Chapter 1

"You're going alone, Boss?" my right hand, Bo, asks, looking at me like I'm crazy.

"Yes. You think I can't handle myself?" I ask, my voice deadly serious.

"It's not that. Of course, it's not that," he says, backtracking.

"Then what is it?"

"You don't know what you are walking into over there. It could be an ambush."

"It's an auction, Bo."

"Yeah. What's that about, Boss?"

"What do you mean?"

"Normally, we're putting a stop to these. Why are you patronizing it?"

"I didn't say I was buying," I reply, and that's the thing. I don't know why I'm doing this. I can't stop thinking about it since I heard about it. I've done my due diligence. I know there are elements of this auction that I won't agree with, but I'm not going to that underground shit. Something… I'm unsure what it is telling me. All I'm sure of is that I need to be in Budapest in three days, so that's where I'll be.

"I don't like this at all." The mutinous look in his eye and tone tells me I've given him too much leeway. That ends today.

"Good thing you aren't the boss, isn't it? Tell Om I'm ready to see him." Om Jorgensen is my grandfather's brother's late-in-life son. He's been with me since I started this life of crime a few years ago, and I should have just made him my right hand, which I'm about to do.

"You wanted to see me?" Om says, coming into my open office door.

"I did. How's Taryn and Aaden?"

"Doing good, but I'm sure you didn't call me in here to ask me something you can ask me any Sunday at dinner?"

"You're right, I didn't. Bo has got to go. Take care of it for me."

"How?"

"However you see fit. He's been questioning everything of late and I won't have that."

"It's done."

"You're in charge until I get back on Monday."

"Of course. Everything will be fine. I'll have it taken care of before then."

"Thank you."

* * *

"Welcome to Hungary. Are you here for business or pleasure?" I turn to look at the Hungarian Customs Officer, unsure how to answer his question. My reasons for entering this country are my own, but I know the man is just doing his job. My flight from Anchorage, Alaska, was long. I flew first class, but unless you go private, it still sucks.

"Business."

"And how long will you be in the country?"

"Two days."

"Very well. Enjoy Budapest," he says as he stamps my passport.

"Thank you."

I take my passport and leave the customs area. Since I only have my overnight bag, I head to the taxi stand and take a waiting cab to my hotel.

I don't know exactly why I'm here. I keep going back and forth about it. I am not the kind of man that needs to do something like this. I'm Magnus fucking Jorgensen. I don't need to buy a woman. I don't feel the need to pay for the services of one in any capacity, whether it be a stripper or a hooker. I run the largest crime family in the Pacific Northwest, and no one knows about it. My family thinks I run a tech firm, and on the surface, I do, but in the dark of night, I do the things that need to be done. I lie, cheat, steal, kill, but I don't hurt women and don't fuck with drugs. This right here, this thing I'm about to do, reeks of both hurting women and drugs. I don't do like things like this. Hell, Jorgensen's, in general, don't do things like this. I'm vehemently opposed to anything remotely like this, but when I heard some lowlife scum talking about this auction before I killed him, I knew I had to come and see what it was all about. Why? I couldn't tell you. The thought took hold, and now I'm in Budapest, in a bar, waiting for the auction to open.

I pull the black and gold business card from my pocket. It's elegant but just has an address on it. I can't shake the feeling that I'm supposed to be here. I finish my Scotch and make my way toward the address on foot.

The warehouse is nondescript. It looks like any other warehouse in the world, and that gives me pause. I knock on the door, and a slot opens near the center of the door.

"Password?" a heavily Hungarian accented voice asks.

"Password?" I repeat.

"Look at back of your card," the voice replies, annoyed. I flip the card over and grimace as I see the word neatly printed on the back. I didn't notice it before.

"Fellatio."

The slot slams closed, and then I hear locks turning. The door opens, and I am surprised by how opulent the room is.

"Welcome to the Sight Unseen Auction," a lovely woman dressed in what I can only describe as a prom dress says.

"Thanks." I don't know what else to say.

"Come right this way. This is the selection of Willing Participants in this evening's auction," she says, handing me what looks like a menu from a five-star restaurant. I do not like how she says willing, but by just being here, I don't have a moral leg to stand on. I fucking know that. At least they're willing… right?

She leads me to plush seating. I don't know why I was expecting grimy seating and girls chained to radiators, but I was. I look around the semi-darkened room and see actors, politicians, and other celebrity figures ready to purchase girls. I'm not the least bit surprised. Mutually assured destruction, I"m sure, is what keeps everyone quiet.

I suppose I should have been concerned when they didn't pat me down and take my phone or weapons, but I don't have much time to worry about it. The auction is about to begin. Fuck, I can't do this. I'm about to leave and call the authorities when the auctioneer begins.

"Gentleman, the twenty-three-year-old up first for bid is the oldest on our auction block this evening. Here is a quick rundown of her:

College Graduate

Virgin

Rich as sin, so she already knows how to act at society functions.

Teacher

She wants you to know that she's up for anything; she can"t/won"t say no, is willing to relocate, and is also flexible. Take that however you want to, boys. If the price is right, Item 316 might be yours. Do we have an opening bid for one night or forever with her?"

Shit. She's why I'm here… whoever she is.