8. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Jarrett

T his place has better security than the Vatican secret archives. I get it, but damn, some of it feels a little unnecessary. They hold a lot of very personal information for some very fucking rich arseholes, and if the security here was shit, they'd never be able to hold an auction again.

Tonight, I'm one of those rich arseholes. Not because I need to pay for sex, but because I want the anonymity that comes with this weekend. The woman I buy has already been vetted, she's signed her own mountain of paperwork, including an NDA, so it'll be easy to leave her behind on Sunday without looking over my shoulder for a new cling-on. She'll have a pseudonym, and I don't have to use my real name either. Personal details aren't something we'll be exchanging and I'm good with that.

A woman wearing what I can only describe as purple underwear shows me to the bar, where I order The Hummer. I did a little research before coming to Detroit because I like to sample state delicacies. The Hummer is Michigan's signature drink, created sometime in the 1960's at the Detroit Bayview Yacht Club. I watch the server pour white rum, then Kahlua, before placing two small scoops of vanilla ice cream in the glass.

I'm then led to my seat and given a small tablet personalized to me so I can bid on my new toy for the weekend in private. The problem I have is that Ophelia has set up shop in my brain. Kissing her was dangerous, fucking stupid really, and even all these weeks later, my dick only seems to get hard when I'm thinking of her. Which is all the fucking time, but it has made working with Georgina difficult.

The good news is that Georgina has been sent back to The Firm to be sold to her new master, and I've got a month to fuck around before I have to pick up my next batch of trainees. The first couple of weeks are usually the hardest with them as they come to terms with their new way of life.

This weekend, the beginning of my month off, is actually being paid for by The Firm, a treat for all my good work, according to Dad. I have a feeling they're trying to butter me up for something, but I can deal with that when the time comes.

The room goes silent and I sip my drink, which is fucking delicious, as the MC for the evening appears on stage. He's the same dude I interviewed with. I think his name is Edward, but I could be wrong.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen and welcome to Club Lust. We are pleased to have sixteen lots of merchandise up for sale tonight. Please remember, once the lights are fully off that no one is to move from their seats. This auction will be silent. As I announce the merchandise, a head shot will appear on your tablets. I will provide information on each lot. If you are interested, the starting bid is five-hundred-thousand and will go up in increments of fifty thousand until it reaches one million. At that time, each bid will rise by five-hundred-thousand. You can click the bid button as many times as you desire. Each auction will only be open for five minutes. At the end of that time, the tablets will announce the winning bid number only. A reminder: we do not use names. If you are outbid, it will flash across your screen to bid again, and if you win, the tablet will flash ‘you are the winner.' Just a reminder, if you bid for two people and win tonight, then your tablet is automatically locked, preventing you from any additional bidding for the night." He pauses briefly, making sure he still has everyone's attention. "Our first lot for tonight is Virtue."

The lights go down, casting the room in darkness, right before the stage brightens and the first woman is described.

I didn't know the option to buy two women tonight was a thing, but I've gotta say, if one woman can't get Ophelia out of my head, then I sure as shit reckon two could do the job.

Virtue is beautiful, prancing around the stage in her lingerie, but I can't bring myself to bid for her. The way her dark hair frames her face is nothing like Ophelia…

A blonde. That's what I need. Maybe two.

The next woman is just as beautiful, and she even has thick blonde hair, but my finger doesn't even twitch over the option to bid. I order another drink or five as the night goes on and women of all shapes and sizes do their thing on stage. Some are more confident than others, and there's no denying they're all fucking gorgeous, but I think my dick is officially broken because I'm not in the mood to buy any of them.

My ideas of letting off some steam this weekend are flying right out the fucking door.

I'm here until the end of the night though, so I may as well enjoy myself. I order another drink as the time counts down for the first dude I've seen all night currently on stage, then the bidding ends and the next auctionee is announced.

I glance at my tablet as Edward the Emcee begins describing her, "Sunny, twenty-six and sexually active. Thirty-six, twenty- four, thirty-six. Blonde hair and blue eyes. She is active in sports, notably martial arts and shooting…"

This is what I get for wanting to be surprised by the ‘merchandise' on sale here today.

It's her.

It's fucking her.

I waste no time bidding for Ophelia.

My offer stays green for two whole minutes before flashing red, which means some cunt has just outbid me.

Not to-fucking-day.

I put in a new offer, relaxing when it turns green.

Ophelia is a fucking goddess on that stage, walking in a way that would make any supermodel proud, a sway to her hips…her long legs covered by sheer black stockings, her perky tits held in with a black lacy fabric that I want to rip apart with my teeth. My fucking God, she's glorious.

My tablet begins a thirty second countdown, and now I'm in a bidding war. The numbers keep turning red, so I up my offer to two and a half million, praying to a god I don't believe in that the prick trying to bid for my woman fucks all the way off.

The time runs out and I let out the breath I was holding in anticipation when my bidder number flashes on my screen as the winner.

This is gonna be dangerous, and it's stupid knowing that The Firm wants her dead, but I need to bury myself in her pussy before I let that happen. Get her fine arse out of my system so I can move the fuck on and shag whoever the fuck I want.

