Page 307 of Summer Heat
The whole room seems to cant forward, delighted with the display of fresh drama. I feel myself shrinking, as if I’m getting smaller in the middle of the room. Maybe I’ll disappear into a tiny speck. And pop like a bubble. Surviving the auction seemed difficult, nearly impossible, but facing Uncle Landon like this breaks me completely. He’s the closest person to my father, and even though I’m angry at him, I’m ashamed too.
Damon strolls closer, barely perturbed by the show of force. “You don’t want to do that, Moore.”
“Why not?” he demands. “She’s mine. She’s my fucking goddaughter.”
One eyebrow lifts, mildly amused. “Then you’ll want to stay and watch over her, won’t you? If you continue to disrupt the auction, I’ll be forced to remove you before the bidding even begins.”
Uncle Landon’s hands tighten on my arms, and I whimper.
Damon sighs, sounding disappointed. He doesn’t seem surprised, but then he wouldn’t be. Even if he didn’t know that Uncle Landon was my godfather, Damon Scott knew about his close friendship with my father. “And you definitely won’t get a refund on your entrance fee.”
I’m trembling, caught between my future and my past. I don’t really belong in either of them—I’m not cut out for this world of anger and sex, but I can never go back to my blissful naïveté either.
Gabriel appears on the platform with his large and intimidating presence. He seems to tower over all of us—Uncle Landon, me. Even Damon Scott looks smaller next to his fury.
“Release her,” Gabriel says in low tones. “Unless you want your arm broken. Security here is…formidable.”
Except I don’t see anyone else. No bouncers or guards. Even the pale-eyed man stayed behind the velvet curtain as if he’s some otherworldly creature who lurks in the dark.
There’s only Gabriel, looking fierce like an avenging angel.
For a breathless moment Landon looks as if he might defy him—though I can’t see how, when he would be crushed. There’s more at stake than my virginity, though. Male pride. A show of strength. An example, like the one Gabriel made of my father.
This is what Candy was teaching me about. It’s what Mr. Santos taught me, too.
About war. About opposition. About standing tall in a rain of bullets.
“The show really must go on,” Damon murmurs, slicing through the tension.
Uncle Landon releases me with a rough sound. “I’m glad I didn’t marry you, you little slut.”
My face flames with humiliation. The men circling the room couldn’t hear him, but Gabriel clearly did, judging by his raised eyebrow. He doesn’t wait for an explanation, though. As soon as Landon steps off the platform, Gabriel melts back into the shadows.
In minutes Damon recaptures control of the crowd’s attention.
“As you can see, she’s a woman of some notoriety, due to no fault of her own. An innocent woman, torn by circumstance, ruined by fate, et cetera, et cetera.”
There’s a smattering of laughter, and just like that, the drama is forgotten.
“We’re not here to talk about what brought her to this point, though. We’re here to talk about what you’ll be bidding on in just a matter of minutes.”
All the men stare at me, some dark gazes, some light. One molten. All of them filled with lust, with dangerous intent. They want to fuck me. Do they want to hurt me? And if they do, is it because they’re bored with vanilla, as Damon seems to think? Or because they want revenge against my father?
There are a few women in the audience. Would the women bid on me, or are they just arm candy?
On the opposite side of Landon, I see Ivan Tabakov in a large wingback chair. Candy is perched on his lap, her heels tipped over at his feet, her toes curled up on his leg. She looks like a child with large blue eyes and fairy-tale hair.
Another woman looks even younger than me, her dress revealing more than it hides. She hangs on the arm of a gray-haired man like I imagine she would at some high-rollers casino, both glamorous and mercenary.
The other woman appears older, beautiful but hard. Almost cruel. She sits at one of the only small leather love seats with another man. Their sides touch intimately—husband and wife? Both of their gazes examine my body with mean promise.
It wouldn’t only be the husband who hurt me; that much I know.
“One full month,” Damon says, circling behind me. “That’s how long you would have to train this lovely specimen in the erotic arts. Such thirsty…intellect, they said. What would you do with her?”
“Play chess,” Gabriel says from the back of the room, his voice droll.
The men in the room laugh, and I feel my stomach turn over.
