Sold at the Auction(8)

"I hope my buyer defaults," I said bitterly. "I hope you get nothing from all this."

But my kidnapper wasn't fazed at all.

"Naw, Mr. Black never defaults, he's good for his money," he drawled  casually, inspecting his fingers. And as I watched, Miles pulled out an  emery board and literally began filing his nails in front of me. "These  dudes are all billionaires and Mr. Black is allegedly the richest of  them all. These guys shit money," he added admiringly. "Their net worths  are in the fucking ten figures, I gotta find a way to join the club."

And I sensed his weakness then.

"You'll never be a part of them," I snarked. "You're just a minion to  them, a nothing. You work for them, you're not one of them."

But Miles was unfazed, still filing away at a hangnail.

"Maybe, but with more chickadees like you, I'm doing just fine, thank  you very much." And then he looked up, eyes snapping to meet mine. "And  you're going to do just fine too."

I wouldn't even meet his eyes, turning my head away stubbornly, gazing  blindly into the darkness. Oh sure, I'd be fine, I'd just been sold to  some nameless buyer, I could be whisked away to Antarctica and left to  die if that's what this "Mr. Black" wanted. But Miles shook his head.

"Naw, baby girl, you're gonna come out of this a princess. Financially  at least," he added as an afterthought. "Yeah, I dunno what Mr. Black is  going to do to you physically or mentally but he'll make sure it's  worth your time."

I snapped my chin to look at him then.

"I don't care how much money comes out of this, nothing's worth being sold," I snarled. "Nothing's worth being humiliated."

But Miles cocked an eyebrow skeptically.

"You didn't look too humiliated out there," he drawled. "Looked like you liked it."

And I launched myself at him again, biting and clawing furiously, but  the handlers grabbed my arms and held me back so I was reduced to  nothing but a snarling, spitting mess.

"Careful kitten, don't do that with Mr. Black, he's not gonna be too  happy," remarked Miles, looking bored now. "How much longer before the  transaction closes?" he asked someone in the dark.

And there was silence before a voice rang out over the intercom.

"The sale is awaiting final confirmation."

This was fucking spooky the way the voice came out from nowhere,  everything computerized, without a soul. But maybe the Club wanted it  that way. Maybe there were only disembodied voices and handlers in masks  because identities were being protected, because no one wanted to be  associated in their public lives with this sordid affair. No one except  Miles that is, because he was literally giggling now, going red in the  face.

"Once the transfer is finalized that's one million dollars in my bank  account. Yee-haw!" he whooped in the hall, echoes magnifying the yelp,  hopping from one foot to another excitedly, like a small boy who needed  to pee. "Yee-haw! One million little fuckers, my shit's turning green!"

What the fuck was he talking about? Did he think his ass was going to  sprout flowers now? But I hated him, hated absolutely everything about  him.

"Well you're getting a bad deal," I said spitefully. "My price was two  million don't you remember? Or is your brain too small to remember  details like that? You're losing one million in transaction fees. What a  chump, you lose!" I spat.         

     



 

But my abductor merely continued dancing, literally skipping in circles  until he came to a halt before me, panting, sweating like a pig.

"Naw, baby girl, like I said Mr. Black is gonna make both of us rich,"  he cawed. "I'm getting one million and you're getting the other half.  Although, if you're too good for the money, you could always give it to  me," he snuffled like a baby elephant.

I stood stock still then. Half the money was coming to me? I was going  to receive one million dollars? And Miles nodded, still doing his  wiggle.

"You'll get your share," he sang, red face flushed, "and I'll get mine.  Once your week is completed, once Mr. Black is done with you, you'll get  your money. So like I said, little girl, you better be good, otherwise  you're gonna be fucked. Or you'll be fucked anyhow," he said  thoughtfully. "It's just a question of how hard."

