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“Man, I’m jealous. You’re going to have a damn good time with that little thing up there. Look at how pretty he is.” Henley whistles low, eyes narrowing on Carter like a predator catching sight of his prey.
“Can’t help but notice you’re acting as if I’ve already won the boy. Are you not putting your money in?”
“Of course I am, but do you think I’ll cross you?” Henley scoffs. “No one I know will cross you. As far as most are concerned, that boy is walking out of here tonight with you holding his leash.”
The words soothe something in Nathan’s chest, but he doesn’t allow himself to get his hopes too far up. There are still challenges in his way. As Henley said,mostsee Carter as already belonging to Nathan, but not all. There is at least one man that Nathan knows he’ll be fighting tonight. Nathan might be towards the top in this world’s hierarchy, but he’s notthetop. Not yet.
“Master Roarke?”
Schooling his expression like he always does before having to face a victim of this cruel world, Nathan turns towards his name. It’s a young slave dressed in nothing but a collar and a cock cage. He doesn’t meet Nathan’s eye, instead focusing on the knot of his black bowtie. Nathan arches a brow. “Can I help you?”
“Master Quinton is requesting your presence backstage.”
“Now?”
“Yes, Master Roarke. If – if you’re able to, Master.”
Nathan eyes the young man, wondering who he belongs to. Wondering what his story is. Wondering if he will finish this operation in time to save him.
“Lead the way, then.” Nathan stands, buttoning his jacket as he does. He nods at Henley. “I’ll see you later?”
“Of course.”
The young man leads Nathan through the crowd, pausing every time Nathan is stopped by someone. He politely stands by and waits as Nathan shakes hands and fakes grins and promises things he doesn’t plan on delivering. Almost every person speaks as if Carter is going home with him tonight. The few that don’t are close allies with the one man Nathan sees as his true competition.Miller. The man Nathan fully expects he’ll be going toe to toe with when it comes time for Carter’s sale.
What Miller doesn’t know is that there’s no chance of him winning. Nathan will be purchasing that boy tonight, no matter what it takes. If there’s a chance he’s not going to hell, it lies with saving Carter Beckett.
“Nathan Roarke!” Scott Quinton says with a grin, his arms outstretched in a grand gesture of presenting himself. “I am so happy you decided to join us.”
It takes everything in Nathan not to roll his eyes. There’s no scenario where Nathan wouldn’t have attended this event. Quinton is just pushing for dramatics by making it sound like it was ever in doubt.
Carefully keeping his disdain out of his tone, Nathan forces a smile and says, “It’s a pleasure, Quinton. As always.”
“Good. Good. I see Miller has arrived as well.”
Drama-lover status proven. Only a man who enjoys conflict would speak of Miller so openly to Nathan. It’s an obvious enough crossed line that Nathan doesn’t bother hiding the heat in his gaze when he levels Quinton with it. The man takes a step back, though Nathan isn’t sure he’s aware that he even does so.
Then Nathan catches sight of what’s happening on stage, and his fury threatens to boil over. Carter is strapped down to the spanking bench now. Someone is standing back, hitting him with a riding crop over and over in brutal strokes. The bench is shaking with the force of Carter’s movements as he writhes in his restraints. He’s sobbing for someone to please help him, his face turning this way and that as he tries to find sanctuary despite his blindfold.
The crowd is eating it up.
The other slaves cower where they’ve been placed kneeling in a line along the back of the stage. All of them are blindfolded like Carter, probably wondering when it will be their turn to endure the same fate.
“Are you enjoying the show?” Quinton asks, misreading Nathan’s expression apparently. “I thought since he’s such a popular commodity that the crowd might enjoy some extra fun before the bidding begins. Perhaps I might open the floor to some sampling, even. Allow everyone to get a taste.”
“Mmm.” Nathan frowns, eyes fixed on Carter. The boy is panicking. He can barely cry, barely beg, his breathing far too erratic now. Nathan wouldn’t be surprised if Carter passes out soon. “You know, I plan on buying that boy, Quinton.”
Quinton grins. “I’m hoping you do, yes!”
“Not if you let anyone lay a fucking hand on him.” Quinton’s eyes snap to Nathan’s, widening. Before he can ask for clarification, Nathan takes one step closer and casually moves his arm so his suit jacket rucks up just enough to show his gun. “That boy is already mine, Scott. You and I both know that. Everyone out there knows that. This auction is a formality. I’ve allowed it because I know you enjoy spectacle, but this is where I draw the line. Don’t you dare open up my property to be touched by others.”
“I – you – well, there are a few others-”
“He. Is.Mine.”
“Miller-”
Nathan takes another step, his nose less than an inch from Quinton’s temple. He pastes on a smile in case anyone is watching them. At the same time, he draws on every evil thought he’s ever harbored and directs the energy into his tone. “It’d be a shame if you lost this market, wouldn’t it? Perhaps Miller isn’t who I should have my sights set on after all. Europe does have a sort of…appealto it, don’t you agree?”
