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Save her
Who? Who’s so important that someone would risk reaching out to me? The High Table’s stance against human trafficking is common knowledge among Miami’s criminal circles. The sender of the message must have known that if they were brave enough to contact me.
This is stupid. I’m stupid. I know this isn’t a good idea, but my curiosity wins out in the end. No one deserves to be auctioned off like a piece of meat, doomed to spend their lives in pain and misery until they are finally given the sweet release of death. If there is even a slim chance that I know one girl there tonight and can save her from that kind of life…I’m going to try.
14
Michael
Seeing the crowd gathered for the auction leaves me feeling tainted, like being in their mere presence makes me just as perverted and dirty as they are. Each one of these sick fuckers is incredibly lucky they’re wearing masks and that I’m only here to observe. Because what I really want to do is put an end to every one of their miserable, disturbed existences.
Young women wearing only tiny thongs barely large enough to cover their bald mounds, walk around carrying black trays covered in flutes of gold champagne. One girl with a black bob approaches. One look and I quickly count her out as the one I was sent here to save. She offers the tray to us with a small and timid smile. Raphael and I each take a glass for show before she walks off to offer the same to another group of men. I watch as one large man grabs a handful of her bare ass, making the girl shriek as she struggles to keep her tray upright. Does she know what’s going to happen here tonight? Maybe she’s a part of it and will be sold off alongside the others? The thought has me clenching my jaw in silent rage.
Beside me, Raphael fidgets with his jacket sleeve, just as annoyed as I am. “I don’t like this, brother,” he comments over the rim of his glass, faking a sip as his eyes roam the crowd. “How many people do you think are here that we know?”
“One too many,” I answer vaguely as I eye the men dressed in sharp suits, their faces concealed by a sea of masks. What sends a shiver down my spine is not the idea that we may be surrounded by people we know, but the number of women accompanying them. How can they turn a blind eye to what is about to happen to other women, men…kids? They have to know what their husbands intend to buy them for. But maybe they enjoy it too. Women can be just as dark and twisted as men. Sometimes more.
A man’s voice comes over the speaker, requesting us to take our seats as the auction is about to begin. Raphael and I find two empty seats in the back row where a pamphlet rests on the blood-red velvet cushion, alongside a numbered auction sign. I sit and open the trifold paper, immediately regretting it.
The different selections are listed out like options on a menu. The sick descriptions of each category send a frosty chill down my spine.
Preteen: A selection between the ages of 8 and 12. Guaranteed virgins.
Young: A selection between the ages of 16 and 21.
Adult: A unique selection of all genders above 21 years.
Who am I supposed to save? What category will she be in? Can’t I just save them all and kill each sick motherfucker in the room, keeping future victims from their cruelty as well? And then I want to find the bastards behind the entire organization and kill them, too.
The lights dim over the crowd before a tall, thin man takes the stage. The resounding sound of applause is like nails on a chalkboard to my ears. With a huge smile stretched across his face, he bows to the crowd like he’s about to put on a show.
“Welcome, welcome my friends, and thank you for attending. I do hope you enjoy the selection we have prepared for you tonight. As always, just a few rules to go over before we get started. Rule one, you are allowed only two purchases. Rule two, there are no returns, refunds, or exchanges. And rule three, no sampling of your purchase until payment has been received.” He claps his hands, and the lights strobe, sweeping across the crowd like the start of a game show, before coming back together to highlight the stage.
“Without further ado. The preteens!”
It’s exactly as terrible and gut-wrenching as I imagined it would be. One by one, young girls and boys are sold off to the highest bidder, their futures uncertain but horrible. Auction signs rise casually into the air like it’s just another day for them. As the victims sob, I even spot some men around us shift uncomfortably, their hands moving to adjust their pants in a way that makes me feel dirty.
These are children. They’re innocent. No matter how they came to be here at this auction, they are still someone’s child and didn't deserve a single moment of this nightmare. Every time the gavel comes down with the word “Sold” shouted, it’s like a judge delivering a death sentence. Because that’s exactly what it is. The applause afterward drowns out the victims’ sobs, which then turn into gut-wrenching wailing when they’re pulled off stage and replaced with the next innocent.
There’s a small break between sets, and I quickly stand, determined to move away from the main stage.
“Jesus Christ.” Raphael joins me in an empty corner. “What the fuck is happening here? No less than five men were bidding on that young boy. That disgusting bastard is going to rape that child tonight and have him killed once he’s had his fill and is no longer useful.”
Only to attend the next auction and buy another innocent child. The terror in that boy’s eyes when the horrifying realization of his future registered is something I’ll never shake.
“I assume you didn’t recognize any of them, then?” Raphael ventures.
I shake my head. “No. I want to burn this entire fucking building to the ground with everyone in it.”
The auctioneer comes back over the speaker, and we take our seats once more. Somehow, I block out the next few sets, growing more angry and desperate with each slam of the gavel. I haven’t recognized a single woman, man, or kid yet, and as the selections continue, a dark thought crosses my mind that maybe Dominic was right. Maybe this is all just an elaborate setup to get Raphael and me here? Because it sure is starting to look that way.
“And now for our adults. We’ll start with the ladies, shall we?” The auctioneer motions for the first victim, and a loud commotion comes from behind the curtain. Two large men appear, dragging a woman between them. She’s putting up a hell of a fight. Most have, but something about this woman is familiar, and I lean forward, suddenly anxious to see her face.
Finally, she’s pulled onto the middle of the stage, and my heart slams to a stop. I would recognize this woman anywhere.
“Holy shit. Is that…?” Raphael whispers beside me.
“Rose.”
