1. Morrison

1

MORRISON

“ N ow this… this is a fucking motorcycle right here,” Charles Lewellen says before letting out a low whistle.

He walks around his new chrome-plated chopper, inspecting every custom detail he requested. I’m pleased when he nods in approval, the gleam in his glassy eyes letting me know I completed the job to his satisfaction.

“I take it everything is to your liking?” I ask, uncrossing and recrossing my arms over my chest.

I've never liked doing business here in this damn auction house. Still, most of my clientele are filthy rich CEOs and hedge fund bros who love throwing parties and flaunting their wealth. The Naughty List Auction is one of the biggest events of the season for those in the upper echelons of society.

“Incredible work, Morrison. Truly. She’s a beauty, that’s for sure.” Charles takes another swig of his whisky on the rocks and then calls out for one of his friends to show off his shiny new toy. “Derek! Derek, come here and look at my new motorcycle.” His voice is a bit too loud for the space we’re in, which likely means this isn’t the first drink Charles has had tonight.

I take a step back and observe the flock of millionaires gathering around the expensive and ultimately useless bike I just dropped off. It’s gorgeous, yes. Sourcing the parts was a headache but the work itself is solid. Unfortunately, like many of my custom pieces, this chopper will sit in a garage for most of its life, only toted out for special occasions. One ride around the block and then back to the garage. It’s a shame, really.

Not so much of a shame that I won’t do it for a shit ton of money, however. Truthfully, I sneer at these millionaires but their business has made me a millionaire as well. I don’t choose to flaunt my money or spend it on ridiculous things, but then again, I know what it’s like to have nothing.

Looking at my opulent surroundings, I know for a fact these men haven’t clawed their way up from the streets and earned their wealth like I have. Most of them were born with a silver spoon in their mouths and then decided to go on to purchase the entire silver cutlery set as well as a golden one and a crystal one, for good measure.

“Damn, where did you get it?” someone asks Charles.

“You can’t just buy a machine like this,” he answers as if he has any idea what he’s talking about. “I had it custom-made by Morrison over there.” He tips his head in my direction and I give him a nod. This is the real reason I showed up at the auction house tonight. To get more contacts.

Ensuring the safe delivery of a custom bike is important, but I trust the company I work with to handle everything on their end. What I’m really after is more clients. If I’ve learned anything these past several years of working with the hyper-elite, it’s that everything is a pissing contest. Mike got a chopper a few months ago so Charles got a chrome chopper. Maybe Derek will ask for a diamond-crusted chopper and I can charge him two million for it.

Is it shitty of me to profit from their stupid egos and insecurities? I don’t think so. Someone is going to get their cash, it might as well be me. At least, that’s my logic.

Derek downs the last of his drink and places it on a nearby tray before beelining toward me. I already have my business card out, ready to snag another sale.

“Morrison?” he asks, holding out his hand. I shake it firmly, possibly a little too firmly. It’s all part of selling the badass biker persona. Derek retracts his hand and subtly massages his palm where I gripped him rather tightly.

“That’s me. Maverick Motors has a wide variety of motorcycles, each one customized to the buyer’s wishes.” I hand him the card and he examines the fine print.

“Legit, man, this is great. Instead of chrome, could you do a pure gold bike?”

It takes a lot of effort, but I resist the urge to roll my eyes into the back of my head. These men are unbelievably predictable. Plus, a pure gold bike? He clearly knows even less about motorcycles than Charles, which is saying something.

“We can talk specifics once I get you in our system,” I tell him. “Though, a pure gold motorcycle would be… rather difficult. We can discuss gold-plated options or possibly a gold frame with metal alloy parts to withstand more wear and tear than a soft metal like gold.” I can tell from the blank look in his eyes that I’ve already gone way over his head with the details, so I back off a bit. “Send me an email Monday morning,” I say, watching the recognition come back into his features.

“Yeah. Email. Monday. I can do that.”

He's eager to find a way to outdo his supposed friend, and I'm eager to take his money. It's a win-win.

As soon as Derek peels off, another man heads toward me as if he was just waiting for an opening. Yes, I have a feeling it’s going to be a good night for business. Knowing that almost makes up for the venue of the auction house.

I’ve known about the Naughty List Auction, as well as the other events hosted here, for years now. It’s invite-only, super secret, and operates in a gray area of the law. Then again, the transactions that take place here are probably more honest than any business these men do in their ivory towers and corner offices.

Thirty minutes later, I’m down to my last two business cards. I have no doubt my calendar will be full for the next year with all the clients I’ve scooped up tonight. That means it’s time to head home and wash the filth of this place from my skin. Besides, the auction is starting and I want to be long gone before I witness any of the debauchery.

“You’re not sticking around, Morrison?” Charles asks. I didn’t realize he was right behind me. “You know you have an open invite to any of the events. Hell, you’re probably richer than half the people here.” He’s not wrong, but that doesn’t mean I want to live like they do.

“Not my scene,” I tell him, hoping that’s enough of an answer.

“Not your scene? How is this not your scene? You’re among peers, the food is amazing, the drinks are flowing, and we’re about to watch some sexy-as-fuck women get up on stage and beg us to purchase their affections for the night. What else would you rather be doing with your evening?”

I’m about to answer when the lights dim and the emcee for the night directs everyone on how to enter the auction and what the rules are. That’s my cue to leave.

“Maybe next time,” I lie, already making my way to the exit.

He calls out for me but I wave him off. Nothing could interest me less than purchasing a woman, or anyone, for that matter. Even if it’s just for a night and the women get a sixty-five percent cut of the bid. The pragmatic side of me understands it’s a business decision for some of the women up on stage. The other side of me who has seen the blackness of men’s souls and the torment they’re willing to inflict on people in vulnerable positions, however, can’t stomach the thought of participating in any way.

