I gasped. In what world was I worth a bid that high? Was any one person’s body, any one person’s virginity, worth that much?
“And an extra fifty K for you, Mr. Auctioneer, if we can end this right here, right now.” The same voice, confidence rich and apparent in it, a honey-sweet timbre complimenting its deep darkness.
It was the mystery man. The bidder from the back. He went on to say, “My associates and I would like to get our night started sooner rather than later.”
The other men laughed, whistled, whooped.Associates?My heart in my throat, I watched the glittering crowd part as a mass of men approached the stage.
I heard the angry sputtering of the man in the front row, and faintly I recognized the auctioneer’s mallet hitting his podium, a loud crack of sound that made me jump like it was a gunshot.
I’d been won.
I’d beenbought.
And it wasn’t just one man, the man from the shadows who sparked my hopeful imagination, who was coming up to claim me.
There werethreeof them.
And somehow, by some merciful miracle, they were all gorgeous.
2
JONATHAN
The annual Valentine’s Day auction wasn’t my idea of a good time, but at least the event served damn good whiskey.
I’d need the liquor if I wanted to hang around this crowd for very long. I’d been born into mafia royalty, and though I was able to play it cool in business meetings and high-stakes standoffs, that didn’t mean this cesspool of criminality and greed was palatable to swim in.
My two colleagues—friends, if I was honest—were the only ones in the room I wouldn’t flay one thin skin layer at a time if given the chance. Alexei Antonov on my right, Devin Lay at my left, and as far as the eye could see nothing but dirtbags.
There was Derek Pratt, the drug kingpin who prayed on the vulnerable with no remorse despite the already-immense depths of his pockets, sitting a table over in a flashy velvet suit, a younger woman on each of his arms.
The man who simply went by Jagger who made a living as a high-value hitman for those who were too cowardly to spill enemy blood themselves.
One of my father’s rivals, a shady man-about-town who played every side of the organized crime game, switching alliances as easily as he changed his expensive Italian leather shoes, gave me a nod and a tip of his own tumbler of Scotch when I met his cold eyes across the way.
I nodded back, swigging my drink extra deeply to combat the feelings of disgust.
No one could say I was a moral man, but loyalty was a value I’d always uphold. My allegiance to my family, the illustrious Buteras, couldn’t be bought for any amount of money.
Tonight, it was a cool three mil on the line.
“What was the lot number again?” Devin asked me from the side of his mouth, careful not to let anyone around us hear. We were in a den of vipers.
Except we were vipers too, of course.
“Zero-six-nine-three,” I reminded him.
“And we have no idea what the goddamn thing is,” Alex said. It was decidedly not a question, but another of his simple, cool complaints. His clean-shaven jaw was set hard as marble, which anyone else who knew him would think was business as usual for the stoic, seemingly emotionless man. I knew him well enough by now, though, that I could see the added edge to it. The extra rigidity in his posture.
Alex didn’t like the unexpected. He wasn’t one for surprises.
“Does it matter? Pops needs it. We’ll get it.” Hell, we had even been encouraged toshareour mystery winnings—all three of us. I had no idea what that could mean. Were we supposed to sharecustody of some stolen artifact? Switch it between our respective homes every other weekend?
“Are you sure he didn’t give you any kind of indication why this…package is so important?” Devin asked, though it could have been any of us.
Even though I was the heir apparent, Pops didn’t share more information with me than he did with either of the men by my side.
Though Devin sometimes rebelled enough that he could be seen as my father’s least-favorite pseudo-son, the three of us had earned our high positions in the family.
