Every time she did, the memories of her past nearly overwhelmed her. If she were ever forced back into the life that Adrian had rescued her from, it would kill her. She would literally rather die.
Forcing those grim thoughts away, she focused on the copious research she’d done for weeks before she’d actually worked up the courage to take Molly. There was another auction tonight. Virgins, some of them mere children, would be auctioned off to the highest bidder. Somehow, she had to find a way to get into the building where it was being held and free as many of those girls as she could.
* * *
MORGAN SAT DOWN INthe third row of seats that had been arranged in front of a makeshift stage. It had taken quite some finagling to earn himself an invitation to this scurrilous affair, but with Adrian’s knowledge of the horrid underground society that hosted such events, and the greasing of the right palms, he’d finally managed it.
One would never have known by looking that this room in a nondescript house on a quiet residential street was full of monsters. The two dozen or so men who were taking seats around him or helping themselves to drinks at the small bar in the corner appeared perfectly respectable. He recognized several members of the nobility.
But they were all here to bid upon the chance to take a young—very young—girl’s virginity. He’d been assured by the overzealous proprietor, Mr. James, that the youngest girl was only eight. The thought made bile rise in his throat, and shame at even being here had nearly overwhelmed him. But he’d had to see for himself. He had to know what Adrian and Fiona had been fighting against. And it had occurred to him that if the new Prometheus truly cared about the children and wasn’t masquerading for some entirely other reason, he might show himself tonight.
Before long, Mr. James took the stage, glancing around the room with obvious delight. “I’m happy to see such a wonderful turnout for tonight’s auction. I’m sure you’re all happy to be among those with similar predilections and are well aware that what goes on here must never be discussed with anyone.” He gave a rough laugh that curdled Morgan’s blood. “Payment must be made in full as soon as the sale concludes. Let’s get started, shall we?”
A young woman, no more than fifteen or sixteen, was led out onto the stage in shackles. Her blonde hair had been coiffed elegantly, and she wore a scarlet negligee that barely covered her young body. Her green eyes darted from one man to another with pleading terror, and it was all Morgan could do to remain in his seat. He knew he’d accomplish nothing by protesting, but it was simply abhorrent to watch this girl be treated like an animal to be auctioned off to the highest bidder.
He shifted uncomfortably as Mr. Jones extolled the girl’s attributes, then ripped the front of the negligee down to expose her breasts. The girl shrieked and tried to cover herself, only to be viciously struck, which caused an ugly ripple of laughter and jeering from the men who surrounded him.
It took all of his self-control not to react to the abuse of the girl, but he knew he had to bide his time. The mere thought of such a thing happening to Hannah or Felicity turned Morgan’s blood to ice. Although he’d understood in theory why his brother and Fiona had been so passionate about these children, it was something altogether different to actually witness it in person. Evil lurked in this room, sat right beside him, and yet, these men would walk out of here tonight, after committing atrocities, with no consequences whatsoever. For them, it was just a harmless night of fun.
The desire to stop it, to make them pay, rose within him as one girl after another was paraded out before them, each a bit younger than the one before. Each girl, in turn, drew a little more money, and he realized the younger the girl, the more she was worth. They were obviously counting down to the star of the show, the eight-year-old virgin. He choked with rage at the thought of her being referred to in that way. Every eight-year-old girl should be a virgin. The fact that any man would ever see a girl that young in a sexual way viscerally disturbed him.
He sat stoically through it all, trying to hide his revulsion, blocking it out with ideas of what he could do to make sure it never happened again. It occurred to him that he could bid on the girl, purchase her services, and then spirit her away, but just as quickly realized that he was too well known. The goons who ran this place would come looking for him if he stole someone they considered their property.
His thoughts were disrupted when he became aware of shouting and chaos from behind the stage. The men around him stirred as Mr. James stopped his spiel to turn and see what was happening.
But Morgan already knew.
Prometheus.
He’d been absolutely right to think that Prometheus, fake or not, would try and stop this. And when it became clear from the loud conversation coming from behind the curtain that the youngest girl had disappeared from the room where she’d been held, he surged to his feet and quickly left the building, just in time to see a flash of crimson as a caped figure jumped into a hackney waiting at the far end of the block.
Luckily, the vehicle turned at the next street and vanished just as more men erupted from the building behind him, determined to track down their prey.
Don’t get caught. Please, don’t get caught.
Whirling around, he strode for his own carriage, which was parked down the block. If Prometheus had taken the girl, there was only one place he could be headed. He would find him at Brookhaven, and instead of demanding that he stop, Morgan was determined to find a way to help him in his mission.
