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“It’s been a long time.” Offering a shrug, I adjust myself in the seat.
“If it’s any consolation, I know what it’s like to come into this world…unwillingly.” She offers me a sealed bottle of water from the table in the middle of the room. The space is supplied with all the things these girls might need before they’re paraded out on stage and purchased for outrageous sums of money. “And strange as it might sound, it turned out to be the best thing I could have ever hoped for.”
“Really?” Swigging from the bottle, I can’t help but wonder what her story is. But we don’t have time to get into any further details because there’s movement, a flurry of feathers and sequins, as the burlesque performers bustle off stage. The main event is due to start any second.
“Ready?” Poe looks at me and flashes a wide, conspiratorial grin.
I bite my lip, then smile back at her.
“As I’ll ever be.”
23
“Welcome to you all, our Gathered, for this evening’s annual auction of pleasures.” The woman on stage commands every fragment of attention from the sea of skull masks filling the room. Her black bodice and fishnet tights glitter with diamonds set against her dark skin, and she has the audience eating out of the palm of her hand from the moment the spotlight falls on her.
My brother pays Keisha a fortune for her work here in the club, and she’s worth her weight in gold. Her intel alone has been crucial to unraveling most of the trafficking operations we’ve been able to get to in the past year.
“Tonight, all successful bids will guarantee the winner a full twenty-four hours enjoying the company of your chosen prize...exclusively.” A ripple of eagerness rolls through the crowd. “And while you have paid for the privilege of the company of these stunning jewels, of course the nature of how your time is spent is entirely your choice.” Keisha winks and drags a finger seductively up the length of her thigh and then over her bodice. Catcalls and whistles ring out as the anticipation builds into a crescendo.
My brother, Hawke, and his partners Poe, Grey, and Angel run this side of Noire House. Between them, they manage the trade in consensual sex and pleasure that the mansion has become renowned for around Port Macabre. Coordinating these annual auction nights is all part of their repertoire to keep the customers satiated, their interests stoked—providing yet another opportunity for hedonistic escape.
Before Hawke and I had reached the levels we now have within the Anguis, and long before he succeeded in taking on the running of what is now one of the country’s premiere sex clubs, it used to be nothing more than a sordid fuck fest. But the council, and even the elite members knew there was no way they could keep a lid on their secrets if things had been allowed to continue in the way Andreas Noire encouraged for so many years.
Which is why he sent his trafficking underground and established a formal club—a false frontage that kept his secrets concealed.
No one asks questions when they’re balls-deep in the delivery of their perfect fantasy. All the while, the innocent have suffered the worst of the worst at the hands of certain members of the Anguis while hidden away.
While we’re up here tonight, our team is intercepting the trucks bound for Noire House containing the real trade that was intended for the isolated basements deep in the bowels of the mansion.
Andreas Noire is dead, and from now on, there will be no more lives being bought and sold through this place.
Instead, we use these auction nights to plant people with those we desire information on. Another step in our plan to thin the herd of scum still hiding like cowards within the Anguis.
These women who are going to be auctioned tonight are the savviest, smartest individuals I know. It’s only due to their business being in sex work that makes them stigmatized by society at large. When the reality is, they’re more than capable of intellectually flogging every one of these pompous assholes. And they’ll do so while wearing eight-inch heels.
In the months leading up to one of these nights, Hawke’s team trains new recruits who go on to work at the club. If we get lucky, some might go undercover for the long haul, feeding back information on the Households and high-level members. Over the past few years, that has been our means of discovering many of those responsible for the trafficking rings we’ve destroyed from the inside.
I watch as the girls parade out on stage, each more gorgeous than the last—if that’s what you’re looking for. They’re intelligent as fuck and can easily run rings around the likes of Andreas Noire’s loyal followers and their flaccid dicks.
As I maintain my position overseeing the floor, the night draws on with a procession of bidding wars. These people should really feel ashamed for spending the amounts they have tonight. Men and women dropping eye-watering sums on something as frivolous as a night of sexual fantasies without so much as a second thought. But to them, money is no object. Lust and power and gluttoning themselves on pleasures are their ultimate cravings.
“Lastly, we have a very special treat for you all…a late addition to tonight’s bounty on offer. One that is not listed on your bidding cards,” Keisha announces, whipping the crowd into a frenzy as she gets set to open the bidding on whoever this final girl is.
From my vantage point overlooking the room, I narrow my eyes on Keisha. The run-sheet Hawke had provided didn’t account for a bonus auction entry.
“For the first time ever in the history of Noire House, we have an elite Household member available for you to bid upon.” Her voice is hushed into the microphone, and I can feel the visceral shift in energy ripple through the masked men and women seated in the hall.
Curiosity stirs.
Lilac curls swing into view as she emerges onto the stage. Still dressed in her black gown and heels from before, only now everything has been intensified—a darker shade of lipstick added; more dramatic eye makeup peeks out. Those bright blue eyes of hers are accentuated beyond belief despite the skull mask covering the upper half of her face.
She’s wearing that fucking dress like a second skin, with her every curve caressed and highlighted beneath the sultry lighting on stage.
My fists curl by my sides. What the hell is Foxglove Noire doing, willingly entering as a piece of flesh to be sold off to the highest bidder? There’s going to be a feeding frenzy any second now. Of course everyone in this room wants her, that much is obvious from the electric tension sparking in the air.
They’re salivating.
I’m seeing red.
