I bit down on my tongue. He had a point. I guess it’d just always been my job to know the men surrounding me. Buyers.Creed. It didn’t make a difference. They all shaped and molded me, and I found my comfort in at least knowing exactly who I was dealing with at all times. I had to force the next words. I remember how I trembled in my seat, confused and angry, watching him watch me. “Give me something,” I said.
“Why?” he pushed.
“Because I need it.” I flexed my fingers around the glass. “Because part of me is holding out hope that I’m not sitting across from another hell.”
Alexander ran his hand over his mouth, dropping his gaze to his brandy. Then he shook his head and drained his drink in one swallow. “I can’t do that,” he managed before he knocked twice on the divider. The limo slowed, coming to a smooth stop. “We’re here,” he said. “Last chance for the pill. Once we step out of this car, you don’t get to fight me anymore.”
I downed the rest of the brandy and shoved past him onto the sidewalk. The world tilted, just slightly, and I stumbled with a quiet grunt. Despite his adamant need to refrain from touching me, he caught me instantly, his arm locking around me with practiced ease, steering me forward as if I’d meant for it to happen. My stomach tightened when his hand slid lower, but I was also acutely aware of how performative it was. I could feel just how tense every muscle in his arm was, the mere act of holding me stressing him out in a very similar way to my own anxiety for the situation. A Buyer wouldn’t act like that, but an asset would,a product. I chewed on the inside of my cheek.You think sharing a past with the same monster makes us kin. Maybe some part of me did. I couldn’t help it. I didn’t want to trust him, and I didn’t fully, but I felt a certain piece of myself thaw just slightly.
“I mean it, Arden,” he murmured, leaning in as he guided me toward the revolving door where a doorman waited. “I’ll do my best to stay restrained, but they expect ownership from me. I’llhave to touch you until we’re back at the car. Don’t leave my side at any point.”
I nodded. I…believed him. That part was a necessary act, and at least for now, I was willing to play the part to get my answers.
Inside, everything gleamed brightly, marble veined with gold stretching out beneath our feet. Chandeliers spilled warm light across polished stone, and I caught fractured pieces of myself in every reflective surface as we moved. Alexander’s hand settled at the small of my back, firm and unmistakably guiding now. Each step I took was calibrated to his, my heels tapping softly against floors that had likely cost more than Viktor’s entire estate. Men in tailored suits passed us, some alone, some with women at their sides who didn’t look at the art or the space or each other. They stared straight ahead, faces smooth and vacant, jewelry catching the light at their throats and wrists like decorative restraints.
Dolls.
Faint horror trickled down my spine. There were…Why were there so many of them? Surely Viktor’s operation couldn’t be producing Dolls that quickly?
We moved through layers of indulgence, each corridor more excessive than the last. A private dining hall waited at the end, its doors open. A single long table dominated the space, dark wood polished until it gleamed, positioned beneath a massive oil painting that loomed across the far wall. The men seated there were unmistakable. Buyers. I knew it by the way they held themselves.
Conversation stopped as we entered. Their attention slid over me without shame, lingering and slow. Some looked curious, others openly interested, and a few barely looked at all, their indifference somehow worse, like I was one more interchangeable body. I could feel myself shrinking under it, instinct screaming for cover where none existed. Alexanderdidn’t pull out a chair for me. He sat first, then caught me and dragged me down onto his lap, knocking the breath from my lungs. His arm locked around my waist, firm and unyielding. I tensed, ready to fight, but he leaned close. “Doll,” he said quietly, and I ground my teeth, nostrils flaring.
I forced myself still, swallowing the urge to claw my way free, my body rigid against his as his hand settled low on my hip. His fingers dug in just enough to make the message unmistakable.Mine. I hated that he was staking a claim, but I also knew how disastrous it could be if I didn’t play along. The guards lining the perimeter discreetly with their guns made that much clear.
A server appeared, setting a plate in front of me. The food was lavish, heavy with scent and heat, steam curling upward, but I couldn’t stomach the idea of eating anything in the presence of Buyers. My gaze drifted instead to the wall behind the table, to the massive oil painting as the frame began to lift, rising just enough to reveal a thin seam of darkness beneath.
I went still.
