In the crowd are both men and women, if their wardrobe is anything to go by. I wouldn’t know otherwise if it weren’t for the clothes and body shapes. Everyone is wearing full-headed white masks that were mailed to them when they received this invite. All the better to hide who you are if you can’t hide what you are.
The woman’s eyes are wide with fear, and she begs Andre’s man to let her go in her Russian tongue. I don’t know if it’s a curse or a gift that I can understand her.
I suppose it was a pro in the boss’s eyes – when I wiggled my way in and quickly rose to the top – that I canspeak and understand many languages. Or as high as I am right now anyway.
Nobody is above me except the boss. Andre and I are equals, both running different sides of this business for the man himself. The man whose name I don’t know. The man I’ve never seen. But I will someday because Andre has talked to him on the phone. Andre’s job makes the most money, so naturally, he gets the calls, and I get the emails. I’ll be damned if I don’t have Andre’s job by this time next year and be shaking the boss’s hand from whatever throne he relaxes in.
Not that I want to sell men and women for that one single purpose – to be put to death in various ways and fucked once their heart stops beating – but the pay is exponentially greater if Andre’s boasting is to be believed.
Even though the woman is bound by thick rope, she tries to yank her hands free when Andre’s man starts to cut away her dirty clothes. Her red, matted hair scrapes against his bulging biceps, and he moves out of the way just in time to avoid a swift kick toward his shin. I hope she knows that this little show she’s putting on will only drive her price higher. Most of these men and women like to see the fight leave their eyes when they take their last breath.
I scratch at my eyebrow with my thumb as the last garment, her underwear, puddles onto the floor, and she stands naked before us, breasts heaving.
“You’re all going to hell! To hell!” she screams in Russian.
Probably.
I’m close enough to see a fine sheen of sweat break over her skin. She reminds me of the fish my friend and I used to catch when we were kids. Damp, slimy, dirty, and flopping for its life before we skinned it alive.
Tears stream down her cheeks as the bidding starts,and I block off every single emotion I was born with.No emotions,I remind myself. Though she doesn’t speak English, she knows exactly what’s happening. She knows that she’s being sold, and she knows that whoever buys her won’t ever reveal his or her identity, which means that she likely knows she won’t survive what comes next.
The bidding reaches over a million dollars before she’s sold, tagged in the ear like cattle, and shoved into the back of this warehouse.
It takes two of Andre’s men to drag the next person on stage: a man. He isn’t tall, but he’s thin and has good looks. I know without having him stripped down to nothing that he’ll go for a good price.
The man shoves his weight into Andre’s men before two others join to contain him. He doesn’t say a word as the four of them yank him to the front, but his eyes are full of promises of murder, promises he won’t be able to keep.
A man in the crowd is the first bidder as soon as the clothes are stripped off. The amount quickly climbs over a million before I dip out of the shadow I had tucked myself in and head to the champagne bar.
The bartender, who I give credit for seeming unaffected, looks up at me as I approach. I’ve never seen him before – I’d recognize that shade of blue hair anywhere – but I can tell he’s high as fuck. Probably to cope. We all cope in our own ways.
“Anything stronger than champagne back there?” I ask him, half turning toward the bidding while keeping my ear in his direction.
“Andre brought in liquor for the winning bidders,” he mutters. “But that’s not for –”
“I’ll take a glass.”
“But –”
I fully turn to face him and pin him with my own murderous glare. “I’ll take a glass,” I say threateningly.
“Erm. Right.” Quickly, he bends at the knees and digs around underneath the bar’s top. Glass clinks until he eventually pulls up a bottle of fine whiskey.
As he pours into a crystal-clear glass, I feel someone approach behind me. A quick glance tells me Andre is standing there, a smirk on his face and his arms crossed over his crisp suit. “What?” I demand as I take my glass and gulp a generous amount.
“You came.”
I lift an eyebrow over the rim of my glass before lowering it. “I always do.”
“I never see you.”
“Because I don’t like to be seen.” Nothing could be more true. I’m a watcher until I choose otherwise, both in and out of the bedroom.
He lifts his eyebrows at me before glancing at my drink. “Looting, are we?”
The only answer I give him is shrugging one shoulder. With the hand that’s holding the glass, I point to the room, encompassing everything that’s happening here. “Seems to be going well.”
He glances back and then nods. “It was a good shipment. They’re all feisty.”
