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“Everything?” I say sarcastically.
“Exactly. They don’t come here for no vanilla sex. They come here cause they’re kinky fucks. Mouth, ass, ropes. Some will even cut you.”
“Cut me?”
Grinning, he dabs gloss over his full lips and gives himself one last glimpse in his mirror. “That one’s my favorite. You’ll learn yours. Next time, you come to me and I’ll help you draw up that contract right.”
“Caleb Waters, you’re up!”
“That’s me, honey. Good luck.” He rushes off with excitement, and for a moment, I envy him.
Perhaps I’d be excited too if I was here for the money. But whatever amount is agreed upon, I won’t see a cent of it, not until I complete the single task I was assigned. Then I will get enough money to pay off any of our enemies, and, most importantly, gain Maisie’s safety.
I move to stand before one of the many mirrors placed around the room and peer at my reflection. Yes, I look beautiful. The stylist, Haley, did good with the dress she chose for me—what little there is of it, at least.
Although the silver mesh tunic covered in dozens of tiny crystals does little to hide the skin beneath, my nipples poking through the delicate material, or the darker thong I was given for a modicum of modesty, it complements my long dark hair and gray eyes.
Sparkles of light dance over the shiny stones as I move, and I’m suddenly transported to another time where I wore a silver dress. Only, that one wasn’t see-through. It was a formfitting gown, tight enough to be considered sexy, but not so much that it lacked class. The perfect choice for Mayor Hawthorne’s annual Christmas gala, where Daddy walked proudly arm in arm with Maisie and me.
The girl getting me ready to be auctioned off like a prize returns from wherever it is she went. “Lift up your hair for me, gorgeous,” she says, startling me because, for a split second, I’d forgotten where I was. I do as I’m told and she fastens a thin diamond choker around my neck. “There. All done.”
I turn to the tall redhead beauty standing beside me. “Aren’t you going to do my makeup?”
“What would I add? You already have dark lashes and pink lips. Men prefer less anyway.”
Offering her a shaky smile, I nod but worry it won’t be enough to entice my mark. The man I’ve been sent to extract a single piece of information from. Arran Maxton.
He’s been described as insanely handsome, aloof, and a playboy of the worst kind. The sort who only dates blonde waiflike models, and only for a single night. I’ve seen him on a handful of occasions, in passing, at charity events.
What they say is true. Heisinsanely handsome—tall, wavy blond hair, and a jaw so sharp, it could probably cut diamonds. The perfect match for those models he dates.
Although he never looked our way, I’m not sure if that was because he’s aloof or simply due to the fact that he’s the Maxton’s representative and has to carry himself like the rich, powerful man he is.
But those aren’t the things that concern me. It’s the accuracy in types of women he dates. All I’ve ever seen attached to his armareblonde waiflike models and actresses. Women I don’t resemble in the least.
“What if he doesn’t bid on me?” I asked when I was made that offer I couldn’t refuse. “I might not be his type.”
“He will. There will be nothing more he’ll want than to ownyou.” The emphasis was put on the word you. Not own. Which meant that it wasn’t that Maxton wanted to own someone, but would want to ownmespecifically.
When I asked why, the reply came with a chuckle. “I’m sure he will tell you himself.”
“You okay, honey?”
“Jesus!” I jump at the light touch on my arm and spin toward Haley. I’d completely forgotten she was standing there. “I’m sorry.” I give her a smile I certainly don’t feel. “It’s just nerves. I’ve never done this before.”
“Don’t worry. You’re very pretty. I’m sure you’ll go fast. Just need one more thing.” From a bag tied to her waist, she pulls out something that looks like a charm and attaches it to my choker. “There. Now we’re ready.”
My brows pinched together, I draw closer to the mirror. “Is this a collar?” With trembling fingers, I touch the diamonds around my neck, stopping at the tag with the number sixteen eighty-nine attached to a loop in the center.
“It’s your lot number.” She shrugs. “And yes, it’s a collar. Everyone seems to like it.”
I drop my hand to my side, wondering if this could be any more demeaning. Who would have ever thought one of the honorable Judge Cameron’s daughters would be standing here half naked and wearing a collar, about to be sold to the highest bidder. It’s so ridiculous, I could laugh.
“Have you ever gone on stage?” I ask Haley. “Have you worn a collar too?”
“On occasion, I do. Usually for a week at a time. That’s all I’m capable of giving. Then I take a nice vacation with the money.” She slides the palm of her hand down my side, smoothing out the fabric.
I follow her movements, watching as she fusses over my dress and hair. Making me as enticing as she believes I should be. Then I lift my gaze and stare into my eyes through my reflection.
