The clamor stills when a rough, croaky voice calls out, “Fifty million pounds.”
Fuuuck.It’s that ancient lunatic Chun Zhang, head of the Zhang Triad. His people are deep into the ugliest parts of our world, and his particularly foul tastes meant that if I shot the girl now, I’d be giving her mercy before she had to face what Zhang would do to her.
“Sixty million!”
I don’t recognize the face but the accent’s Sicilian. One of the sons from the Calderone Mafia?
The girl is standing tall, refusing to cower and try to cover herself. I see her pretty pink lips move and I suspect it’s a stream of profanities. I would like her… if she wasn’t a MacTavish.
“Seventy million pounds!”
She’s a tiny thing.
That wild mass of flaming hair is the biggest part of her, while her legs are long, slim, and toned, she’d barely come up to my shoulder, if that. It won’t take much for Zhang to break her, even as brave as she is.
Still… I have my own reasons for causing the MacTavish men anguish, and the perfect tool for it is standing on that stage, starting to tremble.
Sighing, I shout, “Eighty million pounds.”
Zhang’s group swivels around to stare at me menacingly.
Fuck off, lads. A stern glare isn’t shaking me off.
“Eighty-one!” Zhang growls.
“One hundred million pounds,” I say impatiently.
There’s a stirring in the crowd now, a sense of menace between the men battling to buy the girl, a dark, coiled energy that can explode into violence in seconds. No one pushes back against the Zhang Triad, but I’m in the mood.
The auctioneer has beads of sweat forming on his forehead, one trickling into the collar of his shirt.
“An unprecedented bid, gentlemen!” he wheezes, “Do I hear a hundred and one?”
Chun Zhang keeps his black gaze on me.
“No? Do I hear another bid?” The auctioneer’s false joviality is coming back. “Going once. Going twice. Sold to Mr. Taylor for a record one hundred million pounds.”
“Gentlemen, this concludes our auction this evening.” The man’s sweaty and beaming like the hundred million is going into his pocket. “Please come to the lounge to pay and pick up your merchandise.”
The girl is staring up at the bar where I’m sitting, eyes narrowed, trying to see me. She doesn’t realize the lights are angled to keep her from seeing the crowd, meant to increase the captive’s terror as this scum of the earth bid on her.
I don’t dwell on the question of what that makesmeas I stride out of the lounge. I have to pick up my new property.
Chapter Four
In which Sorcha learns that no matter how far you run from your past, it finds you anyway.
Sorcha…
This can’t be happening.
I’m going to wake up and it’ll just be one of my night terrors and… My frantic denial shatters when the cage theseskoomhave me in lurches as it sweeps down toward the stage, knocking me over.
***
Earlier that day…
I’d woken up in a horrible little room, a concrete bunker with a stained mattress and a steel door with a tiny barred window. Men occasionally walk down the hall, peering in at me with a grin. I can hear the soft sobs of other women echoing down the concrete hall. My running gear is gone and I’m in some horrible lace teddy that’s nearly transparent. There’s no mirror in here, but I don’t need to see my reflection to know I’m practically naked.
