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“Emmett Washington,” one of the Elders boomed. The canes continued to beat. “Are you prepared to complete The Trials of Initiation?”
The canes increased in tempo.
Louder.
Louder.
Wind blew in from the open windows, swirling around us as if the Order had summoned the devil himself.
The Latin chanting began again as the gas lighting of the room flickered.
Then the sound of an organ mastered all other sounds. The song of the “Wedding March” began, and Bellamy, completely naked, walked through the double doors.
“Emmett Washington. Your final Trial of Initiation shall begin.”
19
BELLAMY
They had me up on an elevated platform they set up in the center of the room when Emmett walked in.
I could barely make out the expression on his face—blank, monotone—before the lights in the room dimmed, all but for the spotlights at the bottom of the platform shining on me. The beaming lights blinded me to the dark room beyond my platform and its sphere of illumination. I squinted to try to make out Emmett, but he effectively disappeared into the dark crowd.
If only I had a few minutes to talk to him before we’d been dragged into yet another Trial. I tried, but he denied me, first by staying away from the room all day and then again by not letting me get in two words before heading downstairs.
After all the weeks of interminable waiting, now everything was going too fast. If only it would all slow down. If I could just call a time-out so I could grab Emmett and talk to him on the sidelines….
But no—I was standing up here on this platform in the center of the room, and Mr. St. Claire was standing beside me with an auctioneer’s block in front of him.
He pounded a gavel on it several times. “Quiet, quiet, the auction is now beginning. Tonight, we’ll be auctioning off the favors of the delectable Ms. Bellamy Carmichael. To the highest bidder go the spoils!”
He banged the gavel several more times and then began to speak in that quick-tongued auctioneer speech I’d heard one painful time when I let myself be dragged to a rodeo; once was enough—trust me.
He banged the gavel several more times and then spoke loudly, “For the honor of kissing, fondling, and finger-fucking, we’ll start the bidding off at $1,000. Do I hear $1,000?”
He pointed out at the crowd. “One thousand, do I hear two? Two thousand.” He pointed in a different direction. They’d arranged lights at the bottom of the podium blaring up at me, and I couldn’t tell man from man as hands with paddles lifted all throughout the room. I shrank back and lifted my arm over my eyes.
Emmett had come in from the back center though, so I squinted that direction. Was he bidding on me? Was he even still in the room?
“Ten thousand,” said a loud, firm voice from the back of the room, and my heart leapt. Emmett. There was no mistaking that baritone.
My cheeks flamed as I stared out into the dark crowd where his voice had come from. They couldn’t have thought up a crueler challenge. Here I was, literally forcing him to spend his money on me. To buy my love.
Or at least my body.
Maybe that was it—maybe this was for me. To show me what I really was. What I always was. Just a whore he had to pay for.
“Twenty-five thousand. Do I have—”
“Seventy thousand,” called a man’s voice from the left.
“Eighty thousand,” said another, nearer.
“A million dollars and we’re done,” Emmett said as he stormed to the front of the room.
I trembled, and not just because I was standing naked in a chilly room surrounded by thirty men. A million dollars?
“By all means,” said the auctioneer to Emmett, moving away and holding out a hand in invitation toward me, the prize. “Enjoy your winnings before we move on to auctioning off her other… charms. So many heavy pockets here tonight, ready to spend.”
Emmett’s jaw tensed, and from the flash in his eye as he took the large step up onto the platform, I was afraid for a moment he might deck the auctioneer. Mr. St. Claire was the most important Elder and the man that, previous to now, Emmett had wanted most to impress.
Was he mad about spending the money? Why had he done it? Was it just a point of pride for him at this point that no one else would touch me? He had to maintain face in front of these men, after all.
It was the only reason I could imagine he’d do it. I ruined everything else between us.
I had no more pride though, and I was determined to say what I’d been too much of a coward to say before. If I couldn’t have my time-out, right here right now would have to do.
So as Emmett stood in front of me, blocking out the light from the spotlights as Mr. St. Claire took the three stairs off the platform at the back, I took my chance.
