The lights dim, casting shadows across the curtained stage. My heart pounds, and I pace in the back, staring past the marble tables and strung-out men, willing the curtain to open. The need to see her, to check on her, to connect with her gnaws away at me until?—
The curtain opens, and the announcer steps onto the stage. He prattles on about the rules and how the night will proceed, but it doesn’t matter. It’s swimming in a sea of hums, laughter, and chatter, all of which are drowned out by my rapidly beating pulse.
The hollow metallic rattle of chains clangs offbeat with their music selection, and I step forward, hands seeking the empty leather chair in front of me. I grip the back of it, closing my eyes and breathing deep. It makes me sick that I have to bid on her, purchase her. She’s everything I want, and there’s no amountof money in the world that wouldor shouldever come close to being enough.
The girls round the corner, shuffling as the iron cuffs hinder their movement. I scan each girl’s face, plastered in makeup and overly glittered. Then I see her. Thea. My Thea.
My relief is snuffed out when I take in the bruising around her stomach—purples, blacks, and blues slinking up around her ribs. When I move to her face, though it’s covered up, the swelling on her cheekbones is undeniable. I stumble forward as she scans her eyes around the room. Is she looking for me? It takes every ounce of effort not to act the fool and jump up and down and wave my arms.
I glance at the Eight’s table, where Senator Graves watches me. It’s immediate—the prickle at the back of my neck. Wrong, my mind whispers.
I try to ignore it and keep my eyes focused on Thea, breathing normally. But Graves’s stare carves its way through the low light and cigar smoke. His eyes don’t flick away when I meet them, he just stares unblinking and vacant.
The announcer calls for the first girl, and she shuffles forward. It’s Juliette, and she doesn’t have a problem seeking me out in the crowd. Her eyes are void, as if she’s reached her limit. She stares through me, and when I glance at Thea, Juliette silently chuckles to herself, shaking her head as the first bid is met and matched.
“Do I have thirty thousand?” the announcer says.
Thea finally spots me, and her eyes widen. She dips her head, gesturing to Juliette, and I tilt my head, not understanding.
“We have thirty thousand. Do I have forty?”
Thea’s expression becomes increasingly annoyed—her nostrils flare slightly as she shifts her weight and subtly lifts her hand to point to Juliette.
No.
No.
I’m not.
Juliette is escorted out, and the next girl is brought up. Thea shakes her head and attempts the same gestures as the numbers climb higher but eventually gives up and rolls her eyes at me when she finally realizes I’m not bidding.
When Thea’s number is called, she doesn’t hesitate. She marches as best she can in shackles and stands proudly in front.
When the first ask is called out by the announcer, I raise my hand, and Thea’s face hardens. When I bid again, she averts her gaze.
“I have seventy thousand. Do I have eighty?” I scour the room. Who the hell is bidding this high?
There’s the cartel idiot in the corner, but then?—
“Do I have eighty-five thousand?”
Graves’s hand raises just enough to be considered, and the announcer acknowledges him.
I raise my hand again.
Graves. Cartel asshole.
Me.
Cartel dude.
Graves.
Me.
Graves.
Damn it!
