I do neither. I reach for where my drink once sat and find the table empty. I need my damn waitress to get back with my glass, so I have something to squeeze to death while I try to think of a plan.
“The first beautiful woman I have for you is more girl than woman. Let’s hear it for Chaste.”
The light flickers to stage right as a young blonde woman is pushed onto the stage by two guards. She stumbles, falling to the ground as she grips the thin white robe around her body. She doesn’t realize the robe is practically see-through in the bright stage light. We can already see her body. A body that looks barely older than fifteen.
Jesus Christ. I glance around at the men. They are sick. Not only are they selling women, but they are selling underage women.
The waitress finally returns with my drink, and I down it. I’m going to need a lot of alcohol to get through tonight.
“Keep them coming,” I growl at her as I crush the glass in my hand, not caring who sees.
“Of course, sugar.” She brushes her hand over my shoulder in a seductive way before she walks away. But the most attractive woman in the world could strip naked in front of me and offer to suck my dick, and I wouldn’t get turned on right now. I’m beyond pissed that men are this disgusting.
Oscar starts the bidding at half a million.
That number quickly shoots up to over two million for the young virgin.
But Oscar isn’t satisfied. He snaps his fingers, and the guards return to the stage. Her rope is ripped from her body until she is standing in white lingerie, revealing small breasts, a flat stomach, and bony hips. She’s so young. Untouched. And scared to death.
I skim the crowd trying to memorize every face of the men who are bidding on her—reserving a special place in my memory filled with the torturous thoughts of what I’m going to do to them when I’m finally a free man who can come after them.
The woman sells for $2.5 million.
And seconds later, another woman is dragged onto the stage to do the whole show all over again. This one is slightly older than the first, but just barely. She wears the same face of terror as the girl before her.
My stomach contracts tightly at the sight. I could easily vomit I’m so angry and disgusted. Instead, I sip on the drink my waitress brought me.
“Young women aren’t your thing? Don’t worry, they always save the more mature women for the end. You would think the young ones would be the most popular, but they aren’t. The young ones the men can get all the time.
“Just flash some money in a twenty-something’s face, and she will do anything for you. It’s the older women—the ones who have a career, a husband, kids, a life. The smart ones are hard to get. They aren’t as easily broken as the young ones.” She sighs. “Around number fifteen is when I expect you to start bidding, stud.”
And then she’s gone. I’m not going to bid. If I do, it will be just so it’s not obvious that I’m a traitor. But I won’t win a woman.
I’m here to protect.
That’s what I do—protect people. But I can’t protect any of these women. Not without getting a lot of them killed, myself included. I just came back from the dead; I don’t want to return so quickly. I would risk it if I had a real shot at getting them to safety, but I don’t. I don’t have a big enough truck to transport all of them in. I don’t have a boat to help them escape. I would just be leading them all to their deaths.
They might prefer it to where they are going, but I can’t be responsible for getting them killed.
Another woman appears on stage, gripping the robe like it’s her only lifeline. The only thing keeping her safe.
Is it..?
The woman finally looks up into the crowd of dark faces.
No, it’s not Siren.
But the next woman could be.
What the hell am I going to do?
I can’t let her be sold. I can’t let her become a sex slave. She saved my life; I owe this to her. It’s as if fate stepped in and is requiring me to save her life. I’m in the right place at the right time to protect her. Just like she was in the right place at the right time to save me.
But how do I save a woman currently being held by my boss’ client?
I could kidnap her.
Take her at gunpoint.
Or sneak her out before she was transferred to her new owner.
I could get a boat or a plane out of here. Take her anywhere in the world.
But Julian would know. He has enough resources to come after us both. We would always be running. She would never really be safe.
And I could never return to my life before. I would never bring them into more danger.
Besides, I’m not sure if I could rescue her without us being caught. There are cameras, guards, and locked doors between us and a chance at freedom. I might not even get her out the door.
More women are brought on stage, each more terrified than the one before. The girls being shown now are women, not girls—most in their late twenties to early thirties. Some even have a tan line where a wedding ring used to rest.
Only two women left—one is Siren.
I hold my breath as the second to last woman is pushed out onto the stage.
Blonde.
Not Siren.
Fuck.
Only one woman left. And then the show will be over. My time is up. I need a plan—now.
I don’t listen to the bids. I can’t focus on anything except the anxiety in my chest as I wait for Siren.
The room falls silent again, as the woman is dragged off the stage.
“We saved the best for last. This woman is exotic, beauty itself. She has a mane of hair. Red fuck me lips. Eyes like fire. Flawless skin. And tits for days.”
The room cheers in anticipation of the last woman. There are only twenty women to be sold and thirty men to buy them. It ensures that the last woman goes for the most. Not all men will leave with a woman, at least not a woman from the select group. I’m sure they can go backstage and have their pick of the rest before they are shipped out.
But they don’t get the honor of having one of the “best.”
I wait for the familiar push and stumble of Siren onto the stage. But it doesn’t come.
Instead, click, click, click.
The room is silent except for the click of her heels against the hard wood of the stairs.
The entire room takes a deep breath as she appears on stage. And the oxygen in my lungs vanishes entirely.
Siren doesn’t get pushed into the center like any of the other women. She struts, owning the stage like it was her idea in the first place.
There is no fear in her eyes, just anger.
She flips her long tresses of brown hair from one shoulder to the other so her eyes can shoot daggers in each man’s direction. Her lips purse tightly, prepared to bite us all for putting her in this situation.
And the robe barely covers her body with a simple tie; she doesn’t bother to grip it tightly like the other women.
The room is still silent, glued to the goddess in front of us as she takes center stage.
What is she doing? Does she think if she seems willing she won’t be sold to such a monster?
But then her face turns wicked. Her eyes shine with the fiercest fire. And her middle finger flips us all the bird.
I laugh at the fierceness exuding from her.
“Fuck you all,” she says.
I bite my bottom lip, more entranced with this woman than I’ve ever been before.