Trevor shows the man his phone with evidence of two million dollars in an offshore account. The money’s fake, but they won’t be able to confirm that until we’re well out of here—we hope. “This enough?” he asks, adopting an accent that sounds completely local.
The big guy grunts his agreement and heads down a long hall, and before the door shuts behind us, sealing off the restaurant from what happens in the secret back rooms, I catch a glimpse of Nomar passing by one of the side windows. If all goes well, his diversion will give us the chance to get out of there at the end of the auction with Joey, Mia, and Ivy. Assuming they’re even here.
Another door and another palm scanner lead to a small, sparse room. My heart stops. Against the far wall, five women are lined up, flanked by two men with AK-47s held at the ready. Joey isn’t one of them.
They’re all wearing white or black negligées, their wrists shackled together in front of them, with metal collars around their necks. Each collar connects to the next with a heavy chain, ensuring none of them can run without the others.
Ivy’s first, with Mia last, though I barely recognize them. They looked so fresh-faced and innocent in their passport photos. Now…their eyes are glassy, their cheeks sunken, and they’ve lost weight. A lot of it.
Mia’s forearm arm is encased in a heavy cast, and her body bears dozens of deep, dark bruises. All of them look defeated, terrified, but Ivy, one of only two wearing white, is largely unmarked—only deep purple finger marks around her upper arms and ligature burns around her ankles.
Men gather in front of the girls, a few of them whispering to one another. Most are older, dressed in the finest suits—both Western and traditional.
“She’s not here,” I whisper.
Over comms, Nomar’s voice is low and gravely. “Ready when you are.”
“Wait for my signal,” Trevor says under his breath as he heads over to the rest of the buyers and starts to scan the line of women. Pausing in front of Mia, he jerks his head towards the closest guard. “This one is damaged.”
The man grumbles something I don’t understand, and Trevor fakes a laugh. “I like a little spirit in my harem.”
A dark-haired man dressed in a white suit slips out from behind another door. “Gentlemen, if you will take your seats, we will begin. I am your host, Mr. Black. Tonight, there are five pieces of merchandise up for sale. Payment will be due immediately after the final auction. For those of you without secure transport, delivery can be arranged for a nominal fee.”
Digging my fingers into my thighs as I sit down, I keep my gaze on Ivy. We have to get them out of here and pray they know where Joey is.
Next to the women, the auctioneer clears his throat and gestures to Ivy. “The first piece is twenty-three, one-hundred-sixty-two centimeters tall, and weighs forty-five kilograms. Black hair, green eyes. She is untouched, so the bidding will start at fifty thousand American dollars.”
Four of the men get into a bidding war over her, and Trevor leans over to whisper in my ear as tears stream down Ivy’s porcelain cheeks. “She’ll fetch the highest price of the night as a virgin. But that also means they won’t have raped her already.” As he straightens, he holds up his hand. “One hundred and fifty thousand.”
By the time the Trevor’s outbid the other four men, Ivy’s price is well over two hundred thousand. “Sold. This next item is seventeen, one-hundred-forty centimeters tall, and weighs thirty-nine kilograms. Bidding starts at thirty thousand dollars.”
This girl looks like she came straight from one of the local villages, and she’s terrified, sobbing and shaking as a final price is agreed upon. Mia’s last, and after the auctioneer reads her vital statistics, he nods towards her arm. “She was damaged during transport, but this will not hinder her use. Bidding begins at twenty-thousand.”
Mia glares at the asshole like she wants to rip his dick off and shove it down his throat.
Trevor once again outbids every other man in the room—though Mia’s final price is less than fifty thousand. And then…it’s over.
The elbow to my ribs startles me, and Trevor jerks his head towards the women. The guards are unlocking the chains connecting their collars in preparation for handing them off to their buyers. “Time to go.” Lowering his voice, he mutters, “On my mark.”
Like a good bodyguard, I trail behind him. The goons outside scanned us for metal before they let us in the restaurant, but I have a ceramic knife tucked into my boot and Trevor’s belt turns into at least three separate weapons. Fucking spook has all the good toys.
Trevor strides up to Mr. Black with an air of impatience plastered across his face. “I have a plane leaving in under an hour. Remove their wrist cuffs and cover them. I will not have others looking at what is now mine.”
Mr. Black nods at the guards who each pull out a set of keys and start removing the handcuffs. Ivy and Mia immediately move towards one another, Ivy’s arm wrapping around Mia’s shoulders. “Of course. If you will transfer payment—”
“Now,” Trevor barks, and the rafters shake as the small explosion rattles the building. Bits of dust and plaster rain down, the girls start to scream, and Trevor and I spring into action.
The guards try to round up the women, but I drop and roll, coming up with the knife in my hand. With a quick jab, I sink the ceramic blade into the closest guard’s side, twist, and drop him where he stands.
Trevor pulls off his belt, twists the buckle, and pulls taut, exposing a thin, metal wire. A shot whizzes by my ear, and I spin, aiming a kick to Mr. Black’s solar plexus as Trevor dispatches the second armed man.
But in the next breath, three others race in from a side door. Trevor goes for Black, and I grab a gun off the floor, firing twice, dropping two of the three new assholes. The third grabs Ivy, but she wriggles and kicks until her fist finds his balls, and he drops her.
Another shot makes us all spin around to see Nomar in the doorway, his gun drawn and a look of murderous rage in his eyes. The man who’d grabbed Ivy is gurgling on the floor, blood filling his lungs. He won’t live another five minutes.
Tucking the gun back into his holster, Nomar grabs one of the sets of keys from the closest guard and starts to unlock the other women’s shackled wrists.
“You want to live?” Trevor asks, and Mr. Black starts to choke and wheeze as the garrote bites into his neck. “Where’s Josephine Taylor?”
