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“It might be for the best,” he’d said with a casual, one-shouldered shrug. “Some of the buyers like it when they cry.”
It had taken everything in me not to try to murder him on the spot. I’d never wanted to commit violence so deeply, until the hatred seemed to have crept into my bones, my blood, until I would have gladly died if it meant he would too.
The problem, of course, is that it isn’t me who would suffer if I lost control again.
Alexei has made that very clear.
“Take the girls to the party ahead of time,” he’d told two of the guards, who strode forward immediately. “The others will be along shortly.”
One of the other guards pulled me to my feet, away from Yelena, and I forced myself to go limp, standing up and tottering backward on my high heels as the girls were led away. It felt as if my heart were being ripped out of my chest, but I’d forced myself not to speak, not to cry, not to scream.
It felt like dying.
When we’re led into that huge room, I catch sight of the round stages, and my heart stutters in my chest as I see Ana on the central one, her eyes glazed over almost as if she’s been drugged.
She’s been dressed in a ballerina’s outfit, complete with a skin-tone leotard cut down nearly to her navel and a frilly white tutu around her hips. But she’s motionless, her hands bound above her head to a rigging suspended from the ceiling, and her injured feet stuffed into pointe shoes, one leg bent at the ankle and tied with a looping ribbon to another around her waist, so that she looks like nothing so much as one of the small plastic ballerinas that are in the music boxes every little girl has as a child.
The stage is rotating, so she faces us at one point as we’re led forward. But her eyes are unfocused, and it’s as if she doesn’t see us, as if she’s completely out of it.
It might be better for her if she is.
The guards get each one of us up onto our own rotating stage, grabbing our wrists and chaining them in front of us with a thin, bracelet-like chains that almost seem like jewelry. They’re still too strong to break, though—I surreptitiously try to test them as Sofia and Sasha are led up onto their own stages, and there’s not even the slightest bit of give. Nor is there much room left between our wrists.
There’s nothing left to do but stand there and watch.
If you took away the chained women on stages and Ana bent into a caricature of a music-box ballerina, like some grotesque decoration, it would seem like a normal party for outrageously rich men. At least it’s mostly men as the room begins to fill up, of varying ages and ethnicities, all of them dressed in tailored and bespoke suits. There are a few women in evening gowns, mostly on the arms of the men who brought company. Still, a couple of them appear to be on their own, eyeing us with the same appraising expressions that the men wear but less lecherous.
At this point, being purchased by a woman seems like a possible salvation that I hadn’t thought of. I have no interest in women sexually, but neither would I have any interest in the kind of man who would purchase a woman. And though I’m well aware that women are capable of equal cruelty, the prospect somehow seems less terrifying.
I still have a faint hope that Viktor will come for us, but it’s rapidly fading, minute by minute. When we’d been getting dressed, Sofia had spoken up, saying that she was sure the men were coming. “They’re planning something, I know it,” she’d said aloud, looking at Sasha and me. “They’ll be here. I know Luca will come for me.”
I’d nodded, but something in my face must have given away my uncertainty.
“You must think Viktor is coming for you,” Sofia had said, a thread of desperation coloring her tone. “He loves you. He wouldn’t abandon you like that.”
“I don’t think he’d abandon me, or any of us,” I’d said quietly. “But if he can’t find us in time—”
“He will,” Sofia had whispered, pressing her hand to the silk draped over her slight bump. “They all will.”
But when I catch a glimpse of her face as the stages turn, I can see that she’s losing hope, too. We all are.
I catch sight of Anika and Yelena in the crowd, being paraded around, two guards watching them. They both look pale and anxious, occasionally looking around as if searching for someone familiar. Yelena catches sight of me on the stage at last and tries to make a run for it, bolting in my direction, only to be scooped up by the irritated-looking guard who is none too gentle with her. She slaps at him, trying to struggle out of his arms, and I see a pretty, elegant brunette woman move in their direction, cooing at Yelena as if she finds her struggle endearing.
I can feel myself trembling with helpless anger. It takes everything in me not to leap down from the stage and go to her. But I can’t stop hearing Alexei’s voice in my head, telling me that Sofia would be the next one punished, and then Anika and Yelena after that. It would feel good to rush to them, to momentarily save them from the fear I know they’re feeling, the panic and confusion, but it would just be worse in the end.
I’m not sure how much worse it can get. But I have a feeling we’re about to find out.
It’s clear that Alexei is soaking up his new position, preening like a peacock in his elegantly fitted navy suit as he makes the rounds of the room. I keep an eye on him, watching as he moves from one important-looking guest to another; I can’t overhear anything he’s saying. I can only see the arrogant expression on his face, the self-satisfied smile that tells me that as far as he’s concerned, the night is a success so far.
Which doesn’t bode well for us.
He must have given the guests permission to start approaching us at some point because several of the men start to make their way towards the stages. One man goes so far as to reach for my breast, squeezing it so hard that I wince, and the guard standing by my stage steps forward, his face hard and impassive.
“You’re not allowed to hurt the merchandise,” the guard says in a firm, almost bored tone. “You may touch and examine them, but with care. These are all very valuable.”
The man fondling my breast, who is easily forty years older than me if he’s a day, looks disappointed. But he withdraws his hand, choosing instead to slide a hand up my thigh and push my skirt up just enough to get a glimpse of me beneath it. I’m shaved bare, according to Alexei’s instructions, and I feel my face heat with shame.Not this one, at least,I think like a prayer, as if I can bargain my way out of this.
More of the guests are starting to come forward, several men gathering around Sasha’s stage to eye her like a zoo animal in captivity, running their hands over her butt and breasts and thighs, one even going so far as to ask her to open her mouth so that he can check her teeth, like she’s a prize horse. Alexei joins them a moment later, clearly seeing that most of the interest is in Sasha, and I wince as he lifts up her skirt, slapping the inside of her thigh to make her spread her legs apart so that the men can get a better view. “She’s not a virgin,” I hear him say, as if he’s describing some deep flaw. “But from what I understand, she’s only ever been fucked once. Still a tight pussy.” Alexei looks up at her, his hand tightening on her thigh. “That’s right, isn’t it? Only the once?”
