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A tear slips out of the corner of her eye and slides down her cheek, and maybe it’s just my imagination, but it feels like she’s crying to me alone. Begging me to drag her out of the hell she’s in.
Her eyes are on the ground again when she tucks some of her hair behind her ear, and quickly I check the booklet in my hands for the girl's age. It says she’s twenty, but she looks so young. Too young to be here among these kinds of men. It makes the blood under my skin burn when I think of the things that they have planned for her if they win the bid.
My heart starts to thump against the crisp white shirt I'm wearing, and I'm hit with the same restricting pain that I get in my chest whenever I think about my sister.
It brews a shit storm of rage up inside of me that right now, I haven’t got a fucking outlet for. I have to be cool, stay calm, ignore that the walls feel like they’re closing in around me, and get the girl out of here without causing chaos.
I tense my fists and try to breathe myself calm, the way my counselor taught me to when I was locked up. But it ain’t working. The room turns red, and I watch the girl's eyes close shamefully. I feel wrong for watching her, but nobody’s fucking talking to me, and I need to see the birthmark on her thigh before the bidding opens. Her fingers fumble as she slips the dress straps off her shoulders. There’s nothing seductive in the way she moves, someone might as well have a gun pressed into the back of her head, but I know all the jerks in the other booths will be getting off on it. It makes me want to slice the dick off every single one of them.
The girl keeps her head down as she forces the dress lower, revealing a small but perfect set of tits that I feel ashamed of myself for appreciating. I notice how her flat stomach slightly concaves as she drops the fabric lower, revealing the pure-white lace panties sitting on her hips.
“That's not her.” Storm's voice in my ear reminds me that the others are watching this too.
“What do you mean it’s not her?” Jessie snaps back.
“That is not my fucking sister, is what I mean,” Storm shouts back, but all I can focus on is the quivering girl on the podium.
“You sure? I know this is tough to watch, but this could be our only chance,” Maddy's voice cuts in.
“And don’t you think if there was any chance that was her, I would be wanting to get in there myself?” Storm bites back. “There’s no birthmark, and whoever that girl is, her whole face structure is different to Riley’s.”
“You're sure?” I hear Prez check.
“I’m sure,” Storm says, the frustration in his tone cutting into my ear.
“Okay, you heard him. It’s a negative,” Prez tells me.
I keep looking at the podium, at the girl who isn’t Riley, and yet all the anger inside me doesn’t seem to let up. If anything, it's building dangerously stronger.
I slide a hand through my hair and breathe deep. Try to ignore the singe of my blood pumping hot through my veins, spreading the lethal combination of aggression and adrenaline to every chamber of my body.
I try not to ask myself questions, like, who was this girl before this, and is someone out there looking for her in the tireless way Storm searches for his sister?
Is she special to someone?
And worst of all… if I'm not gonna save her, who will?
She looks over her shoulder nervously for the guard who’s no longer there before she removes the panties she’s wearing, crouching to pick them off the floor and holding them tight in a clenched fist. The tiny strip of dark pubic hair on her pussy is so thin it's barely there, and even after I remind myself that the girl and her virginity are being exploited here and that all this is beyond fucking wrong, I can’t help but conclude that it’s fucking perfect, just like the rest of her.
She stands like a caged animal for all the bidders to analyze, including me. And it would be easy to smash through the glass, pick her up in my arms and carry her out of here.
She’s looking at me again through the glass, begging with her eyes for me to do something. The beating in my chest is the only sound I can hear now. It’s faded out the voices in my ear and gets louder and faster as the sweat starts to drip under my collar.
I don’t know where the rage is coming from, but it’s making me want to destroy anyone that ever has, or intends, to cause the girl harm. And even scarier than that is the fact I don’t know how the fuck to contain it.
The green light next to the bidding button clicks on, and I try to swallow the lump in my throat as I stare between it and the helpless girl on the other side of the glass.
“We have an opening of 100,00 dollars on this lot.” The female voice that comes through the speaker and overpowers my booth is smooth and irritating, like the kind you get in fancy elevators. I wanna rip the speaker off the wall.
“150, 160.”
The uneasy feeling stirring inside my stomach is unfamiliar. Desperate and without thinking or caring about what might happen next, I slam my palm on the button.
“170,” the woman’s voice responds to my action.
“Screw, did you just press that button?” Maddy checks, sounding worried, but I ignore her, and when the bid reaches $200,000, I press it again.
“Screw, what the fuck are you doing?” Jessie’s voice yells into my ear, but as the woman keeps talking, I keep pressing. “Mads, what’s happening? This is broken, get us back in contact,” Jessie’s sounding panicked.
