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Once they were clean, a Diablos member handed out clothes picked explicitly for each of them. Yasmina wore a navy dress, the neckline plunging between her breastbone, showing her ribcage and hint of bosom. There wasn’t much left after months of starvation.
Kita tugged on the red gown tossed her way. It was smaller than her usual size but would no doubt fit the rest of the women. With her unusual height and curvy body, she was the only woman who filled out the clothes.
“You’ll be the last one up there, Nikita,” Zane murmured, adorning her with earrings and a necklace that rested between her cleavage.
“Why’s that?”
“Because you’re in the best shape. The guests are already salivating at the news of a Spanish beauty up for sale.” He ran a brush through her wet hair, droplets sliding down her back. “Once they found out Muerte’s daughter was here, well, let’s just say you’ll bring me the most money tonight.”
“You’re disgusting, you know that?” She bit down the desire to punch him in the balls. It wouldn’t end well for her. Then again, maybe a bruised-up face would deter buyers.
“Don’t even think about it,” Zane warned as if he’d crawled into her thoughts. “They’ll want you no matter how bashed your face is.” He traced her chin. “You’re worth more alive than dead.”
He swatted her ass, then walked away, leaving her to a group of older women who started busying themselves with the hair of the recently arrived.
Once makeup was applied, two Cutthroats brought in trays of sandwiches. The women devoured them within moments. Most threw the food back up, the sustenance impossible for them to handle after weeks or months without proper nutrition.
Yasmina handed her a turkey and swiss on flimsy white bread. “You must eat a little.” She nodded to the other women. “They’ll regret eating so fast later if not already.” She took a smile bite of her own sandwich. Ham and cheddar from the look of it. None of the meat and cheese smelled good. She eyed the bread, realizing it wasn’t fresh either.
Kita accepted the offering and managed a bite. It was horrible, but it was food. She slowly chewed, wondering if the rest of her life would be shitty food and shittier masters.
Finally, the MC men entered the room. They were well-dressed in all black. Zane walked to the front of the group, a cruel smile on his face.
“It’s time, ladies,” he said. “Let’s make me rich.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Kevlar
The sight curdledhis stomach contents. Women paraded onto the stage like prized cattle. Men and women alike held up cards with numbers, the auctioneer in a black Stetson preening every time a price jumped.
Kevlar glanced around the room. From the looks, it was once a banquet hall, and judging from the way the hotel staff greeted him and his brothers, the move from legal to illegal trading of humans wasn’t unusual. The hotel thrived from the trafficking business just as much as the tradesmen themselves.
The lights were low except for the spotlights on the stage. A red velvet curtain opened to each new woman for sale, then closed once she was purchased. He almost didn’t want to know what went on behind the curtain.
Rubble nudged him with his elbow. “See her?”
“No.” His eyes scanned the crowd. “But I do see Zane.” He nodded toward the FBI agent who moonlighted as a dickhead scoundrel. His jaw clenched almost as tightly as his hands.
“Don’t react, brother,” Rubble warned. “If he spots us, he’ll move Nikita.” His blue and green eyes turned soft. “We can’t help her if that happens.”
Nodding his agreement, Kevlar focused on the auction. Each slam of the gavel took a piece of his heart. Despite the attempts of dolling them up, the women resembled breathing skeletons. Their nationalities spanned the globe, and he was positive their English was limited.
Two hours into the ordeal, Hawk patted his knee. “Hey, I think it’s her.”
Kevlar turned wary eyes toward the woman on stage. The bright red dress left nothing to the imagination. When she lifted her eyes, a gasp escaped him before he could stop it. The fiery amber eyes could only belong to the woman he loved. Purple bruises lined her arms and neck, and his gut pitched at the sight. Her posture was complacent. Dark shadows beneath the makeup reminded him nothing was as it appeared.
“Yep, that’s Kita.”
Upon her entry, the crowd hushed, then burst into chatter. A vile smile crossed the auctioneer’s face. “And this, ladies and gentlemen, is the pièce de résistance. A lovely Spanish beauty with plenty of sass to make your nights pleasurable and your money well spent. We’ll start the bid at one hundred thousand.”
A few men heckled her, but she didn’t budge. She kept her gorgeous eyes trained on the back of the room. Cards waved, and the auctioneer kept jacking up the price.
“What’s the play?” Hawk asked.
Rubble nodded to his government pal two rows away. “Jones will buy her.”
“What? That can’t be the plan? What about—”
