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So I let the staff member guide me behind the velvet curtain. I lick my lips as Gage closes the sixty-eight-thousand-dollar auction on kitten number six.
Trap won’t embarrass me. He’ll make sure I go for the night’s highest value.
I hear Gage say, “And our last kitten of the night, kitten number—” I catch my breath as the curtain sweeps to the side. I blink hard, blinded by the spotlight.
“Alix?” Gage says, my name echoing through the Heart as he’s startled out of his casual emcee chatter.
A whisper licks through the crowd like fire in a hayloft. No one noticed me when I was slinking through Kynk’s shadows. But here, onstage, pinned beneath a merciless light, people recognize the woman’s who’s been front-page gossip since the Herzog murder tape was released.
But Gage recovers quickly. “Kitten number seven!” he says. “Bidding will start at—”
“One million dollars.”
The crowd falls silent. Gage clears his throat and stammers into his mic. “O— only serious bids here. Let’s start at twenty—”
“One million dollars,” the voice repeats.
But that can’t be right. That’s not Trap’s voice, filling the suddenly silent Heart.
Instead, it’s a voice from my past. A voice from my nightmares. A voice that freezes me on the platform, stealing my thoughts, crushing my plans, smothering any vestige of my free will.
The crowd parts, and Jonas Herzog steps forward to claim his prize.
31
ALIX
* * *
The Heart spins around me. The room is too large, too hot, too loud. There are dozens of people here, maybe a couple hundred, and every eye is trained on Gage. He’s speaking into his microphone, white teeth flashing in a wide, strained smile, saying something about wounded heroes and the Masquerade’s generous donations and this calls for a fresh round of champagne.
As the crowd applauds, Gage hands off his microphone and hurries to my side. “What the hell are you doing here?” he demands.
At the same time, Jonas pushes forward. “Come to Master,mein kätzchen. It’s time to trim your claws.”
My gut turns to water. I know the rules. I know the consequences if I don’t submit.
“Alix,” Gage says, his voice full of concern. He closes his hand around my trembling biceps and whispers, “This is what Trap planned?”
Before I can lie, Jonas reaches my side. “Hands off, Rider. That’s my kitten you’re talking to.”
I haven’t seen Jonas Herzog in four months, maybe five. He must have spent that entire time pumping iron at the gym. His thickly muscled shoulders ripple with the deadly strength of an anaconda. His mask is some bird of prey, an eagle or a hawk. He’s entirely naked, and the deadly beak of his mask echoes his thick erection. His eyes shine out from the black silk, a blue so light they look white.
“Alix?” Gage tries again.
“Trap is out there,” I say. “Trap will keep me safe.”
The words don’t mean anything anymore. I’ve repeated them so long they’ve lost their meaning. But Gage takes an uncertain step back. He looks around the Heart, like he’s searching for Trap in the crowd.
Jonas shakes his head at my declaration, lips twisted in a cruel smile. As if to contradict me, he clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth.
My reaction is immediate, conditioned by years of submission, by the deep gulleys a double dose of Crash carved in my brain. I drop to my knees and plant my hands on my head. I throw my elbows back and display my breasts for Jonas, for Gage, for anyone watching in the shadowed Heart.
Gage looks down at me, confused. But Jonas grips my arm tight enough to bruise bone. “Let’s go, kitten,” he says.
I let him drag me through the crowd. He transfers his grip to the back of my neck and leans close to whisper in my ear. “We’ve been waiting to get our hands on you, you filthy cunt.”
Only then do I realize Ansel is waiting up ahead. He’s darker than I remember. Slighter. He has an even more vicious twist to his mouth. His mask is a demon, with four wicked horns matching the curve of his angry hard-on. His milk-blue eyes gleam as Jonas parades me to him.
