“You bastard,” I spat, my voice shaking with rage that wasn’t fake anymore, not completely. Then I slapped him, hard. The crack echoed against the stone walls as his head snapped sideways. For a heartbeat his eyes flickered, as if he’d forgotten our plan, what we were doing. Then his hand shot out and struck me back across the face. Pain burst white-hot across my cheek, I stumbled, and let myself fall. My body hit the stone floor with a sick crack, air punched from my lungs. I’d asked for it, for him to commit to the act, to make it believable. But that didn’t make it hurt less.
“Get her up,” one of the men barked. They hauled me upright, their rough fingers digging into my arms.
“Stop! Please!” I cried out as the men yanked at my clothes. Fabric ripped as fingers peeled the dress from my body, cool air sliding overmy exposed skin. I struggled, not enough to break free, but enough to sell the fear, enough to make it look real. And piece by piece, they stripped me bare. Kalani had warned me about that part, but no warning can prepare you for the moment your body stops feeling like yours.
“Arms down,” the man with the pistol snapped.
Everything inside me screamed to cover myself, to hide, but I forced my arms down at my sides. My instincts begged for me to end it, to burn them all, to unleash the monster curled up inside me. But I wasn’tKeraanymore. I was no one. Just Aran’s drunken friend, sold to settle his debt. I focused on breathing. In. Out. In and out. I thought of Will. About the room by the ocean, and the night before.
I reached for Aran. “Please,” I sobbed. “Don’t leave me here.”
My body shook with desperate, choking sobs that wouldn’t stop coming. The man with black eye grabbed a fistful of my hair, jerking my head back.
“Stay still, girl,” he growled into my ear, as I felt cold steel kiss my skin. The blade dragged lazily across my throat, featherlight but threatening. And every muscle in my body locked tight, waiting for pain that didn’t come. If only he knew that I could kill him without so much as lifting a finger. That I could make him crawl into the corner and beg for his life.
No.
I wasn’t there as Kera. I had to pull the fire back, but gods, all I wanted was to wipe the smirk off his face.
“Fifty,” the man with the beard said.
“She’s worth at least seventy,” Aran replied, smooth, like he was bartering for cattle. “She’s untouched.”
A lie, but I stayed silent and let them believe it.
“Sixty. Final offer,” the man said and tossed a bag of coin to Aran. “Don’t waste it all tonight,” the man with the black eye said as Aran turned to leave. “Unless you have another friend for us tomorrow.”
The man with the beard, the largest of them, grabbed me by the waist, and threw me over his shoulder. He shifted me higher and started walking, not through the lounge, but through the back halls. The wallpaper was cracked and peeling, and carpets stained. Every step jostled me on his shoulder, making my head swim and my stomach heave, but I forced myself to stay alert, even through the blur.
Right. Left. Right again. I counted every turn, every uneven edge of the carpet, and every crooked frame. Not because I might need to remember it, because Iwould. I’d have to run, and when I did, I’d need the way out already mapped in my mind.
A staircase appeared out of the dimness, wide and sagging under years of weight. He carried me up without slowing, the chandelier above a swinging blur of dusty crystals. Another hall. Another turn. It made my head spin, made my legs feel weak even before they touched the floor. But I kept counting. Kept forcing the map into my memory.
Finally, he stopped, the beast of a man shoved open a door and tossed me inside.
“You know the drill. Take care of the new girl,” he grunted before disappearing back into the hall, slamming the door shut. I barely had time to catch my balance before a girl approached. She had tired eyes, hollow cheeks, and wore a pink silk robe cinched tight around her bony frame, like it was the only armor she had left.
The room looked eerily similar to the girls’ quarters at the theatre. Beds lined the walls in two straight rows, facing each other. And the far side of the room looked like a dressing area, with mirrors above vanities, stools tucked under them, powders and lipsticks scattered across the surfaces. A rack of lingerie stood in the corner, satin and lace in pale pinks and reds. At least there were no chains or cages.
“Pretty…” she murmured as she approached me. “Let’s clean you up.”
I didn’t resist when the girls guided me to a small bathing chamber tucked off to the side. If it had been anywhere else, it might have feltlike a luxury. The bathwater was warm, rich with the scent of crushed roses. Steam curled against the cracked tiles, softening the sharp edges of the world. For a moment, I almost let myself pretend. Pretend I was at home, safe, loved, stepping into a bath drawn just for me. But the illusion cracked as fast as it came. When I tried to help, lifting an arm or a hand, they smacked it away.
“Sorry,” one of the girls said. “It has to be proper.”
I sat numb while they scrubbed me like a small child. I let them scrub the last pieces of dignity from my skin, and afterward they dressed me in a pink silk robe, tying it tight at my waist, rolled my hair into stiff coils, painting my nails blood red.
CHAPTER FORTY
The next day, I was told to present myself in the parlor. It was a grand room, wide and gleaming, where men lounged in deep leather chairs, boots propped on velvet footstools, polished glasses of dark liquor resting easy in their hands. Their suits were expensive, sharp cuts of black and charcoal and midnight blue, silk cravats or ties tucked neatly at their throats, and gold watches glinting at their wrists.
Predators at rest.
Their eyes found me. Of course they did. I was dressed in pink chiffon so sheer it might as well have been nothing. My hair had been curled into soft waves, my face covered in thick layers of makeup. I walked past them, holding a tray of drinks in my trembling hands. Their stares followed, crawling over me, through the lace, the silk, the skin.
We were far from Vestance. Far from the Vultures. But I recognized that look. I’d recognize it anywhere. The kind that stripped you bare—and ate you alive.
The girls had told me to look pretty. To save my tears for the next day. All new girls were sold at auction, they told me. The first night with a new girl was always special, and that auction would decide who got thehonorof breaking me.
