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Instantly, the shouts started up again, each person yelling out a bid also holding up an auction paddle with their special number on it. Wait, why the hell hadn’t I thought to get myself a damn paddle?
After an aggressive bidding match, Dylan pointed to a woman near the front of the stage. “Sold to number five forty-eight. Trent Knox’s guitar and all his sweat from tonight is yours. Stand by and one of our volunteers will be by to get your information.”
Not bad. These guys were better at this than I thought.
“Next up,” Ace said, looking down at the list. “An all-expense-paid private dinner for you and an unlimited number of guests at one of Julien Thornton’s signature restaurants around the country.” He raised his brows at Dylan. “I think we might have to take this one.”
“Oh hell no,” came a shout from the audience, and I would’ve recognized that voice anywhere. Logan Mitchell had a drink in one hand and his paddle raised in the other. “Ten thousand dollars.”
Dylan let out a low whistle. “All right, then. The bidding begins at ten grand.”
“Twelve,” Logan yelled again, and this time, Ace laughed and looked down at his friend.
“Bidding against yourself tonight, Mitchell? Wanna make it thirteen?”
“Thirteen,” someone else shouted, and Logan slowly looked over his shoulder.
“Thirteen five,” came another bid, and that person also got the Logan Mitchell death glare.
Yeah, I didn’t want to be on the receiving end of that look.
Logan’s paddle went up in the air again and he shouted, “Fourteen thous—”
But he wasn’t able to even get the words out before he was being outbid again.
Aaand that was the wrong thing to do, because Logan yelled, “Fifteen fucking thousand,” while staring down the others who had been trying to horn in on what he perceived as his prize. Seconds went by as everyone seemed to collectively hold their breath, waiting to see if anyone would dare top that, and when no one held up a paddle, Ace said, “Sold for fifteen thousand dollars to the madman in the glasses.”
As Logan lifted his glass and smirked triumphantly, Tate looked at his husband with a mixture of admiration and amusement. I could only imagine he leaned in to whisper in his ear that he was fucking crazy, because that was exactly what I’d be saying. But hey, it was for charity, so good on him.
Everything after that ran smoothly, more money being raised than even I’d expected, but just as the last item went up for grabs, all hell broke loose.
“Now for this final item,” Dylan said, “Ace has offered the highest bidder a walk-on role for one of his upcoming films. That means you could brag to all of your friends and family that you starred in a movie with Ace Locke.” Dylan waggled his brows at Ace. “I’m sure he’d even throw in one of his delicious bear hugs while you’re on set too. Let the bidding begin.”
Our VIP guests, Solo and Panther, threw up their paddles immediately, as well as about a hundred others, but it was Slade from Fallen Angel running out to the stage that caught everyone’s attention.
“It’s mine.” Slade was panting, like he’d had to haul ass running to catch the auction in time, and he gave an apologetic look to the audience. “Sorry, but this is too good to pass up.”
“You can’t win without a bid, Slade,” Dylan said.
“Oh, right.” Slade rubbed his jaw, his brow furrowed. “I guess twenty?”
“Twenty thousand?”
“Yeah. Is that enough?”
Before Dylan could confirm it, a bid of twenty-two came from someone in the audience, and thus began another bidding war, Slade going head to head with the others vying for a chance to be in an Ace Locke picture.
Just when it looked like Slade was going to win this round, the number already growing to obscene levels, another player entered the game.
“Fifty thousand.” Jagger stepped out from backstage, giving Slade a shit-eating grin.
Slade’s eyes widened. “You asshole. I told you this one was mine.”
“Well, I decided I wanted it too. Besides, my face would look better onscreen.”
The audience roared as the two Fallen Angel members went at it, throwing jabs at each other and upping the bid to levels no one in the audience dared match.
Slade crossed his arms, looking intimidating as hell with his sky-high mohawk. “One hundred.”
Jagger, unfazed, mimicked his pose across the stage. “One hundred one.”
“One hundred two.”
“One hundred ten.”
“One hundred fifteen.”
When Jagger opened his mouth to respond, Slade held up his hand. “Give it up, man. I’m not letting you win this.”
“You don’t have to let me win anything. I’ll do it myself. One twenty.”
Slade growled. “One twenty-five.”
It was like we were all watching a tennis match, heads jerking back and forth, and it was so engrossing that none of us noticed when Killian walked out to stand beside Ace and Dylan.
