Serena slumps her shoulders and directs her reply at the floor. “I’m trying to save my mom. She’s sick.”
My chest is even tighter than before.
Conrad O’Neill had danger written all over him two nights ago, with his cold eyes and unkind voice. Not only did he spill my fucking coffee, he also lied to me.
I should tell Serena to get the hell out of here, but to a heartbroken daughter who just wants her mom back, my words won’t mean anything.
To an extent, I know how she feels.
“What do you mean by ‘wrong’ bidders?”
“The O’Neills and all of their associates…”
I assume that’s it, but her list continues—a string of names that end up becoming noise. I can’t even hearmyselfthink anymore, let alone Serena.
When Conrad hinted that I could go for a lot, was he hinting at buying me?
When he said I wouldn’t need to work a day in my life again, is that because I won’t even be alive to work?
Fuck.
“My son…”
“I know.” Serena squeezes my hand and looks over her shoulder again. “Let’s just hope we get good bidders.”
Good bidders?
Is that a thing?
Men who pay thousands to buy a woman shouldn’t be classified as good.
“Come on, girls,” calls a voice from down the corridor. “We’re on a tight schedule.”
The security guard propels me back into action. My knees have some bend in them this time, but that’s only because I’m running off adrenaline. So much that my hands are now frantically shaking.
We arrive backstage and come to a halt behind the curtain, awaiting our turn. A recording of the stage is playing on theTV. The second woman enters and disrobes down to lingerie, striking a few poses as members of the audience carefully make their bets. The auctioneer stands on the stage in his designated area, reading bids as the cards sail high into the air.
Thousands for one night?
What the actual fuck?
The woman continues posing, flicking her hair and spinning to give the men a three-sixty view. When the bid is settled, the auctioneer steps down to bring the woman to the highest bidder—a grandpa-aged man with a wobbling jaw.
When the applause fades, the next woman is called up—Serena.
Despite our conversation, she slips through the curtain and walks onto stage with a large smile, tossing her hair this way and that. Her lingerie is gold, matching the highlights on her face.
I abandon watching the TV and peek through a tiny gap in the curtain instead, watching in real time as she catwalks up and down in heels that look even more killer than mine.
And that’s when I notice Conrad. He’s in the front row, the furthest left, and looks even more sinister than before. One look at him has the ability to drain life from your body.
And then his eyes find mine across the room.
I gasp and step away from the curtain, like he’s about to shoot me.
Not yet. He’ll probably wait until he has me alone.
I take more steps back, away from the curtain, my breath stuck in my throat. This was all a setup. I took the bait as easy as a goldfish swimming straight into a net.