Why she's even here, I have no clue. It's not like she needs the five-hundred-thousand dollars the auctionees get. Maybe it's a thrill thing. Some people like to jump out of planes, others like to sell their bodies to the highest bidder for a weekend of depraved sex.

All the ways I can punish her for trying to give away what is now mine are reeling through my mind. Well, mine for the weekend, but that's irrelevant. My body wants her now.

My leg bounces up and down as I wait for five more people to be sold, my fists clenching and unclenching with anticipation. Why is this taking so fucking long?

I'm no longer relaxed, chill, sipping casually at my drink. Now I'm on the edge of my seat, ready to transfer the payment, sign the extra contracts, and make her mine for the whole weekend.

With my heart thumping against my rib cage, I'm afraid it'll burst right out as the final person is sold and the dull lighting of the room brightens a little.

It's time.

I grin, practically salivating at what I plan to do with Ophelia—I should think of her as Sunny this weekend.

After filling in what feels like more mountains of paperwork, I'm finally following one of the club handlers to my woman.

My dick is hard at just the mere memory of her lips, combine that with the lingerie she was wearing on that stage and I'm about ready to blow.

"Here you go, sir. Have a great weekend." The handler bows his head a little in respect before opening the door, and there she fucking is, still wearing her black lingerie for me, her blonde hair falling in loose waves around her shoulders…

Oh, yes.

"Sunny, your buyer is here. He will escort you out of the building and we'll see you back here no later than midnight on Sunday." Exiting the room, the handler leaves the door open before walking away down the hall.

"You." Ophelia's snarl is one for the photo album.

"Yes. Me. And you." I raise my brows, a smirk firmly etched onto my face, waiting to see what comes out of her smart mouth next.

"Why are you here?" She has the gall to ask me that question?

I huff a laugh, shaking my head. "Get dressed or cover yourself up. I have a helicopter waiting for us."

"What if I don't want to?"

Oh, so she's in a defiant mood. I narrow my eyes, stepping into her personal space where she has to tilt her head upward to see my face. "Then you can walk right outta here and sit in the car until we get to the airport, then a helicopter for two hours wearing nothing but your undies. I'll warn ya though, it's not warm out tonight."

"Fine. Let's go." Picking up a black bag, she saunters out of the room, wiggling those damn hips with every step.

I'm going to have to threaten both the driver and the pilot of my helicopter. If they even so much as look at her, I'm gonna have to gouge the cunts' eyes out.

Luckily, we make it out of the building without anyone so much as glancing in her direction. I grab her hand, lacing my fingers through hers, and lead her around the building to my hired car. She sits in the back seat like royalty, looking out the window in silence on the short journey to the airfield where my helicopter is waiting. I can't help looking at her through the rear-view mirror the whole way, wondering what she's thinking.

Once we arrive, I open her door for her and lead her to the helicopter. She climbs in as if she's done it a thousand times before. She's quick to lift the earphones and place them over her head as I get in beside her.

The joy I get when she holds her arms up, allowing me to strap her in, makes my dick twitch in anticipation of what's to come. But her entire body is tense and I don't like it.

Seeing her in the club was like meeting an entirely different person than the closed off woman sitting beside me as the helicopter takes off. That woman was relaxed, carefree, and her smile was sent from the gods themselves.

"Do you have to keep staring?" Her head whips to face me, catching my appraisal of her current status.

"Yes. I do." I wink, letting her know I'm enjoying her sass.

"God, you're annoying." Folding her arms across her chest, she turns to look back out of the window as we fly over Detroit and toward the top of Lake St. Clair.

"You can call me God if you want, sweetheart, but Sir, Master, Overlord, or Rhett work too."

"Pfft. You think a lot of yourself, don't you." It's not a question. She's decided that this is who I am.

I don't know why she's so pissy though. She was fine when we were texting. Was she expecting someone specific to buy her?

"Yeah, I do. Because I don't rely on anyone else to build me up. I can do it all by myself."

"Yeah, that's why you're paying for a weekend of sex."

Okay…

"Are you jealous, sweetheart?" I chuckle, noting the way she fidgets in her seat and picks at her fingernails when she thinks I'm not paying attention.

"Ha. No, Rhett. " The way she says my name is full of malice, but I can read her. She is fucking jealous.

To be fair, I'm not happy about the fact that she was on that stage selling herself either.

"Okay." I huff another laugh. "You put yourself up for sale, Ophelia. What do you want me to make of that?"

"Whatever the hell you would like. I'm not the girl you met in that club. And you should be calling me Sunny ." Her eyes twitch and she purses her luscious lips, lifting her chin and continuing to watch the world go by through the window.

"Should, but won't." Giving her another wink, I allow her the time to get over the initial shock of seeing me, of realizing she wasn't bought by who she probably wanted, or whatever the fuck her problem is. I'll fuck it all right out of her when we arrive at the cabin.

I check behind me, making sure my bag of toys is still sitting pretty beside my clothes, then I grin.

This is going to be fun.