And I stood stock still, shivering, a chill coming over me. Holy shit. I  literally had been sold but this wasn't the sexual slavery that I was  imagining. I'd been sold, but half of the proceeds were coming to me, in  this case a seven figure sum. My mind whirled crazily. What could I do  with the money? I could buy my mom a new car, her old Subaru was broke  down and scratched, the door on the left back side didn't work anymore.  Or even a house. I could buy my parents a house, we lived in a little  cottage right now on the wrong side of town, clean and neat but  dilapidated, there was no money to fix it up. I could buy them a nicer  place, or at least put in a new boiler if they wouldn't move, make sure  they had hot water year-round, that we didn't have to boil water when  the pipes froze.

So I bit my lip hesitantly, feelings in flux. What I thought was a  disgusting auction, something completely criminal and outlaw, took on a  different light. Because the money made a difference. As ashamed as I  was to admit, the seven figure sum made a huge difference, it was going  to change my life. And I looked down at my hands, face flushed, even  shaking a bit. God, was money really doing this to me? Was the promise  of a large sum changing the way I thought, corrupting me, making me  think that all this was okay?

Hell no, I shook my head furiously. It was wrong. This was all wrong,  and I was still the same Ellie. I'd been kidnapped, my friend had been  drugged for crying out loud, and I'd been forced to show myself to a  number of anonymous buyers, men who had nothing going for them but vast  sums as their disposal. That didn't make it right. Money doesn't make  anything right, it was how you used your money that was the measure of a  person, you can't just pretend things are okay because you're rich.

So I lifted my chin again, standing the moral ground. I'd been kidnapped  and that was that. No matter how much they paid me, I hadn't agreed  ahead of time, I hadn't said "Okay, let's see where this goes." So yeah,  this Mr. Black guy was gonna get a hellcat when I met him, and he  better not be wearing a black mask like the others.

But somehow, I knew he wouldn't be. A niggling feeling inside told me  that the dark man, the one with the penetrating blue gaze, was Mr.  Black. He'd watched me like a predator stalking its prey, never taking  his eyes off me for a second, and at the last moment, when I was being  led off, he'd nodded reassuringly. And despite the humiliating  circumstances, despite the fact that I was still nude, a thrill had run  through my body, making me shiver, tremble, nerve endings sizzling.  Because I knew he'd bought me. I knew this had to be my Mr. Black, that I  belonged to him now. The question was, when would I meet him? When  would our liaison begin? And as if answering my question, a disembodied  voice rang out in the darkness then.

"Transfer confirmed. Please escort Article Twenty-One to the preparation chambers."

The handlers immediately seized my elbows again, dragging me down the  dark hallway, my struggles futile. Miles, that dipshit, merely watched, a  nasty smirk on his face, wiggling his fingers as I was led away.

"Bye!" he cooed. "Have a good time now! Don't be a bad girl! And thanks for making me rich."

I opened my mouth to scream at him, to hurl an epithet, but it was too  late. Elevator doors closed around me, the stainless steel sliding shut  with a subtle hiss and suddenly I was going down, whisked at such a  terrifying speed that my stomach jolted. Where were we headed? Some kind  of subterranean basement? What the hell, was this the Pentagon, with  miles and miles of underground offices?

But I had no time to contemplate because just as fast as we started, the elevators slid to a halt, a slight ding sounding.         

     



 

"Welcome," came the disembodied voice again. "Welcome to the Prep Station."

And I jolted as the doors hissed open because instead of another warren  of dark, bare rooms, a beautiful spa-like haven was revealed. The lights  glowed warmly, with fresh flowers everywhere, the unmistakable scent of  something fragrant in the air. And a woman sat at a reception desk,  blonde, perky, fresh-faced and scrubbed clean, like a real spa employee.

"Welcome," she said chirpily. "Handlers, I can take over from here," she nodded.

And the two masked men stepped back, the elevators closing around them, like a nightmare departing.

I stood stock still, unsure of where I was, what was happening. But the  woman got up and bustled towards me, a chubby blonde dressed in a fitted  white apron.

"Welcome!" she said chirpily again. "Welcome to the preparation stage,  or just "Prep" as we call it! I'm Melissa, your handler for the time  being. Or as I like to say, I'm your ‘guide' for this portion of the  ‘tour.'"