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Bile boiled up her throat, and she almost threw up.
He’d be sorry if he touched her. She’d play nice, until she didn’t. Then she’d twist his balls right off his body. Or try to anyway. She might go down, but she’d take him with her while he screamed with pain.
“It’s up to you how it goes,” he said nonchalantly, reading her rage. “Easy or hard. Personally, I hope you fight.”
“You’re disgusting,” she spat, her skin crawling again.
“Well…” He flicked at his pantleg, as if brushing away invisible lint, then stood. “Your time here can be as pleasant or as unpleasant as you want it to be. If you learn to be a good little bitch, you’ll survive it. Maybe.”
“My time? And how long is that?” she dared to ask through her ill-masked terror. However long he said, he’d be wrong. She’d do everything she could to escape, whether on her two feet by running or being carried out dead. That was her grim reality. She despised it and prayed with everything in her that her life could be different. That this was only a nightmare and she’d wake up, safe at home. She mourned the love she’d lost and ached with the pain her men would experience. But Walter Finch and his mafia cronies would not own her. They would not win.
He adjusted the cuff of his pristine white shirt, and she wished he were close enough for her to spit on. She’d leap on him and claw his eyes out. She’d do it. She’d actually do that. Hell, yes, she’d choose violence over compliance.
“Until they sell you someplace else. The Middle East, Mexico, any of their places along the coast. I’ve heard stories about the one in New Orleans. Would you like to hear?”
She stared at him, her lips pressed together, keeping in her hate and her fear.
A Cheshire grin curled his mouth.
“No, then,” he mocked. “Okay, I’ll see you at the party. We’ll see how that goes. Your value has plummeted, you little slut. I was banking on virginity, you know? There’s big money in that. But Brandon, your catcher, has informed me of your situation in that Podunk town where you were hiding. Clever girl…” But the way he said it seemed more like insult that compliment. “Threesomes? Moresomes? A gang bang? There’s a lucrative market for what you’ll offer as a party plaything.”
“I’m not offering anything!” she yelled.
Walter practically flew across the room at her, giving her no time to cower away before he backhanded her hard enough to snap back her neck and throw her backward on the bed, her limbs sprawled out. The shackle around her ankle bit into her skin, scraping the delicate flesh, and jerked her leg where it connected to her hip. A pained cry tore from her. The sting from the strike erupted across her skin, her ears ringing, and she couldn’t stop her sobbing breaths.
“I’ve been wanting to do that since before you ran away,” he snapped, his hard voice revealing the monster beneath his polished facade. Just as quickly, he pulled the genteel mask back in place.
He straightened his clothes, tugging his cuffs down again. His stare hungry, he leered at her splayed figure while she tried not to sob. Blood dripped down her face from her lip and nose, and the coppery flavor seeped into her mouth.
“Very nice. I’ll have you screaming when I get a taste of that and mark you.” He leaned over her, his hands on either side of her body, his hot breath washing over her face. “I like screaming and fighting and crying.”
“I won’t give you anything you want.” Not willingly.
“You’ll change your tune. Eventually. And until then…” He shrugged once more, appearing unconcerned. “Well, there’s a big market for resistance, too.”
As if he weren’t laying out the details of the hell he’d sold her into, he straightened and walked away. “Pull yourself together. The groomers will be here shortly to ready you for the gathering tonight. You’re the main attraction. And the bidders are hot to get a chance at breaking you in private. After they watch me take you on the showroom stage.”
* * * *
Devon shivered despite the sweltering temperature of the crowded room. The tiny, sheer-white lingerie the groomers had forced her into hid nothing. In another life, she supposed it would be called a baby doll nightie. Here, it was humiliation. It left her thighs bare and gave a clear view of her sex and breasts through the see-through material.
The groomers, two blank-faced men who’d only spoken in a language she thought was Russian, had waxed and scraped all her skin. Afterward, they’d brusquely lotioned her from head to toe. Worst, they rubbed some sort of tingling gel on her clit and nipples. Immediately, the tips had puckered and now, poked against the material. She couldn’t hid it. Her wrists were bound behind her and thrust out her chest.
Brandon had stormed into the bedroom upstairs before the groomers were even finished. Roughly, he’d grabbed her arm and dragged her down to this ballroom—or showroom as her stepfather had called it. Walter had met them there and told her to behave or she’d be beaten in front of everyone, and still be auctioned off for the night…an hour at a time.
Her heart had beat so hard she could barely breathe. Trembling shook her body, and no amount of bravado could stop it. She’d stared around the room looking for escape, but Brandon had stood nearby until five minutes ago. Now, another man had taken his place. Even if she could get free of the cuffs, she had no doubt either man would tackle her if she tried to run. She didn’t want to consider what might happen then.
In the enclosure where she stood on display, the guests weren’t allowed to touch her. Still, the things they said to her made her ill. That seemed to amuse each and every one of these sick fucks. After the first few taunts, she tried extra hard to appear blank. Unmoved. She failed a lot, but still kept trying.
Terror rode her hard, never abating for a moment, and a panic attack threatened to close in on every breath she managed to take. It was only by sheer will that she managed to hold it back. She couldn’t lose even more control. Her vulnerability humiliated and demoralized her. All these years. All the things she’d done to escape this. All the sacrifices she’d made. And here she was anyway.
What had been the point of it all?
It was cold comfort that, at least, they wouldn’t take her virginity. She’d stolen that from them. She’d had her men and experienced pleasure, the purest bliss. She’d been cherished. Loved. She focused on that. She’d had the love of two of the men she’d ever known. And she’d loved them back, with all of her soul. Unlike the awful people around her, she knew what true friendship and genuine love were.
She only wished she’d had more time with her cowboys. That she’d had a lifetime. Given them babies. Lived a happily ever after with them.
She’d had everything. She’d lost everything.