“First up tonight, we have the curvaceous and compelling Micaela. This is her first time here at the Naughty List Auction. Actually, it’s her first time doing any of this, isn’t that right, sweetie?”

The tone of his voice makes it obvious what he’s referring to. My hand is on the doorknob, poised to turn it and leave this place for at least another year, but a memory rattles loose. Micaela. That’s the name of my boss’ daughter.

She doesn’t come around the shop much, but when she does, I make a point to not look at her. With round, perky tits, wide hips perfect for grabbing, and full lips that make my dick twitch, I know better than to entertain fantasies of the too-young, too-beautiful Micaela. Her father would strangle the life out of me with his bare hands, and I’d deserve it.

It can’t be her, though. That would be truly insane.

“Uh, yes. Oh, wait, were you asking me that or just… Uh, never mind.”

That voice. I whip my head around, looking at the stage over my shoulder. Fuck me, it's her. It's really her. Even if I didn't recognize the woman standing up there on full display, that voice… The uncertainty and timidity unleash something in me that's quickly taking over every rational thought.

I turn around and glare at the auctioneer, who chuckles at Micaela. “See, folks? A virgin in every sense of the word. But all that can change tonight, for the right price, of course.”

Micaela’s eyes widen as if realizing for the first time what she’s gotten herself into.

What the fuck? Her dad makes enough money to take care of her for the rest of her life. Why is she up there? Why is she doing this? Why do I feel the need to run up there and snatch her off stage so no one else can look at what’s mine?

Jesus Christ, I need to get myself under control.

"The bidding starts at one hundred thousand," the emcee announces. To my horror, a dozen paddles are raised, indicating interest in buying Micaela's virginity.

Oh fuck, no. Not on my watch.

I’m hardly aware of my movements, almost like an out-of-body experience. I watch as my hand grabs a paddle from the nearby table and then I storm through the crowd. I don’t know what my next move is, only that I can’t stand by and let this happen.

“One-fifty… Two hundred thousand… Wow, lots of interest in this one,” the announcer says as he continues to rattle off prices. My heart pounds against my ribcage with each new bid that rolls in, so hard it feels like my bones are cracking. I can’t seem to get to Micaela fast enough.

“Three million,” I roar as I tear my way through the crowd. Incredulous gasps and frenzied whispers fill the room while I continue my way up to the stage. I’m vaguely aware of Charles saying he told me so, but I don’t give a fuck. I have one mission right now; save Micaela.

I’m right in front of the stage, staring up at Micaela and her creamy curves. Her strawberry blonde hair frames her face, glowing under the spotlight while her green eyes widen in recognition. Those perfectly pouty lips are painted red and I can’t seem to take my eyes off of them as she opens and closes her mouth, trying and failing to speak.

“Th-three million,” the emcee finally says, acknowledging my bid. “That’s… Whew, that has to be a new record, right?”

I grunt and glare at him, my patience running thin. He gulps and looks out at the crowd, watching everyone put their paddles down.

“Going once… Going twice…”

“Sold,” I growl as I pull myself up onto the stage. Micaela blinks at me and watches as I stand to my full height. My shadow falls over her, casting her silhouette in darkness.

“Morrison?” she whispers, her voice trembling along with the rest of her. “Is it really you?”

Instead of answering her, I bend down and scoop her up, carrying her off-stage and away from the prying eyes of those fuckers and their filthy thoughts.

“Sir! Excuse me, sir? Sir! There’s paperwork to fill out before–”

“No,” comes my growled response. The employee is a man close to my age in a tux with a red cumberbund. He steps in front of me but I elbow him out of my way.

“If you don’t stop, I’ll be forced to call security and the entire transaction will be canceled and you won’t be able to bid on her or anyone else tonight.”

This has me stopping in my tracks. I heave out several frustrated breaths and then look down at the precious woman cradled in my arms. She lifts her hand to my cheek, that one soft touch calming the beast ready to break free.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she murmurs. “They just want to make sure I get paid.”

I grunt and flare my nostrils at the reminder of why Micaela is here in the first place. I don’t care about the money. I’d have given it to her yesterday if I knew she needed it and we could have avoided all of this.

“Fine,” I manage to say, though I don’t loosen my hold on Micaela.

“Right. So, just follow me into this room here and we’ll get everything sorted. I understand being eager, but business is business.”

I’m about to yell at this fucker but Micaela covers my mouth with her soft, smooth hand. I look down at her, my heart lurching against my chest when I see her green eyes begging me not to make a scene.

“Just do what they say and then we’ll be alone, okay?”

She’s talking to me like I’m a rabid animal, which is pretty accurate. I feel like one right now, snarling and snapping at anyone in my path. I have a thousand questions for her, but I’m not going to get any answers until I fill out the paperwork.

I nod then press a kiss to her palm, fascinated by the way her cheeks turn from pink to rosy red. Oh, little girl. The things I could teach you.

I try silencing my inappropriate thoughts but then the mysterious minx twists in my arms and kisses me on the cheek. “Thank you,” she whispers before climbing out of my embrace.

The curvy goddess with bright green eyes and light red hair is instantly whisked away by an older woman I didn’t notice before. The gentleman from earlier holds out his arm to usher me into a separate room with a desk, a contract, and who I assume is some kind of attorney to oversee the exchange of goods.

I look over my shoulder at the now-closed door, hating every inch that’s separating me from Micaela. The need to be near her, to touch her in some way and have her sweet voice ringing in my ears… it’s as overwhelming as it is undeniable.

“Let’s get through the paperwork so you can enjoy your pretty little Christmas gift,” the man behind the desk says.

I narrow my eyes at him, barely swallowing back my response. Micaela is right - the faster I sign the contract and cut a check, the faster we’ll be together again. That’s my only goal in life now.