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Servers came up to him, offering drinks and anything else he wanted, bare-breasted beautiful women and men who always revealed what they had to offer. Some even looked him over and made overtures.
He refused them all, politely, but carried a whiskey as he moved around the large cavern.
Given that he’d been gradually making himself known in the darker sex-slave clubs, the presence of so many owners at the auction with their slaves in tow seemed par for the course. Most of the captives wore painful collars with leashes attached and very little or no clothing; they bore plenty of bruises, cuts, and bite marks. Public sexual exchange was a given, part of the allure of the lifestyle, so that couches in different configurations were scattered around the room, as well as wingback chairs.
Like the club he’d been at earlier in the week, moans sounded through the room.
The truth was, when he’d first witnessed the overt nature of the lifestyle, he’d questioned his ability to go through with his plans. As sadistic as Sweet Dove had been, she hadn’t taken him to public events like these and put him on display. Of course, she’d held brutal private parties and he’d endured much worse than anything he was witnessing tonight. But what he’d learned later was that because Sweet Dove had feared losing him to an aggressive competitor, who might have done anything to get his hands on Reyes, she’d kept him hidden.
Now, after decades of being in the clubs while he built his reputation, he was fairly immune to the suffering around him, but only because he made nightly promises to himself that he would get rid of this scourge no matter the price.
Most of the female slaves paraded by proud owners were vampires, prized because they could outlast their human counterparts by decades. But for those men and a few women who wanted the excitement of the more fragile human slaves, who bruised and screamed more easily, the auctions featuring the best human wares brought almost everyone to the monthly events, if only to watch the bidding wars.
Some of the slaves sold tonight would die quickly at the two-week mark, a weakness of the human race that couldn’t be predicted or helped.
Others would perish at a six-month transition, another human phenomenon and one that many who enjoyed the slave lifestyle paid to watch, a sort of snuff version of the vampire world. Fortunes changed hands over the betting that went on during transition weeks.
When Reyes had escaped, he’d changed his identity, and because Sweet Dove had kept him locked away, and also because he’d shaved off his long hair, no one recognized him now. The facial scruff he wore also enhanced his altered appearance.
He worked out as well, so that his presence tended to dominate most rooms, so different from what he’d known as a slave. Sweet Dove had kept him in a weakened state. About a decade ago, he’d added a series of tattoos to further establish his new identity. He now sported a hawk with wings that stretched across the top of his back, and a collage covered his upper right arm and shoulder, of foliage and symbols that had great meaning to him.
Now he was here, playing his role as a slaver and a Starlin member. Many came up to congratulate him and even to offer the use of their slaves. He thanked everyone, his face almost as impassive as the slaves on their leashes.
He ignored the sex going on all around him and took his time viewing the pictures of the slaves who would soon be auctioned. He paused before each nude image, feigning deep interest, but he barely looked at the women. They were heavily made up, another sign of their enslavement, but even looking felt like a violation.
The auction had two parts. The first involved the individual slaves; in the second, several groups of five women sold for one price.
He’d already made up his mind to focus his efforts on purchasing a group of slaves since he’d save five women instead of just one.
He continued to move slowly, sipping his whiskey. The auction had become a time to preen, something popular among this wealthy set. Most would go to Engles’s after-auction party to celebrate the purchases that would take place tonight. Those who successfully bought a slave, or even a group of slaves, would be expected to show off the prize, and especially to demonstrate dominance.
He’d made a complete circuit by the time he reached the last photograph, a woman with dark-brown hair and, as he’d come to expect, heavily made-up eyes. For a moment, however, as he stared at the portrait, his mind filled with flashes of Angelica at the Ocean Club, of her red dress and soft lips as she kissed him.
He stepped closer to the photo, frowning now. He wasn’t focusing very well, and a strange red haze had started to flow over his eyes. His arms tensed up, then his thighs, his body reacting to what he was looking at before his mind could catch up to what he was actually seeing.
The woman in this photo looked like Angelica.
A terrible sinking sensation grabbed his heart and pulled hard. He shook his head once. He couldn’t believe it was true, this couldn’t be true, couldn’t be her.
Angelica.
He’d told her to leave the place and never come back. Then she’d kissed him. He could still feel her lips on his, a soft humming against his mouth.
Afterward, he’d watched her leave the club.
Angelica.
He wanted to be mistaken, but he would know those eyes, that nose, the shape of her lips as well as his own. She’d been captured by the Starlin Group despite his efforts. How the hell had this happened? How had he not known?
“She’s the one.”
He turned, his mind still free-falling, to stare into Engles’s face. “Pardon?”
The man narrowed his gaze, then took a sip from his tumbler. “Just thought I’d let you know that she’s mine. The Starlin acquisition team who found her somewhere in the States said they had a live one, a real fighter.”
Angelica would have fought her captors. He knew that about her, knew her spirit would be part of her appeal. She might seem innocent and have a kind, even vulnerable appearance, but she also had strength of will and courage. Hell, she’d kissed him despite his abrasive attempts to get rid of her.
He needed to adjust quickly to this reality, to pull himself together, because the man claiming Angelica for tonight’s auction was Damien Engles. He was the one man whose good side Reyes needed to cultivate above everyone else in this soul-sucking room.
Taking a deep breath, he reordered his senses.
He shoved his hand out and Engles took it. “Brogan Reyes and you’re Master Engles. Very nice to meet you and I want to thank you for my membership. I look forward to many years of, shall we say, pleasurable association.” He even smiled.
