They all had an air of certainty that I lacked. These people, the bidders I’d be paraded in front of whenever I figured out exactly where I was supposed to go, belonged in this glittering underground society.
I knew this whole thing was illegal, of course. I just never expected criminals to look so…glamorous.
Somehow, while dodging leering looks from men at least twice my age and skeptical stares from the women on their arms, I found my way to the far edge of the room, right by the stage withheavy velvet curtains where I assumed the auction items would be displayed.
This was where the show would begin.
At the edge of the stage, I found someone who was clearly working, another indistinct man in a dark suit with an aura of authority that warred with his efforts to draw no attention to himself.
“Excuse me,” I squeaked then cleared my throat.You need to act like you belong, Frankie.It seemed ill-advised to show any vulnerability in this crowd, even as a cold panic was creeping its way up my throat, demanding to be felt. I tried again. “I’m here for the auction. As…as a special representative of Mr. Ferrara.”
It was what my father had told me to say, and it activated the man in front of me.
His sharp eyes widened slightly, then he was whisking me off down another hallway, this time darker and less decorated, leading to the crowded backstage area.
There were people in dark clothing with headsets and clip boards, all bustling around, making this shady event run like a well-oiled machine.
He pointed me toward a place where I could sit, catch my breath, give my already-aching feet a break. He gave me a sign with a small chain attached to it like a handle. In large print, the number 0693.
“That’s your lot number,” he told me. Then he left me alone. I got the hint to slip the chain around my neck from seeing the first item, a large marble statue of an eagle in flight. It had its own lot number tacked at its base.
Though I felt more and more uneasy, the sick dehumanized feeling only amplified by the literal chain around my neck, I was able to settle myself and my nerves for a short time, planting myself in a quiet corner alone as I waited for this whole ordeal to get started.
Something stuck out to me, though, and when I finally figured out what felt weird—well, even weirder than this whole night—the realization just about knocked me over.
Of all the bustling, busy people in my line of sight, none of them seemed to be up for auction themselves. They were in plain clothes. They were working. I was the only one decked out in sparkles, teetering on impossible heels. There were other auction items, but they were…normal.
Large frames covered with cloth to hide the precious artwork within them, antique objects in clear glass cases, enormous pieces of jewelry I suspected were at least stolen if not full-on cursed. The only otherlivingauction item, as far as I could tell, was growling from behind the bars of a large cage at the far side of the room. I made sure to keep my distance.
I’d assumed this whole auction was, well, for virgins. That I wouldn’t be the only young, untouched woman available for the lecherous types who would pay for virginity to gawk at, bid upon. But when the auction started, just as I suspected, almost all the prizes up for perusal were inanimate. Stolen, valuable goods.
I heard the applause. The fast-talking of the auctioneer, the exorbitant costs some items were going for. Over a dozen lots were queued up before me, leaving me to stew in my fear, my wish that there was some other way to help my mom.
There wasn’t one other human auction item on the entire lineup. And it became clear by the time I heard my own introduction that that was by design.
I was the grand prize.
When it was my turn, my auction number on the sign around my neck hanging low enough to still show off my cleavage, I had a worse bad feeling than any of the other anxiety derivatives I’d been experiencing since that phone call with my father.
“Last up for tonight, but certainly not least, we’ve got our most exclusive treasure on the docket, item 0693.”
A booming cheer erupted from a crowd that had, before now, kept their reactions pretty subdued. I felt my legs carrying me forward, through the parted dark curtains and toward the stage lights where I wouldn’t be able to hide.
The auctioneer had more spiel, and it accompanied my slow walk to the chopping block.
“Some lucky bidder will get the right to the greatest pleasure a man can experience: being the first person to fuck a sweet young thing.”
Another cheer, louder than last time, a fair few wolf-whistles mixed in as I finally stepped into the light. I could feel the eyes on me before I could see them.
I squinted through the bright stage lighting, staring out at a crowd that was bigger than I’d thought when I was making my way through it.
Had even more greedy, morally bankrupt people arrived during my decompression time backstage? How many people could there be in the area where I’d grown up who fit that description?
“And in this case, as you all can see, our sweet little virgin is a very special lady indeed. Isn’t she delectable, boys?”
A rumble of more cheers, stomping feet, and ravenous near-growls turned my stomach. In the front row, I spotted a pockmarked old man with a wicked expression of glee on his face, and for the first time, it occurred to me that I couldn’t go through with this. No way I could sleep with someone likethat. I’d flinch at the slightest touch from most of these men.
“We’ll start the bidding,” announced the auctioneer in a sickly satisfied voice, “at twenty-five thousand dollars.”
