shaded corner, but I can tell they’re boring right through mine. “Come back to me.” Both of his palms settle on my thighs, kneading me gently. It takes valiant effort to remember to speak, to think, or to breathe. A sob lodges in my throat.
“I can’t… I just,” the words fumble out. Beyond Garrett’s shoulder, both Wyatt and Huxley are looking over in concern, but neither approaches, giving Garrett the space to console me. He licks his lips, nodding slightly.
“I’m not going to tell you it’s okay, ‘cause that’s a fucking lie. None of this is okay, and I know what you’re thinking. If it helps, it wasn’t exactly like this for him.”
Garrett’s words are like a stone tossed into a deep, still pond, rippling through the images in my mind. My vision, blurry with tears, clings to Garrett’s silhouette, his broad frame blocking me from the madness happening all around us. His hands press firmly against my thighs,kneading gently, pulling me out of the swirling darkness and anchoring me to him.
My brain wants to resist. As though it doesn’t want to come back. It doesn’t want to leave the haunted images behind because that would be like leaving young Axel behind. Leaving him to suffer alone and endlessly. My hands tremble, and I twist the fabric painfully between my fingers. Every sound in the room, Sharon’s gleeful commentary, the cheering, the vile cacophony of laughter. It all rings like a bell in my skull, impossible to drown out.
Garrett leans closer, forcing me to breathe in his freshly showered scent, the tickle of his hair gracing my forehead. I inhale his exhale, twinged with mint. “Look at me,” he says. My chest heaves as I fight for air, my ribs expanding painfully against the tightness that binds them. I shake my head, unable to obey.
His hands slide from my thighs to my forearms, prying my fingers away from the crumpled fabric of my dress. Garrett’s tattooed fingers are warm as he threads them through mine, grounding me in their steady grip. Slowly, he lifts my hands, his touch firm but patient, like he’s coaxing a bird back into its nest.
“Peach,” he murmurs again, the nickname soft and familiar, tugging at something deep inside me. “I know it’s hard, but you’re here with us. Not back there. Stay here.”
The tears don’t stop, but they shift. They’re no longer hot streaks of pain but cool drops of release. I blink hard, and Garrett comes into sharper focus. I can make out the strands of his messy hair, the barely visible hint of stubble along his jaw, and the lazy open collar of Hux’s ripped shirt.
I glance over his shoulder again, drawn to the emerald green behind him like a moth to a flame. Wyatt watches closely, his expression heavy with concern. Huxley is beside him, arms crossed so tightly over his chest that his knuckles are turning white. His eyes are fixed on my face, taking each tear trailing down my cheeks as a personal heartache. I hate how vulnerable I must look. Weak and fragile and broken.
“Focus on me,” Garrett urges, moving to hold my nape like he’s physically holding me in the present. “Count the missing buttons on my shirt if you have to. Hell, count the tattoos on my neck and tell me how shit they are. I know you like doing that.” His lips quirk into thesmallest smile, and despite everything, a faint laugh bubbles up from my chest. It’s weak and fleeting, but it’s there, and it feels like breaking through the surface of deep water after holding my breath for too long.
I let my eyes travel across his open shirt, his chest firm beneath a white tank top. The jacket has a subtle sheen under the dim light. I focus on the rhythm of his thumbs as they sweep over my skin and the way his presence seems to fill the space around us like a shield. The noise of the room dulls, fading into a low hum at the edges of my awareness. I’m not fully present yet, but I’m closer than I was.
“I’m so angry,” I whisper, the words spilling out before I can stop them. My eyes dart toward Sharon, still cackling like the queen of this spectacle. Garrett grunts in agreement, his grip on my neck tightening just slightly, just enough to draw my attention back to him.
“I’ve felt that anger for years,” he says. “But we didn’t create this hellhole. We didn’t put Axel here. We’re not responsible for their sickness,” his eyes dart around and quickly come back. His own breath saws in and out, the hand on my nape shaking with the restraint to hold himself together. Garrett is going through the exact same turmoil as I am, although probably in much more vivid detail.
“But there’s a flipside too. We get to heal him. We get to build him back up to be even stronger than before and to show him what real love is. Thanks to you.”
“I haven’t done anything,” I instantly shake my head. Garrett hisses through his teeth, his hand slipping from my neck to my cheek, giving me a rough shake.
“You’ve done everything,” he growls almost angrily, releasing my hand to smack his chest directly over his heart. “You’ve unlocked me.”
There are no more pretty words, and they’re not needed. Garrett’s omission breaks something loose inside me. I press my forehead against his shoulder, letting his essence seep into me. He wraps his arms around me, holding me close, and for the first time since this nightmare began, I feel like I can breathe again.
The sound of bidding rises, the auction continuing without pause. But it feels distant now, like a bad dream fading in the light of morning. Garrett releases my shoulders but doesn’t let go, his steady presence a lifeline as I begin to piece myself back together. Wyatt and Huxley haverelaxed somewhat, though their postures most likely won’t relax until we’re back upstairs in a cuddle puddle.
Steadily coming back to the table, I glance to Dax, who has been frozen until now. He breaks his stillness to glance at his phone clutched tightly in his hand when buzzes again. Wyatt catches the slight purse of his lips.
