Page 1 of Fallen Dane

Chapter 1

WHITNEY

I’m standing in front of a crowd of rich fucks, and I’m about to be sold to the highest bidder. Bid away, assholes, because I don’t give a shit what happens to me, as long as Sloane is safe.

Besides, I have a plan.

The Raven mansion in Boston is packed with two hundred Ravens who showed up to watch as the latest handful of widows get redistributed. I’m standing on the platform in the tight black evening gown they made me wear. The neckline plunges low enough to show the tops of my breasts. The slit up my left thigh goes almost to my hip.

My father sits in the third row, arms crossed, face blank. My brother sprawls in the chair beside him with a smirk. I hope watching his sister get auctioned off makes for an exciting Saturday night. He’s always been an asshole.

My late husband Gerald wrapped his car around a tree two months ago. The coroner called it drunk driving. The Ravens accepted that explanation. Thanks to Harrison Lockwood. Everything went as he said it would.

Now, I just have to let him buy me in this auction, and my daughter will be free to attend college and not have to marry an aged asshole.

I could have run. But the Ravens don’t allow widows to go free. Try to leave, and the Talons will hunt you down. We’re property. And these assholes are about to decide what I’m worth.

One of the Council members playing the part of the auctioneer starts his speech about my qualities.

“Dove #2. Thirty-eight years old but well maintained.”

He actually said that. That I’m well maintained. Fuck him.

“Previously married to Gerald Marsh. One daughter, Sloane Marsh, nearing eighteen years old and close to marriageable age. Unable to have more children. She’s a proven Dove who knows her role and has no history of causing problems.”

That last part makes me want to laugh. They don’t know the chaos and bullshit I’ll rain down on them if they come near my daughter.

The bidding starts at one million dollars. And a voice in the back calls out the first bid.

I acknowledge that I’m being bid on like livestock at a fair, but I don’t even hate my life in the Ravens. That probably makes me pathetic, but I have the finer comforts in life, and I can’t say it would be much better anywhere else.

If my late husband hadn’t gotten it into his head to arrange a marriage for our daughter to a man old enough to be her grandfather, he’d probably still be alive. It had been a perfectly agreeable marriage. He lost interest in me years ago once I wasn’t young enough to entice him. It was a relief not to have to fake an orgasm every time his wrinkled ass came to my room. After he left me alone to chase after sex workers and pretty housemaids, I had access to his money and my vibrator.

Both made for better company.

If Harrison wants to use my body for the next several years, then so be it. Maybe he’ll do something more than climb on top of me and grunt until he’s finished.

More importantly, as long as Sloane remains under protected status within the Ravens and Harrison upholds his promise that she won’t be forced to marry seventy-year-old Victor Ashworth, I’ll spread my legs wide as soon as he writes the check tonight.

An act that may very well come to fruition during the claiming ceremony. I never asked Harrison how he intends to claim me in front of all these assholes.

I don’t bother to look around to see who’s bidding. Harrison told me not to make eye contact with him so no one would suspect our plan. Instead, I keep my gaze on the expensive crown molding along the back wall.

“Two million.” Harrison bids next, outbidding the man just as I expected him to.

“Three million.” This man sounds older. Thank fuck Harrison is going to outbid him because I can’t stand the thought of another aged asshole who can’t get it up.

Harrison bids again. “Five million.”

The bids keep climbing. I recognize some voices, but keep focusing on the wall.

Seven million. Eight million. Nine million. Then ten million from Harrison. An unfamiliar voice offers twelve million.

Harrison counters with fifteen million. An edge cuts through his tone when he makes his bid. He never expected the price to go this high.

Chatter erupts throughout the room. They whisper about why I’m drawing such a high price, even as “well maintained” as I might be.

“Fifty million dollars.”