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The Volkov brothers are stupid enough to think they’ll take me out and step into my shoes. They haven’t been in town long enough to learn my word is what governs the underbelly of New York City. My crew and I keep these streets clean, safe, and protected from trash like them. I rule with fear, strength and I’m not afraid to let rivers of blood coat my territory to maintain my reign. It’s the only way to keep people like my father from emerging. I learned having full control is the only way at the knee of that brutal piece-of-shit. There is no end to the hatred thriving in my blood for him. He sparked a fire in my veins the day he killed my mother with his bare hands. And now he lives with the fear I’ll come after him someday.
The bastard is not wrong.
Which naturally leads to another truth. The one universal law that makes humans seem like the scum of the universe—in all its filthy, faceted, fucked-up forms, sex sells. And those who have the money to throw around will pay any price to get it. Or, control over those who want it.
It makes criminals out of the nice guy next door, and broken souls out of those unfortunate enough to find themselves in places like this.
Auction windows. But don’t let the name fool you. Nothing that goes on here happens in the light of day. Thewindowsare underground pop-up locations so far off the grid not even the most crooked of cops are let in on this secret. Elaborate mansion basements the size of football fields, underground cave systems that have been converted into luxurious dens of sin, or a remote deluxe cabin in the woods. All on highly guarded, private property and away from curious eyes. Anywhere the Volkov brothers can host a gala that doubles as an auction. Princes, foreign politicians, men—and women—in power with too much money and a lack of morals all fill these walls wearing smiles and tuxedos more costly than your monthly car payment.
My crew is thorough in their intel gathering.
And by no stretch of the imagination are the women here by choice. Most of them walking from table to table have been here a while and are referred to as house samples. Women and men barely old enough to vote are forced into this life of degradation as samples of the Volkovs’ product. Anyone holding membership to The Society can demand anything of these poor souls and they either perform on command or be killed. Every last one of them is kidnapped off the streets, ripped from their lives, stripped of their dignity with daily beatings until they give their full submission. Some don’t make it.
It’s hard to believe, but these have it better than the ones drugged and held in cages just out of sight behind large curtains in the next room. Those are to be sold tonight to the highest bidder. And I have deep pockets. It’s what pisses these Society fuckers off. I ride up here on my sled, look like I should be behind bars Upstate, and yet have more sitting in my bank account than all of them put together.
I let a wolfish grin slip.
And you thought I was a bastard. You’re not wrong, because I plan on buying one of those women and making her my wife.
And the worst part is there’s not a damn thing anyone will do about it. Yet.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
“Sir.” I look up to find a raven-haired woman in her mid-twenties bare of all clothing standing beside me, the one in emeralds nowhere to be seen. I gesture with a flick of my fingers for her to speak. “Your booth is ready.”
* * *
