“I bid a jug of milk,” says the first man.
Milk? Do they have cows here?
“Two dozen eggs over here. Fresh ones.”
Chickens, too?
Maverick raises his hand. “Five lighters.”
“A fresh-baked loaf of bread. Oh, and I’ll get my Suzie to throw in a pot of honey for a sister-wife.”
Darryl nods. “I’m bid.”
“Three rolls of toilet paper,” offers another. He’s standing up front next to Maverick, and he looks like he’s about seventy years old. “Two-ply,” he adds with a toothless grin.
“A bottle of mouthwash and half a roll of toothpaste.”
Maverick raises his hand again. “I’ve got a bottle of whiskey, with all but a single mouthful still inside.”
That gets a smattering of applause. I’m not surprised, though I’d like to know where he got a bottle of whiskey from—and why he hasn’t shared any of that with me this week.
“High bid belongs to Maverick Brooks,” announces Darryl. “Anyone want to beat the outsider and his whiskey?”
The old man calls out hopefully: “Six rolls of toilet paper?”
“How about a trade, Darryl?” That’s a big, boisterous man standing in the back. He has his massive hands cupped around his mouth so that we can all hear him. “I’ll give you three of my girls for the first night with this one.”
Darryl laughs while I have to fight from showing my outright hatred for these people. “No can do, Wyatt. You know the rules. High bid wins. So should we call it, boys? Alexandra, going once?—”
I bite my bottom lip, thinking:I fucking wish.
“—Alexandra, going twice?—”
Please let one thing go right for me… just one damn thing.
“Alexand—”
“A carton of cigarettes!” cries out a smug voice triumphantly.
I want to find whoever just shouted and kick them in the face. Looking at Maverick, I can tell he’s thinking the same exact thing.
There’s some groaning and a few curses bellowed after that list bid, and my stomach drops; they have to think nobody can beat that. Darryl nods appreciatively before turning to Maverick with a sad shake of his head. He’s still wearing that wolf’s grin as he says, “A carton of cigs, Brooks, that’s gonna be hard to beat. It’s your bid. You got anything to add?” He glances over at me and there’s no mistaking his leer. “Girl like this, she’s worth a lot. To beat a whole carton… that gun tucked under your shirt, hanging on your hip might do it.”
I can’t read Maverick’s expression. His lips thin, eyes unblinking as he stares at Darryl first, glances my way, then back at Darryl. I’m holding my breath. Maverick promised me that he would win me no matter what, hepromised, but would he give up his gun? That piece of metal—that last relic from his old life—is like Rory’s jacket. It’s the one thing he seems to really care about.
And, somehow, Darryl knows all about it.
Chloe had told me how to behave while on the stage. Just stand there, smile, and be pretty, she said, before warning me against doing anything that might piss Darryl off while he was standing in front of his men.
Don’t argue, don’t cry, and don’t show any emotion at what’s going on—it’ll be over in a few minutes and then, so long as I mind myself, I’ll be won by a good man who’d be a decent husband.
Except that’s not the way it was supposed to happen. Maverick had aplan.
I stare down at him, struggling to keep my expression from revealing just how fucking scared I am all of a sudden.
He’s not going to let me be sold for a carton of cigarettes… is he?
Mav’s hand slides to his waistband, placed over the bulge that both Darryl and I—and everyone in East Jersey—knows is his revolver. He looks away.
