Chapter 2

Michael

I don't really love my job as the head bouncer at The Black Door, and I especially don't love it on auction night. In fact, watching all these obscenely rich men bid for women makes my skin crawl. It's taken more than my share of self-control to keep from punching a few of the entitled assholes over the last two years.

Why stay, then? Since it's once again auction night, I find myself asking that question. And it's the same answer. Two answers, really.

The job pays ridiculously well. An insane amount I couldn't get anywhere else. For the last two years, I've been scrimping and saving to get to France, where I can start bringing the broken-down vineyard I bought from my old army buddy back to life. It's taken living in a shoebox and giving up every comfort, but pretty soon I'll be where I belong, in the heart of the French countryside, making amazing wine.

The second reason is that all the women who sign themselves up for the monthly auction do so willingly, for whatever reason. Maybe it's desperation, thrill-seeking, maybe they just want to make a shit ton of money for one night's work. Hell, we even have repeat participants, and they're all there because they want to be.

I still don't have to like it, and I like my boss, Nikol Antonov even less. He puts up a big front of propriety to lull his rich patrons into thinking the auctions are legitimate, but if Antonov didn't own half the city and most of the police force along with it, a lot of those guys would have been in jail a long time ago. And it just takes one person to grow a conscience and the whole place could get raided on any of the auction nights. I don't want to go down for something I don't believe in. Not when I can practically smell the grapes and feel the sunshine on my shoulders.

Six or eight months more, tops, and I'll get out. And if a bunch of women make their own fortunes in the meantime, who am I to get in their way if this is the way they want to make it?

I sense the tension in the current meeting with the club's manager and stand near the doorway. Everything must turn out fine because I hear Calloway congratulating the latest participant on how rich she's going to be. She makes the same joke as always — you have to lose it sometime, right? Why not make a fortune at the same time? It makes my skin crawl.

My heart sinks to hear this one's a virgin. For some reason, they always hit me the hardest. Probably some misplaced romantic notion, because once I get the vineyard up and running, I'm sure I'll want to settle down. I have to stop worrying about these girls and their choices.

Except, when this one comes out, I'm not so sure it's really her choice. She has a delicate, stunningly beautiful face that's wreathed with long, glossy dark hair. It almost reminds me of the very door out front that this place is named after. The smile on her face is forced and when our eyes meet, they're full of nothing short of terror.

Well, of course she'd be nervous if she's one of the virgins. The old, tense-looking guy she's with makes to grab her and my instincts take over. Not on my watch. He recognizes the look in my eyes at the same time I recognize the look in his. This isn't a good guy. He calls her April. It's a perfect name for her since she's as pretty as a spring day. If only there weren't such dark clouds seeming to hang over her.

The old man doesn't grab her, which means I don't get to hit him. Instead, I open the door, trying to give the girl a signal. Another glance and I'll intervene. She puts her head down with a soft sigh that's almost imperceptible but goes through me like a knife blade. I have no way of knowing if my hunch is correct, but I know I'm not letting her out of my sight.

I tell Calloway I'm going out, not waiting to hear what she says and follow the odd pair at a distance. As soon as they round the corner, the man's hand juts out to grab her arm. I can't hear what he's saying. He looks a mix of excited and angry. The girl just looks miserable but makes no move to pull away.

"April," I say out loud, liking the way it sounds.

Of course, she can't hear me and I wait for them to get in a cab or on a bus, but they keep walking. I keep following, and the further we go, the more I see her thin shoulders slumping, her head slowly nodding now and then to whatever the old guy's saying to her. We're at such a distance now that, even as tight as I am with money, I would have sprung for a taxi or at least taken a bus to get this far. Why is the bastard making her walk all this way?

I realize I'm looking for reasons to take her away from him. She could be his wife for all I know, and I find I don't care. There's something in the way she seems to cower away from him that screams of her fear. As much as I don't want her hurt, all it will take for me to race forward and take her away is just to see him raise his hand toward her.

But nothing happens and they finally stop in front of an old apartment building that's not upscale by any means, but not shoddy either, and I'm once again questioning why they walked so far. It's clear she's exhausted, and she's supposed to get up on stage tonight.

That thought almost makes me double over. How am I going to watch that happen?

April and the much older man go up the steps and disappear into the building and I laugh at myself for imagining that he was some wicked beast that I'd carry her away from. Being dragged away by a stranger is what would really scare her.

I'm making things up, distracted from my job by April's breathtaking beauty and sad eyes. She signed the papers, and Calloway's a pretty good judge of character. She's turned women away before because she didn't think they really wanted to be there. Nothing shady's going on. Right?

It takes me a long time, but I finally turn and head back to the club.