A nervous murmur traverses the room.
“Silence,” the man snaps. “Will my guest be auctioned with the others, Darius?”
There’s a scraping on the polished floor like someone’s nervously stepping from one foot to the other. The room’s so quiet you’d hear a pin drop. So quiet I hear Darius swallow loud enough to penetrate the rug.
“No, Boss, she won’t.”
“And which girls are you allowed to playdate with here?”
“The ones for auction.”
“Exactly,” the boss clips. A faintclickfills the air, making my stomach somersault. I know that click. It’s the click of a gun’s safety being flipped. “Let this be a lesson.”
“Boss, it was—”
“Strike three.”
A deafening shot cuts Darius off.
My ears ring, girls scream, and there’s a shuffle of men’s feet scurrying away from the rug. And then, as if in slow motion... a heavy thud.
“Jax, consider this your promotion. You’re in charge here. Don’t make me regret it.” Anotherclick, the safety being flipped back on. “What are you waiting for? Lift the fucking rug.”
Another shuffle of feet, and light breaches the darkness ahead. The first thing I make out is the sole of a black combat boot. Then the other.
Darius’s boots.
He lays where he stood, crimson blood pooling around his head and glimmering under the lights.
Angling my head, I see a man towering above the others. He steps closer, a perfect blend of strength and elegance highlighted by a black suit, tailored to hug every inch of his broad shoulders and narrow waist. He crouches on my left, slicking back his neatly styled hair before holding his hand out.
“It’s okay, Hailey,” he coos, his black eyes boring into mine, tone soothing, like he’s talking to a wounded animal. “You’re okay.” He extends his hand further, bending two fingers in acome heremotion. “Come on, let’s get you settled into your room.”
Part of me wants to stay where I am. I don’t know if I can trust this man but he killed Darius, who threatened to rape me and let others do the same.
I have a choice: stay in a room full of men palming their dicks, eager to assault the girls crowded by the exit, or take his hand and leave, not knowing whether he’ll just rape me in a less public setting.
There’s a softness in his features which tells me he’s young. Very young, considering he’s the boss around here. I doubt he’s Nash’s age. Probably a few years younger.
I swallow hard and start crawling on my hands and knees, my new mantra leaping from the depths of my subconscious:one man is better than thirty.
“Attagirl,” the boss says. “Just a little further.”
No one speaks.
No one moves.
Even the girls are fighting to stay quiet.
I bite my cheek, swallowing every sound that wants to escape my lips each time I move. There’s not a part of my body that doesn’t ache. I doubt I’ll be able to lay on my back for days. I wouldn’t be surprised if they broke my ribs with the carpet beater.
“Almost there, keep going.” He shuffles forward to reach me sooner. “That’s it. Take my hand.”
I do.
Lacking better options, I let him lace our fingers, expecting a sharp tug, then his hand fisting my blonde, damp locks so he can yank me to my knees.
But it doesn’t happen.
