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I rake my hand through my hair, agitation taking over me as the crowd murmurs over her. Of course they fucking do. She’s gorgeous. Sweet. Innocent. Pure. Exactly what they come for.
She’s going to go to the highest bidder, and she’s going to command quite the price. I know this.
And it makes me come unhinged.
I sit on the edge of my seat for the next hour, trying to figure out how the hell I’m going to be okay with some bastard going home with this girl. Trying to understand why I care so much. This is what I do. It’s my job. It’s business. I never get involved emotionally. Or really think too hard about what I’m doing, if I’m honest.
But with her? I can’t handle it. I want her for myself. And not as a prize because I bid the highest. I’m not even sure why. I just know that I saw something in her eyes on the train. Something innocent and hopeful. Something that reminded me of myself once upon a time. And I don’t want to kill that.
By the time the emcee gets back down to the end of the line, nearly twenty girls have been sold to the highest bidder. He stops in front of Celine.
“And our lovely Celine. Quite the prize.”
I bristle at his choice of words, a surge of protectiveness rising in me. But what am I supposed to do? I can’t just go up on stage and pull her down, tell her she can’t do this. She signed up for it.
The bidding starts, climbing rapidly and shockingly high, and my agitation builds along with it.
When the bids slow, and it’s just down to two men, I can’t take it anymore. I stand up from my seat and call out, “Five hundred thousand dollars.”
Celine
A murmur goes through the crowd as my jaw nearly hits the floor. What just happened? I thought it was insane that these men were approaching two hundred thousand dollars in their bids. I never imagined that kind of scenario when I signed up for this. But half a million dollars?
I can’t even wrap my head around that. And half of it will be mine?
Even the emcee seems flustered. “Mr. Brightman?” he asks, as if he’s unsure what’s going on.
“You heard me,” a clear voice states from the shadowy back of the room.
I swallow hard. This has suddenly become all too real. Before, terrifying as it was, it was still kind of abstract. Now, this man that I can’t see has actually bid on me. And won, apparently.
I’ll be going home with him. Having sex with him. Losing my virginity to him.
I feel lightheaded, and my ears are roaring as blood rushes through my body. My knees feel weak, and I swear I’m about to fall out on the floor.
“Very well then,” the emcee says, then turns to me just like he did all the women that went before me. “Celine? You’ll be accompanying Mr. Brightman this evening.”
Accompanying. How quaint. I force a smile and step forward, squinting my eyes, trying to see into the shadows.
A tall man steps forward, slim but strong, and my stomach flips, my breath coming fast.
I lick my lips, not sure how to act.
He steps into the light, and my whole world seems to shif
t.
“Wes?” I whisper, my hand flying to my mouth. I’m embarrassed. Humiliated. And also strangely relieved in a way I don’t quite understand.
He gives me that smirk, but his eyes are troubled. “Celine.”
Reaching a hand toward me, Wes helps me down the three steps in front of the stage. Good thing, because I feel like I might collapse.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers in my ear as he laces his fingers through mine and leads me back to the table he was sitting at.
His voice is comforting, reassuring. As if he can tell how out far out of my depth I am. He pulls out a plush velvet chair and guides me into it, then gestures for something. A waitress I didn’t notice from the stage appears out of nowhere to pour me a glass of champagne. That’s when I notice all the other girls that were on stage are now being wined and dined by the men who bought them.
Hands down, this is the weirdest shit I’ve ever seen in my life. And that’s saying something. Growing up on a farm in Kansas was full of weird shit.
