Chapter 32

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

TAVISH

Blinking rapidly at the sight in front of me, I swallow to keep what little food I ate down. My lips and chin tremble. I suck my cheeks between my back teeth and bite down to keep my teeth from chattering.

It's an appraisal—something the Order always did prior to a specialty auction. They'd gather all the "merchandise" together and put them in some swanky location. Most of the time, they held them in a mansion on some private island somewhere. But ships like this were their favorite place to hold one of these things. Less opportunity for paparazzi to follow some of the more celebrity clientele.

Once all the product was in place, they'd invite everyone they could scrounge up. Throwing a party and loaning the merchandise out for a trial run to chum the waters to increase the final sales price. When they had all the buyers high, horny, and happy, they'd bring out the specialty item.

It was almost always a younger boy or girl.

Looking around the room, I have no doubt an appraisal is what I'm standing in the middle of. My concern is who or what the pièce de résistance will be, and hoping beyond hope, it's not me.

She stands beside me, clearly more drugged than when she entered the bedroom a bit ago. Looking at her out of the corner of my eye, I realize she's acting like she did last night. Overly sexual and giddy.

She's not one of them. She's one of us.

"Samuel, you lucky bastard!"

I nod to myself, my eyes drifting up to catch sight of the man who had called out to Samuel. He's going to be Samuel's favorite person tonight with that comment. Samuel loves to be envied.

He gives her and me a shove forward, stepping from out behind us and heading to the caller outer. I take a few more steps into the room so not to invite Samuel's wrath.

Wealthy men and women sit and stand around the edges of the room. Some of them are relaxed. Some anxious and others so nervous they're jittery and unable to sit still. Most of them are grouped with others like them chatting among themselves and gesturing with their cigars and highball glasses around the room. Others have their legs spread and are being serviced by a naked person.

In a line down the center of the room are men and women, or rather boys and girls—all younger than me from the looks of it. Most of the merchandise present is male, but some of them are female like her. The only difference between her and those on their knees or standing with their hands behind their backs and heads down in submission is age. She's much older than the rest of us by several years. You can't really tell it until you get up close and personal. But when you do, it's there, written on her face plain as day. It's in the crinkle of her eyes and the slight papery look under her eyes.

She walks forward on unsteady legs, swaying and staggering. I don't know if Samuel dictates what she wears, but those heels on a ship, even one as big as this one, weren't a good choice. I cringe as her ankles give several times. I don't know why I give a shit, but I didn't want to see her break a freaking leg right in front of me. I'm not sure my stomach could handle it.

A hand snakes around my leg, running up my thigh to my crotch. The buzz of the drugs has me sucking in a breath at the touch. I look down at the person. It's a well-known Hollywood star, regularly in the tabloids. My eyes trail over him. Before I met Draven, this guy was the type I lusted after. Sexy face and body, not much bigger than me.

He's got nothing on my Daddy.

He pulls me down into his lap and slants his mouth over mine. The wandering hand slides around to my ass, and the other follows, grinding me down on him as he thrusts up into me. My breath hitches, and I sigh. My mind revolts as pleasure I don't want washes through me. I'm so keyed up on whatever Samuel's drugged me with that the sensation feels good, even if it's unwanted.

Hollywood pulls my booty shorts down over my ass, and an arm circles my chest under my arms, and I'm lifted in the air. He yanks shorts down my legs while the guy who holds me up sucks bruises on my shoulder and neck, whispering to me in a deep voice that smells of whiskey.

"You're fucking beautiful. I'm going to split you open with my cock until you bleed."

He kneels on this lounge chair with Hollywood and drapes me over Hollywood's lap, on my knees straddling him. Whiskey guy behind me continues kissing and sucking on my neck while playing with my nipples. Hollywood is jerking on my dick, and tears roll down my face silently as I feel it plump and fill.

"I don't want this," I murmur.

Hollywood holds his hand out to someone passing by, and they hand him something. It's tiny, and I cannot see what it is. He puts it in his mouth, reaching up to Whiskey, and they kiss quickly. When they part, Whiskey wraps his hand around my jaw, twisting my head to his. He takes my mouth, shoving his tongue between my lips, kissing me roughly. His fingers move from my jaw, down to my neck, squeezing it until I gasp and swallow. A pill slides down my throat. Hollywood must've passed it to Whiskey, who passed it to me. Who knows what it is, but I have a clue.

Whiskey backs away from me, holding me by the throat, and I get the first good look at him and I'm shocked. He's a prominent politician, and a known homophobe, but I can't remember his name.

"I don't want this," I whisper. "Please, don't."

Whiskey chuckles. "You'll want it, but even if you don't, it won't matter. Samuel said we could have whatever piece of ass on this ship we want and you're the hottest thing here. So you can get in the mood, or we'll take it by force."

I whimper. He laughs, smacking my cheek lightly before tongue fucking me and tweaking my nipples. "Suck it up, fairy boy. I need some ass and tag. You're it."

Hollywood jerks my cock with one hand while massaging my prostate behind my balls with the other as he says, "I'm hoping he doesn't. Unwilling is so much more fun."

My cock betrays me, thanks to the drugs, and continues to show interest in what is happening. Hollywood slides down in the chair with a gasp. "Give me a warning next time," he yelps.

"Where's the fun in that?" Whiskey asks with a laugh.

They're joking with each other. They're enjoying this. Not this. Rape. They're enjoying raping me. My mind continues to recede and the floaty, euphoric feeling grows, blooming inside me and until my cock is raging and I'm moaning.

I don't want this. It's not right. I'm Draven's.

Those thoughts spin through my mind and out of my mouth, but no one's listening.

Why won't they listen?

Time ceases to exist. It could be minutes, hours, or days, but it never seems to end. There're no breaks. No pauses. My body responds even when my head and my heart tell it not to.

Then, just when I think they've had enough, when my body is sore, covered in their fluids and marks, and I'm coming down from the high they've kept me on, Samuel appears.

"Looks like you've put him through the paces," he says.

"He is the perfect fuck doll. Just compliant enough to keep it from being a full out battle yet unwilling enough to keep it fun."

I see Samuel's eyes narrow slightly. He's pissed, but he grins at them.

"This was just the beginning, and a friendly one at that. Now's the time for the real fun," Samuel says, jerking me up to my feet by the wrist.

He tows toward a crowd of people, weaving us through the masses and they part for him, chanting and cheering nonsense I can't make out as if they were at a game. Whiskey and Hollywood follow us. Their hands running over my skin as we make our way across the room.

When we stop, Whiskey and Hollywood plaster themselves against my sides. One of them squeezing my cock and balls as if they're in a vice while the other shoves something in my ass. They peg the bundle of nerves and my cock jerks in the other's grasp.

I choke on a sob. My eyes are so heavy and my body is sticky with sweat, cum, and saliva, and all I want is a shower and sleep. Unable to fight them or exhaustion off, my eyes drift closed. Let them do as they will. They will anyway. No matter.

My eyes only to pop open when a hand wraps around my throat, cutting off all movement. Air cannot get in or out. Samuel's evil, ugly face fills my view. A devious, demented smirk twerks at his lips.

He leans in and whispers, "You're next."