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I can tell that Sasha is trembling, her voice stuttering as she tries to speak, and Alexei smacks her hard on the outside of her leg, where I know she’s still sore from the lashing he gave her. “Answer me! Don’t keep my guests waiting.”
“Y-yes,” she manages. “Just once. Not—not since then.”
“See?” Alexei beams. “She’s never sucked a cock, never been fucked in the ass. Plenty of new territory to tread.” He notices another couple examining Sofia, a man who appears to be in his late forties and his beautiful, much younger wife, and inclines his head to the guests still looking at Sasha. “Please, take your time. I’ll be right back.”
There’s a small crowd gathering around me as well, but I do my best to ignore them, wanting to keep an eye on what’s going on. So far no one has approached Ana, walking past her like she’s a statue, and I wonder if Alexei has told them that she’s off limits, not for sale. A few men glance at her with barely concealed interest, though, and my stomach clenches with anxiety. Alexei might have assumed that he wouldn’t be able to sell her, but if he thinks he can turn a profit, I don’t doubt that he wouldn’t change his mind.
The couple looking at Sofia seem to have two very different interests. The man is visibly undressing her with his eyes, but the woman is focused on the slight swell of her belly, going so far as to reach out and touch it. Sofia visibly shrinks back, and Alexei slaps her hard on the ass.
“Be still and let them look at you.” He smiles pleasantly at the couple. “I know the price is a bit high on this one, but it’s not just her that you’re buying. As I’d mentioned, she’s pregnant.”
What the fuck?Alexei had made that sound like it was a detriment when he’d appraised us, but now he’s playing it up, driving up Sofia’s price. It doesn’t make sense—until it does, and my skin starts to crawl.
“That’s precisely why we’re interested,” the woman says in her smooth, cultured Mediterranean accent. “My husband wants her for pleasure, but it’s the baby that I want. We haven’t been able to conceive, you see. My issue, not his. We’d raise the baby as our own, and with luck she might even be able to give us more.”
Sofia can’t hide the look of utter horror on her face. I feel like I’m going to be sick, and I catch her gaze when she turns her head to look miserably at me, all pretense of hope gone. It’s as if whatever she’d been buoying herself up with has drained out of her entirely, and she blinks rapidly, trying to hold back the tears so that she doesn’t make Alexei angry.
I hate you. I hate you, you fucking monster.The words echo over and over in my head, my blood boiling as I watch Alexei bargain with the couple, who appear ready to make the sale at this very moment. “A million and a half, at least,” he tells them, gesturing to Sofia. “She’s very beautiful, the daughter of an elite Italian-American mafia family. She has all the social graces. And as you can see, she’s fertile.”
“Excusez-moi d’interrompre.” A smooth, heavily-accented, masculine voice speaking French comes from behind Alexei, and he stiffens in surprise, turning. There’s a flash of irritation on his face, but it seems to disappear the instant he sees who is standing there, and he straightens, inclining his head.
“Monsieur! I hadn’t thought you would come. I’m pleased you accepted my invitation,” Alexei says, stepping aside and giving the couple room to continue looking at Sofia. It gives me a clear view to the man who interrupted, and I blink, startled.
I’d been expecting another garden-variety billionaire, some generic man with nothing particularly interesting about him. Most of the men in this room are like that, as if they’d been designed from a drop-down list—choose ethnicity and age, pour into a tailored black suit. Rinse and repeat.
But the Frenchman is nothing like that. He looks to be in his mid to late thirties, a few lines creasing his forehead, but his skin otherwise smooth, without a hint of stubble, his jaw strong and chiseled, with a long and aquiline nose that could be considered the only flaw in his otherwise startlingly handsome appearance, although combined with the rest of what could only be described as alook, it gives his appearance character. His dark hair is expertly cut and styled, like most of the men here, but he’s wearing avelvetsuit of all things in a shade of royal blue that makes him inescapably stand out in the crowd, with a pink paisley handkerchief square, satin lapels on the jacket and no tie.
Almost every man in the world would look ridiculous in an outfit like that, but he somehow pulls it off.
“MonsieurEgorov.” The Frenchman smiles, displaying gleaming white teeth. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but it did not appear that the couple you were conversing with were quite ready to make a sale. And I am.”
My stomach is instantly in knots.Here it is. Who? Who does he want to buy? Please god, not Anika or Yelena.I feel as if I’m going to throw up, the room tilting dangerously as I wait for him to speak again.
Alexei perks up instantly, looking at the other man with keen interest. “Of course,” he says politely, doing an excellent job of shielding his eagerness. “If you are ready to purchase, you are my first and foremost concern. Which of the girls were you interested in? If it’s one of the children, I can fetch them for you to inspect more closely—”
The look of utter disgust that crosses the Frenchman’s face is some relief, even if it doesn’t fix the situation entirely. “Merde,” he groans, shaking his head. “My god, man, I am not interested inchildren. No, I wish to buy that one.” He nods in Ana’s direction, and for a moment I think he must be mistaken, that he must have meant to gesture to Sasha.
“The ballerina,” he clarifies, and my stomach drops.
Alexei looks startled. “I’m very sorry,monsieur, but she’s not for sale. She was brought out as a decoration, nothing more.”
“Is she yours?” The answer only seems to pique the Frenchman’s interest more. “Your private possession, I mean.”
“Er—no. Not precisely.” Alexei looks flustered. “She came with the most recent group of girls—the others here tonight. But she’s too flawed to sell—damaged goods. I couldn’t sell her for any price, it would damage my reputation, to let that sort of merchandise change hands under my purview.”
“What’s wrong with her?” The Frenchman glances towards Ana. “She’s quite beautiful, from what I can see. Russian, yes?”
“Ah—yes.” An expression of frustration crosses Alexei’s face as he tries to divert the other man. “I have others in much better condition—”
The Frenchman is already turning away, walking back towards the stage where Ana is trussed up in her dancer’s pose. “What is your name, pretty one?” he asks, his accent so thick that it’s almost hard to understand him at first.
“She won’t answer you,” Alexei says, with barely disguised irritation. I see him glance back towards Sofia and the couple still standing there speaking in low tones, and it’s not hard to parse out what he’s thinking—that he stepped away from an almost certain sale for what seems to be a dead end.
For myself, I don’t know whether to be relieved that Sofia’s sale has been delayed, or worried for Ana.He won’t buy her once Alexei explains,I think to myself, desperately trying to believe it.Surely he won’t.
“Why not?”
“She’s been medicated,” Alexei explains. “When I say she’s damaged goods, I don’t just mean physically. She has regular panic attacks, lashes out if anyone tries to touch her. It’s like trying to contain a feral cat.” He laughs, and in that moment, I want nothing more than to strangle him.
