7. Meredith

7

MEREDITH

O nce I'm in the hallway, I'm instantly flanked by what I assume are security guards. People meant to keep me where I'm supposed to be. They shuffle me all the way to the line forming behind a curtain, which I assume leads out to wherever I'm meant to be put on display.

There are even more women here than there were in the prepping rooms. Dozens, in fact. And given that they mentioned I was asleep longer than everyone else, who knows how many have already been sold?

But the other thing that strikes me is the people around me. It's not just the two men who led me down the hallway and the other girls—this area is full of men. Men who are watching us and looking at us. I look down at my manicured fingernails and start counting the wrinkles of my knuckles to avoid looking any of them in the eyes.

The way they behave, I don't think these are the men buying us. I think these are the men selling us. But that notion doesn't make me any less uncomfortable. No one's ever seen me like this.

As the line shuffles forward, bit by bit as if I'm at some kind of theme park waiting for the most popular ride, I feel a tug on my elbow. I'm suddenly pulled to the side and have to stifle a scream.

I look back to see that one of these men has pulled me away, a stern look on his face. But he doesn't seem specifically unkind.

"Aren't I supposed to be in line with the others?" I ask as innocently as possible.

"Yes, doll, you are," he says in a very thick Eastern European accent. Probably Russian. "But the two of us have business to discuss. You see, most of these girls are just victims of circumstance, picked up off the street. They aren't like you. You're here for another reason entirely, one that you deserve to know."

I furrow my eyebrows and look around. I don't feel any different from the rest of these girls. I'm not quite sure what he means. This kind of sounds like it's in the same vein as when the woman told me I was supposed to make a pretty penny.

"I don't understand what business I could have with you. I don't even know you."

The man chuckles and plucks a string off his suit. "I like you. It's too bad I'm not going to buy you. You wouldn't do me any good in this situation. You see, I'm owed a lot of money. I don't want to go and ruin my chance to get that money back."

I bite my lip, wondering how far I can go in this conversation without being murdered or something almost as bad. But I have to know what the hell he's talking about. What I've done to land myself in this place where if I even try to get out, I'll likely never appear again.

"I'm still not understanding. I'm pretty careful with my money. And I'm pretty sure I'd know if I owed you something." This time, he gives me a sneer.

"Very clever. But that smart mouth of yours is not going to help you. Neither is your ignorance. It's not you who owes me money, but you'll help me get it back. It's your father. He has a debt to me and the rest of the Bratva. His gambling has gotten out of hand. Surely, you've noticed?"

Heat floods my body. I don't know if it's embarrassment or anger or both. I think back to my father's odd behavior, his paranoia when he was packing his bags, saying that someone was after him. Now it all makes sense.

I can't believe he knew this and still he spent another whole night gambling away all of his money instead of trying to fix it.

"My father." It's not a question. It's not much of anything. I'm just trying to process it. My father has landed me in this mess. I should've known. "How much does he owe? How bad is it?"

The Russian man presses his tongue against the inside of his cheek. "An amount so big that you'll probably never see it in your lifetime, little girl. Suffice it to say, I'm pissed off. It's not a good idea to piss off the Bratva, especially those of us who own a legitimate gambling joint. And this is Vegas. Things like that don't go unnoticed here. So, since he decided to pack his bags and run off, I'm taking the debt out of you. It's nothing personal."

He acts like he's turned me down for a date or something instead of kidnapping me and then selling me. "You kidnapped me because of my father, but I'm not supposed to take it personally?"

He grits his teeth, and I know I've gone too far. I pushed way too many buttons. "You listen here, little girl. Nothing you say is going to get you out of this mess. You're going to earn that money back and then some. That's what you're here for. Rumor has it you're untouched. Pure. Do you know how much money some of my contacts will pay for a woman like you?"

"So, one moment I'm some little girl, now I'm a woman? Which one is it?"

"That doesn't matter. And you better be glad your father owes me so damn much, otherwise I'd be keeping you and punishing you in a different way, more to my liking. You'd be waiting for the next auction, my own personal little pet until then. Now, you will go out there and fetch me my money. Your purity is what's up for sale. You'll be giving it to the highest bidder, and don't think we won't check."

He pushes me back into my space in line, which is now only four away from the front. It will be my turn all too soon.

I'm shaking all over. It's worse than I thought. Of course, I knew I was probably being trafficked and sold. But to know specifically that I'll be going to a man who bids incredibly high just because I'm a virgin…he'll be the worst kind of person. There will be no safety for me. I don't even know if I want to live through this.

Three more girls in front of me.

All I can feel now is terror. Unadulterated terror. I don't know if I was in shock before or if it was my deep breaths. But now those aren't going to help me.

The girl in front of me is crying. Everyone keeps coming up to her and telling her to stop it, that no one is going to like her with her mascara running. I wonder what happens to those who don't get bought.

On second thought, I don't want to know.

One girl left.

Everything is wobbly as I'm reminded of how I'm supposed to walk and told what the stage looks like. Before I know it, I'm stepping up and out from behind the curtain. Lights blind me for a moment as I try to keep my balance and do everything I was told to.

As much as I don't want to be sold to anyone and lose my virginity to a stranger—to whichever old skeeze is willing to buy it—I don't want to know about what happens if I don't make enough money to clear my father's debt. I get the feeling that the next step in the plotline involves the end of both my life and his.

My vision has cleared when I get to the end of the runway, and I look around to try to catch the eyes of someone who might take pity on me. Someone who might at least be gentle with me, or give me freedom at some point in my life.

Instead, I spot a familiar face. It takes me a moment to realize it's him. It's his face that I know, but he's bald now. He must've shaved his head recently. But it's definitely Dart.

I try to stare him down as if to give him a message. I hope like hell he can tell it's me. I don't look like myself at all, I'm sure. I don't know if he's here specifically because they know I'm here, or just to check out what's going on with the Bratva considering the motorcycle club is basically at war with them.

I don't really care, as long as he finds a way to get me out of this. It's their job, right? They protect people. And if Dart is here, then maybe Harlow's father is too.

I have to have hope. I have to hope that it's going to be okay.

"Let the bidding begin. Starting with one thousand." The announcer lets everyone know that I'm up for sale—that one of the most intimate parts of me is for sale, specifically.

And now, I wait.