She shifts nervously. The bidding starts. She flinches.
I lift my paddle.
Her gaze hits mine—and holds.
The room disappears. Two ghosts. Same frequency.
Another man bids.
Jealousy hits like a lightning strike—too hot, too fast.
My hand rises again. This isn’t obligation. It’s instinct. This is stepping between her and whatever hunts her.
Her eyes soften. Slightly. Barely. But enough.
“Sold,” the announcer says.
And it feels like a beginning.
Sadie leaves the stage, and I sit there, pulse unsteady, pretending my world hasn’t tilted. Tank and Tex wear identical smug expressions that make me want to commit crimes.
Tank nudges me. “You good?”
“Yes.”
“Liar,” Tex singsongs.
I ignore them and stand, needing air. Space. Something.
The auction hall buzzes with soft conversation, hopeful tension, and champagne glasses clinking. Men head toward the meeting area to greet the women they’ve bid on. Some are nervous. Some excited. Some reverent.
I’m… none of those things. I’m something I don’t have a name for.
Tank and Tex flank me as we move toward the exit corridor, each of us heading toward whatever future we just walked into blindfolded.
“Don’t bail,” Tex warns. “You’re not allowed.”
“I didn’t sign anything,” I mutter.
Tank snorts. “You bid. That’s the signature.”
“That’s not how signatures work.”
“It is tonight.”
I want to argue, but the truth is simple: I don’t want to leave. Not until I see her up close.
We reach the corridor where the women will come out one by one. A staff member nods at us, checking numbers and directing men to their meeting rooms.
It’s Tank’s turn first. Jessie appears, freckles glowing, chin set like she’s ready to wrestle fate itself. Tank freezes, then softens into something I’ve never seen on his face.
Tex’s turn. Jane bursts out like a sunbeam in boots, spots Tex, and grins like he’s dessert.
Both men are gone, absolutely done for.
I’m up next.
My heartbeat kicks hard, once, twice—then stutters.
