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No one raised their cards.
“Thirty thousand going once...twice...and sold to gentleman number fourteen.”
Kimani did a quick calculation in her head. The women got to keep forty percent of the bid at the end of the week, so that meant she could pocket twelve thousand dollars, provided she didn’t violate the terms of the contract or NDA. That was pretty darn good money—equal to three months of work for Kimani. But even so, was it worth spending a week having sex with a stranger?
She didn’t plan on having sex, though. She was here to get her story. She’d stick it out for as long as she could to get as much info as possible because Sam said the story would be worth infinitely more if she could get actual names, but they had agreed that if there was any danger to her person, she was to get out ASAP. As soon as the guy laid a finger on her, she’d explain she was chickening out and call it quits. The auction had made her put up two thousand dollars as a nonrefundable “processing fee,” paid in cash, which Sam had fronted for her. But the loss of money would be more than made up for by the story.
At the end of the auction they were ushered backstage, where each woman was led away by a staff member.
“Can you believe it?” squealed the blond. “I just made forty thousand dollars!”
“You get to keep forty percent,” Kimani reminded her kindly.
“I know!”
“If the bid was eighty thousand, you get to keep thirty-two thousand.”
“Oh. But that’s still amazing! I just saved myself years of work!” She held out her hand. “I’m Claire, by the way.”
Kimani shook her hand, wondering if Claire was her real name. It had fallen from her lips, there was a good chance it was. “Nice to meet you.”
Claire waited expectantly.
“Oh, um, my name is...Montana,” Kimani said.
“Ladies, your limo awaits,” said a female staffer. “Follow me.”
“A limo!” Claire grinned from ear to ear.
“Where are we going?” Kimani asked the staff member.
“That’s up to your Master.”
Kimani bristled at that last word. “But don’t we get to go home first? I was going to change out of this dress—”
“Your week begins now.”
“But—can I at least grab my bag?”
“I have your belongings here with me.”
The woman ushered them to the back of the theater where a stretch limo awaited. Claire eagerly bounced inside. Kimani eyed the limo driver, who held the door open, wondering if this was someone she could trust to help if things went awry, but she couldn’t tell. He didn’t meet her gaze. Her pulse quickened as she wondered if she should step into the limo.
“Did the guy—” she began.
“You mean your Master?” the staff member supplied.
“Yes, did he mention where we’re going?”
“That doesn’t really matter, does it? Your contract says that’s for him to decide.”
Kimani hesitated. She didn’t have enough story material yet. When she had discovered the bruises Marissa had tried to keep hidden a month ago, Marissa had refused to admit anything at first. Kimani had persisted, but though Marissa had finally relented and told Kimani the truth, she had refused to say anything on the record. No amount of badgering, cajoling or bribing from Kimani could change her mind because she was convinced she would have to repay the twenty thousand dollars she had made from her participation in the Scarlet Auction.
“I didn’t go through that for nothing,” Marissa had told Kimani angrily.
At that, Kimani had backed off. It was obvious Marissa was in a lot of pain and just wanted to move on with her life.
But Kimani couldn’t let it go. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t right that a man could beat Marissa up like that and get away with it. After a few more days of failing to convince Marissa to speak up, Kimani had decided that if Marissa wouldn’t come forth, she would find someone who would.
