Page 16 of The Beast Who Bought Me
And to my horror, my cock strains painfully in its golden cage, anonymity making me shameless.
WhoamI? I don’t think I ever knew. Maybe it’s just my body’s way of protecting my mind. Making the nightmare bearable.
King steps forward. “Good evening, sinners and saints—though we have very few of the latter here tonight.” A ripple of appreciative laughter follows his words. “But there is at least one: this lovelyobjet d’arton our stage. Untouched merchandise, my friends. The gold dust tells the story—everyfingerprint, every claim will show. And as you can see…” He gestures at my unmarked body. “This is a virgin. Guaranteed.”
There’s a murmur of interest from the audience and I wonder which of them is Grisha. If Jesse was telling the truth that Grisha could be “sweet.” If I should hope and pray that he wins as arranged, or if it would just make everything worse.
“We’ll start the bidding at fifty thousand,” King announces.
And we’re off. The bidding begins slowly, laughter and jibes accompanying some of the offers, and I start to worry. Seventy-five. One hundred. One-ten. It takes a while to get to one-fifty.
I need alotmore than that. I won’t sell a year of my life for pocket change.
I study the crowd while they study me. Many of the faces are familiar. These men could have anyone they wanted. They’re powerful. Rich. Feared. Why even buy someone in the first place when they’d have so many options throwing themselves at their feet?
Jesse told me they want someone submissive. Compliant. But he’s wrong. What they really want—what they’re willing to pay top dollar for—is entertainment.
They want something they canbreak, and have fun doing it. I know, because my grandfather was exactly the same.
So when the next bid comes in at one seventy-five, I take a step forward, golden light shimmering around me like an aura. “I’m looking for someone who canaffordme,” I announce. “Not someone used to haggling over the price.”
A shocked silence follows my words. And then there’s laughter—genuine and loud.
The bids resume, higher and faster. And I keep talking.
“Why even show up if you weren’t prepared to play in the big leagues?”
“Sir, if you’re going to lowball me, at least have the decency to be embarrassed about it.”
“If your dick is as small as your bank account, you should save us both some time and drop out now.”
Each insult sharpens the room’s appetite. The energy shifts from self-satisfied to feral. They don’t just want to own me anymore. They want toshut me up. And that desire is going to cost them.
I’m enjoying the power this small rebellion brings. It’s a valuable lesson, evidence that I still hold a little power despite my situation. I can manipulate these people, make them react to me.
If they want me, they can bleed for me.
There’s one bidder who stands at the side, never reacting to my barbs, simply raising his hand regularly. When it reaches three-quarters of a million, I catch him glancing toward the back of the room. He’s looking at a slim figure I can barely make out in the shadows, but they give a nod, their long hair shielding their face, and the man bids again.
One bidder at the front with a thick Russian accent has been growing visibly angrier with every barb I aim his way. “Take off the mask,” he snarls. “If I’m paying this much, I want to see what I’m getting.”
King looks at me, a wordless question in his eyes. Fear spirals through me again. If they see my face, they might recognize me. But then I remember the stranger in the mirror, transformed by makeup into something ethereal, untouchable.
Besides, a part of me—a dark, unfamiliar part of me—wantsto be seen. Wants to know that I’m desirable and attractive and worth every goddamn penny they’ll pay.
Wants to look them all in the eye and show them that they’ll never break me, no matter what they do.
I reach up. Find the ribbon. The room holds its breath. I pull the mask off and drop it at my feet.
“Too pretty for you,” I tell the Russian. “Save yourself the embarrassment.”
“One million,” he spits. “And I’ll enjoy marking up that pretty face.”
That’s Grisha. Has to be. I’m already calculating how to manage him after the sale—he’s easily provoked, which means he’ll be easily handled.
A million for a year. It’s the lowest I could possibly accept. But maybe I should try to wind things up now before I provoke this loser too mu?—
I get that sensation again. The instinct that I’m in danger. Andof courseI’m in danger. I’ve been goading a roomful of underworld criminals. What else did I expect? But I look around the crowd again, trying to identify a new expression, a new face?—