Behind it, inch by inch, glass was revealed. Beyond the glass was another room, washed in harsh white light that made everything inside look sterile. Bodies were arranged with a precision that turned my stomach. People stood there, some clothed, some not, hands bound, heads bowed, faces hidden or turned away. A few lifted their eyes when the light shifted, wide and hollow.
They were assets. Just like me. Just like Creed.
Every one of them had a number fixed somewhere on their skin or collarbone. My gaze drifted to the paddles being passed around the table, offered with the same polite efficiency as wine. Alexander accepted one, his arm tightening around my waist. A woman’s voice filled the room through the intercom, the tone of someone welcoming guests to something celebratory. “Welcome, Buyers. S.I.N. appreciates your on-going support.Today we have a plethora of phenomenal assets. Each have been thoroughly prepared for whatever your desires may be. We will begin the bid at ten thousand. Please raise your paddles to purchase.” The wordbidsettled into me slowly, heavily.
Behind the glass, the assets began to move with resignation, stepping into the light when summoned, pausing while they were assessed, priced, and reduced to products. Voices around the table murmured numbers, and each time a paddle lifted, an asset disappeared from view. I watched Alexander raise his own a handful of times, never urgently, never to win. He wasn’t choosing. He was participating. Observing. Allowing the process to unfold.
S.I.N.
I had spent years believing what happened to Creed and the kids at Viktor’s estate and Halden’s compound was isolated, the cruelty of individual men with too much power and no restraint. But this wasn’t that. This was organized. A…system. I wondered how many Viktors existed within it? How many Haldens? The room felt tighter with every breath I took. I stared through the glass at bowed heads and bound hands. That place, it would’ve been my fate if I’d never stolen a car or went to Viktor’s courtyard to fight. I knew it in the deepest marrow of my bones. My mind betrayed me, dragging Leah into it, her gala dress and her broken smile and the syringe forced into her arm. I imagined her standing there naked behind the glass, the man who raped her toward death lifting a paddle for a measly fifteen grand. I shook, hard enough that I couldn’t hide it. The truth was assembling itself too quickly to outrun. I had been a fool to believe the cruelty I knew was contained, that Halden’s network was the whole of it. Creed hadn’t been sent to silence dissent within a single system. He had been enforcing something far larger.
All those evil men Creed killed…It was only so that a greater evil could thrive.
I gripped the edge of the table when the room tilted, breath turning shallow.
“Arden,” Alexander whispered discreetly. “Remain calm, darling.”
My chin trembled, my nose scrunching in pain. It had only been a few days since I’d lost Leah. Everything…it was just too much, and it was crashing into me all at once. I shifted again, trying to keep my composure and failing. The tiniest gasp left me as I tried to rake in a steadying breath, and I winced at the sound, drawing attention toward us.
“That one is pretty,” a man across said casually, his gaze settling on me. “How much, sir?”
Every head turned.
“Not for sale.” Alexander’s arm tightened around my waist just as another bid was called over the intercom, the numbers rising and falling like a chant. Then, without warning, he lifted his paddle. Murmurs passed in low currents across the table. Another bidder raised his paddle, testing the waters. Alexander didn’t look at him. He raised his own again. The other man hesitated, then lowered his hand.
Behind the glass, the woman who had been standing under the lights was ushered away, her face drained as she disappeared through a side door. The gavel struck once. “Sold to Buyer 84: Alexander Mayhew.”
The words echoed through the room and lodged somewhere inside me.Mayhew. I knew that name. Why did I know that name? It made sense to me that he wouldn’t call himself Creed around Buyers, not with the name being so associated with assets like Rafe, Thorne, Kane, and me. At the same time, Creed had been on his license. It seemed to be the name he claimed most. So why Mayhew? I squeezed my eyes shut. It nagged atthe back of my mind, memories itching forward. For the briefest instant, I was back in Halden’s compound, settled at my desk in the ASL classroom, Kane writing outCATon the whiteboard and all of us realizing Rafe couldn’t read or write. I pictured Florence’s frantic but fierce face. “My life is on the line, too.”Then for the first time, we saw her. Really saw her. “Mayhew. Florence Mayhew,”she said, lifting her chin a bit.
