Page 139 of The Auction
“I’m… a little hungry,” I say, quieter than I mean to.
He nods once. “I’ll send for something.”
“Can I go myself?”
“No. It’s not safe in the halls. You need to stay in the room.”
Not safe in the halls? That does nothing to settle my nerves.
“My name’s Killian,” he adds, gesturing for me to step back. “If you need anything, ask for me.”
The door shuts, sealing me in again. I slide down the wall, hugging my stomach until my arms ache. And then I cry. Quiet at first, then harder, until my chest hurts.
Several minutes later, maybe more, a knock at the door pulls me back. “It’s Killian.”
I scrub at my face and open the door. He’s holding a tray—scrambled eggs, toast, and a bottle of water.
The sight of the eggs hits harder than I expect. I think of Jaxon in his kitchen that first morning, nearly burning down the penthouse trying to make breakfast for me. My throat tightens, and I start crying all over again.
I pick at the food but can’t eat more than a few bites. My stomach is knotted too tight. I drink most of the water, saving the rest for later. For when the clock strikes eight and they come to take me—to a chapel, to marry a beady-eyed devil whose name I don’t even want to say out loud.
I have three, maybe four hours to figure this out.
I have to find a way out of here… before it’s too late.
Ibarely sleep. When I finally do drift off, it feels like I’ve just closed my eyes before there’s a knock at the door.
“One hour.”
The voice is American—probably Killian from last night. At least it’s not the muscle. I hope I don’t have to see him again before… before whatever this day is supposed to be.
Every part of me aches—my shoulders from the fight with Jonathan, my back from hours in that cramped plane seat, my jaw from keeping it clenched the entire seven-hour flight. I feel like my body has been wound too tight for too long.
The shower is a small mercy. I stay under the hot spray longer than I should, letting it burn away the outside world for a few stolen minutes. Steam curls around me, and for a moment I can almost pretend I’m home.
When I finally step out, I find a bra and panties folded neatly in the drawer. My size. The thought makes my stomach twist. The gremlin had these brought here for me—prepared for me like I’m an object he’s purchased, not a person.
I blow-dry my hair, more for something to do with my hands than for vanity. The mirror shows the faint smudge of a bruise on my neck from his slimy grip yesterday. I don’t cover it. Let everyone see. Let it be a silent declaration: I’m here against my will.
Back in the bedroom, a new breakfast waits under a silver cloche. I lift it—biscuits and gravy. My throat closes. I slam the lid back down before I can start crying, but it’s too late. All I can think about is Jaxon in his bedroom, that lazy smirk on his face while he brought me a breakfast tray.
Everything makes me think of him—the way he smells, his smile, the way he drives me insane in ten different ways and still manages to make me feel safe.
Just one choice. That’s all it would have taken to stop all this. If I’d told him the truth from the start, maybe I wouldn’t be here. Maybe I wouldn’t be walking toward something I can’t escape.
Another knock. “Five minutes.”
My heart kicks into overdrive. I blink away the tears, forcing my hands to steady as I pull the dress over my head. Then the shoes. Then, the stupid, mile-long veil.
One look in the mirror and I hardly recognize myself. I look exactly how I feel—tired, worn down, trapped.
The door opens. Killian’s there, all black and broad shoulders, eyes unreadable.
“Time to go.”
The drive to the cathedral takes twenty minutes. I watch the clock in the front of the car like it’s counting down to my execution. Every minute ticks away another piece of hope.
A bouquet is on the seat next to me as we drive—lilies. My mother’s favorite. For a split second, I want to hug them to my chest, like if I hold them tightly enough she’ll appear and make this nightmare stop.
