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“Like who?”
“You think I’ll just give you a name?”
“If you don’t, I’ll know you’re bluffing. If you’re telling the truth, then it won’t matter if I know a name or not.”
She stares at me. “Fine. Malevolent has shown interest. He claims you were to be his until Odin Vilulf stopped the contract from being drawn up. The most interesting person who’s reached out is Claudius Irons.”
I heave and turn my head, vomiting all over the linoleum floor. Claudius Irons runs the crime scene in London. He’s ruthless, even killing his own brother to take the spot as top ruler. He’s had beef with my family for years. If he gets me, I know I won’t survive.
Madame Gothel smiles. “I see you believe me. Now, since we’re on the same page, I’m going to give you two options. One, you go back to the basement with the others until the auction. Two, you may stay up here, as my guest.”
“I want to go back to the basement.”
There’s no way I’m leaving Freja and the others down there.
Her eyebrow lifts. “Very well. See you in two days.”
I stand before the men can grab me and make my way to the basement. Every person is awake and watches me as I make my way back to Freja.
“Anna?”
I shake my head. I need a moment to collect myself.
Finally, I say, “There’s an auction in two days.”
Someone sobs. And then another. And another. Freja holds on to me, pressing her head against my shoulder.
“We’re going to get out of this.”
I shake my head. “Claudius Irons wants to buy me.”
She meets my gaze, her eyes widening. “What?”
“That’s what Madame Gothel, the woman running the auction, just told me. Freja, I’m not sure I’m going to get through this alive. Someone wants me gone, and it seems there’s no limit to how far they’ll go to make sure it happens.”
“Grandmama?”
I’ve considered different scenarios.
I lift a shoulder. “I’m not sure. I’d like to think there’s no way she could hate me that much, but then I’d be as naïve as everyone else, right?”
Freja huffs out a laugh. “Right.”
We’re silent, both lost in our thoughts.
“Do you think we’re still in Oklahoma?”
I answer, “Maybe.”
The van ride was long, but not long enough that I think we’ve crossed into another state.
Freja says, “I texted someone back home while we were at the game, trying to piss him off. Or make him jealous. Hell, I don’t even know anymore.”
“The ex?”
“Yeah. Maybe he got worried when I didn’t reply.”
“Maybe.” I pause. “I had my phone in my bag. If they brought my bag here, then maybe someone is tracking us right now.”
