Page 138 of The Auction
“Get your keys,” I tell her.
She nods, takes off toward the house.
I glance down at Lilly, keeping my voice steady for her sake. “You’re going to be okay.”
“Where’s my baby girl?” She asks with a voice too frail.
“I’ll go get her.” I promise. “I just need to get you to the hospital, and I’ll go get her.”
I look at the night sky. The full moon moving across it and send up a prayer.
Please, please don’t let me be too late.
It’s somewhere around two in the morning when the muscle shoves me into the back of another car. He takes the front passenger seat beside the driver, shutting me in like I’m precious cargo—or a prisoner.
The door handle gives a metallic clunk when I try it. Locked.
Of course.
I lean into the window switch next, pressing it down hard. Nothing. The glass doesn’t so much as twitch.
In the rearview mirror, the muscle’s eyes meet mine. He’s grinning—like he knows exactly what I’m doing and finds it adorable. My skin crawls. I shift my stare to the blur of streetlights instead, counting the seconds in my head as we drive.
We leave the city behind in a slow bleed of darkened suburbs and winding country roads. When the car finally turns, it’s onto a long, tree-lined drive that swallows us whole.
The estate rises out of the black like something obscene—too big, too loud in its wealth to be hidden, and yet here it is, tucked away from the world. The grounds sprawl so far in every direction I can’t make out the edges. All I can see are the scattered glows of security lights strung along the perimeter fence and the harsh wash of flood lamps at the main gate.
Two armed guards stand on either side of the car, rifles slung over their shoulders. They scan us like they’re looking for an excuse to pull the trigger.
The gates swing open slowly, deliberately, the kind of delay that saysWe could kill you before you ever make it to the house.
The car glides forward, swallowed by the shadows beyond.
Perfect. Armed security.
Looks like hatching an escape plan won’t be easy… or quick.
The room they shove me into is big, old, and cold—like everything in this place was made to impress, not comfort. The muscle hangs my dress on a hook just inside the door, his beefy hand smoothing it like I’m going to thank him for the favor.
“Be ready to leave by eight,” he says flatly. “I’ll be stationed outside your door all night. Don’t try anything.”
The door shuts with a finality that makes my stomach turn.
I try everything. Every window—locked and sealed tight. I press my fingers along the edges, check for hidden latches, anything. Nothing gives. I even knock on the walls, praying for one of those secret passages old houses have in movies. No luck.
Sheer curtains sway in the occasional draft, and beyond them I catch flashes of lightning.
I stand in the center and look around the room trying to think. How am I supposed to sleep when I’ll apparently be a bride in a few hours?
There are footsteps outside. I press my ear to the door, straining to hear, but the sound is muffled.
I crack it open—only to jolt back. I expected the muscle, but it’s someone else. Just as big. Dressed head-to-toe in black. He doesn’t face me fully, just turns his head enough for me to catch the edge of his profile.
“Oh… um…” My voice comes out awkward, unsure.
Maybe I can trick him. Maybe he’s easier to get past.
“Did you need something?” His American accent catches me off guard.
