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I take a sip of my Stolichnaya and let the warmth seep down my throat.
What the fuck are you up to, Theo?
Theodore Avants has worked in my organization for decades – ever since my father’s time. I’ve never liked him. There has always been something shifty about the fucker. When I heard rumors that he was planning to auction his own daughter, my radar immediately started to ping. Especially when it was just a day after that a shipment of product went missing. And it wasn’t the first time this happened. It’s too much of a coincidence. Our planning has always been impeccable, yet somehow, no matter how closely we watch our consignments every step of the way, someone else always seems to be a step ahead. As if they already know what we’ve planned. I’ve smelled a rat for some time, and Avants is looking distinctly like a rodent.
The bastard is up to something.
Something that needs a significant cash flow in a hurry. And it’s something I’m going to get to the bottom of. Except riding in roughshod and beating the information out of him is not an option. The fucker might be slimy as shit, but he’s too high-ranking for me to simply make him disappear. I can’t get my hands dirty that way. It would raise too many eyebrows.
But with a million dollars of clean cash in his pocket, it’s only a matter of time before he shows his hand. And then I’ll be there to catch the fucker in the act.
Except right now, I’m finding myself preoccupied with the memory of defiant dark eyes, and anticipation is swirling. I didn’t expect to feel this way, this… restlessness, this…hunger. It’s been a long time since a woman has captured my interest. But the fire in her expression as she stood there on that stage was… interesting.
A soft knock at the door interrupts my brooding thoughts. “Mr. Vyronov.” It’s one of the attendants from the auction.
“Come.” My voice echoes in the silence of the room, reminding me that there’s nothing warm or inviting about this place. Perhaps it’s better that way. I don’t need her thinking that things will ever be warm between us.
The door opens, and a middle-aged man in a dark suit steps in. “Your consignment is ready, Mr. Vyronov, sir.”
I nod, and the door swings open.
The woman framed by the light outside is being held by another attendant, who’s grasping her upper arm firmly… as if she’s about to bolt off. Perhaps she will. If she does, I’ll chase her down. The thought of that makes my lips twitch at the corners. But that would distract me from the purpose of this whole damned exercise.
Avants is a problem.
No doubt about it.
As for his daughter?
His daughter is fucking beautiful. The photos I’d seen before I made the decision to attend this auction had made that clear to me. But the reality of her is even better. Leggy and willowy, with full breasts and softly curved hips. She’s toned and in good shape, yet everything about her is rounded and itching to be touched.
She tugs at where her arm is being held firmly, and a heavy wave of dark hair falls over her shoulder. Hair I could tangle my fingers into as I fucked her from behind. The image has my dick swelling, and I’m having to shift in my seat.
She’s squinting into the shadows of the room now, probably trying to get a look at me. She won’t see much, which suits me. I like keeping people off balance.
The attendant murmurs something to her, and when she doesn’t respond, he pushes her. She takes a stumbling step forward.
“Careful,” I warn him. “That is a million dollars’ worth of merchandise you are manhandling.”
Her head snaps up at the sound of my voice. “Who’s there? Who are you?”
“You know why you are here, da?”
“I asked who you are!”
“I am asking the questions tonight.”
Her chin jerks up, her eyes fiery, and mutinous as she looks in the direction of my voice. There’s rage in her voice that makes her even more attractive. “You may have bought me but that doesn’t give you the right—”
“Remember your place, little bird,” I interrupt. “I own you. I have the right to do as I please.”
I run my eyes over her. The dress she’s wearing may be virginal white, but that’s where any pretense of purity stops. Whoever put her into that thing wanted to be sure that nothing was left to the imagination; it molds to her like a second skin, and parts of it are transparent.
“This whole thing is a damn farce. I demand that you release me immediately!” There may be a firm edge to her voice, but her nostrils flare slightly as she finishes. She’s sucked in a deep breath. Bolstering herself… not as brave as she’s trying to appear. “Are you listening to me? I insist that you release me!”
I feel an eyebrow lift. Insolence. Fire. I like it.
“Release you?”
