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“Fuck,” mutters Durand, rubbing his mouth, his gaze riveted on my pussy. He licks his lips, swallows hard, then glances quickly at Kazi before returning his gaze to my slit. “How much, Kazi. Name your price.”
Kazi says nothing. He’s staring too, his bullish nostrils flaring again like when he’d brought his face close to my pussy back at the stash-house. Now I realize he’s erect again beneath his trousers, the massive bulb of his cockhead outlined clearly against the tented peak of black cloth. My tummy lurches with a sudden sickening thought that maybe Kazi won’t sell me at all, maybe he just fucks me and then kills me himself.
My gaze darts to that third guy once again. He still isn’t looking in my direction, but this time my heart doesn’t sink.
Because although he’s quiet as a monk, still like a statue, gazing off in the other direction, somehow I know that all his attention is on me.
He won’t look at me.
But he wants to look at me.
I know it with a completely irrational certainty.
And immediately the flame of hope flickers again.
And suddenly I’m certain this guy is different from the others.
He didn’t come here to buy a woman.
In fact he finds this whole scene distasteful.
“How about a taste?” comes Durand’s whisper, cutting through the strange excitement brewing in my breast, making my nipples perk up beneath my sundress, like my body is doing that thing where it thinks for itself and acts in direct opposition to my brain’s instructions. “A little sample before we talk price. What say, Kazi?”
“Kazi say fuck you,” says Mother Kazi. She slaps my hand, getting me to release my grip on the hemline. The sundress falls back down past my hips. “We talk price now. Twenty thousand dollars. Cash, of course.” Mother Kazi smacks my bottom like I’m a prize pig at the market. “She is good stock. Good for violent animal like you, Durand. Will last long time before she is worn out and useless.”
Durand chuckles, wags a finger at Mother Kazi, then sighs and shakes his head. “Fifteen thousand.”
Kazi snorts. “I paid twelve thousand for her. You insult me by offering only fifteen. For that price I will fuck her myself first before selling her stretched-out hole to you.” He glares at his mother now, mutters something in Russian. “And twenty thousand is also too low. You want her now, before the auction, then you pay thirty thousand in cash. Otherwise wait for auction and try your luck. There is no more negotiation, Durand. You want her now, you pay thirty grand. Or else you come back at midnight.” Kazi rubs his beard, clicks his jaw, those savage eyes gleaming with the same violent possessiveness I’d sensed when he was close enough to my pussy that his breath was warm against my slit. “Though midnight is a few hours away still. Who knows . . . perhaps I will change my mind before then. Perhaps she will no longer be a virgin when the auction begins. Maybe she will not even be for sale at all if Kazi loses control before the clock strikes twelve.” He grins in Durand’s direction, shrugs his heavy shoulders, lets out an exaggerated sigh, then looks at his gold Rolex watch. “Time is ticking. Thirty thousand now, or you might never get another chance to sample that precious flower before Kazi destroys it.”
Fear rips through me and I almost collapse into the cold black tiles. I know Kazi is being a salesman, but I also sense the dangerous truth in his words, feel the dark edge in his energy, know without a doubt that a man like Kazi doesn’t get into this line of work unless he relishes the power, enjoys living in that space where sex and violence merge into one savage drive to possess and then destroy.
It takes everything in my power to remain standing as Durand rubs his jaw and pulls at his beard and sips his whiskey before finally huffing out a breath and nodding. “All right. Thirty thousand.” Durand glances at the silent biker. “I’ll take that bag now, Murphy. Hand it over, then get the fuck out just like I know you’re itching to do. Consider yourself lucky that I need the cash right now. You got what you came for. I accept your tribute, approve your exit. You’re done with the Skulls. Cut loose with our guarantee that nobody comes after you unless you decide to fuck us. Go on. Leave the bag and go, Murphy. You’re free.”
The silent biker keeps staring at his whiskey glass, brow furrowed in thought.
After a long moment he looks up.
But he doesn’t look at Durand.
He looks at me.
And says one word.
“No.”
Durand stares at Murphy, then snorts. “What the fuck do you mean by no?”
Murphy doesn’t answer. Instead he holds the leather satchel up, dangles it in front of Kazi’s face. “Fifty thousand,” he says with quiet confidence. “Fifty thousand for the woman. Fifty thousand for Yolanda.”
Mother Kazi lets out a squeak of delight, babbling something in Russian to Kazi, who’s staring in disbelief at Murphy.
Of course, nothing comes close to my disbelief.
My entire body seizes up as rockets of energy blaze through me. Then suddenly a huge wave of relief washes over me, making me stagger backwards until my butt hits the edge of a table that’s thankfully heavy enough that it keeps me upright.
“What the fuck are you doing, Murphy?” Durand snarls, his eyes flashing with disbelief that’s rapidly transforming to rage. “That’s my money.”
“Not yet it isn’t,” says Murphy with the same quiet confidence that sends tingles through my toes all the way up my legs as I hold on to the edge of that wooden table, the world spinning around me like this is the whirlwind that carries Dorothy to Oz. “I’m buying her. Fifty grand, Kazi. Do we have a deal?”
