Chapter 11

eleven

. . .

River

" I s the blindfold really necessary? I have no fucking clue where we are whether I can see or not." Internally I winced at the high-pitched whine. Honestly, I was just doing my damnedest to annoy Pytor as he sat resolutely beside me in the back of whatever vehicle we were in. "You're gonna mess up my makeup."

"Shut up."

"You should have gagged me."

"That can be arranged."

Something about his darkly amused tone gave me the impression he wasn't planning on using a regular ol' piece of cloth. Thank God I couldn't tell whether he was sporting a boner. That would send my hard-fought bravado back to Neverland.

"Careful, I bite."

"Of course you do. Whoever buys you will have his work cut out for him."

A shiver of apprehension slithered down my spine. I hadn't allowed myself to consider the possibility of after . To be fair, I hadn't exactly considered my reality much at all outside of my immediate situation. The thought of being bought and sold, being owned by a stranger, made me want to vomit. I couldn't even let my mind go there.

Denial, you might be a River after all.

I couldn't breathe.

The car slowed and made a right turn before coming to an unexpected stop.

Oh God. Were we here already?

No. I wasn't ready.

A cold, tingling sensation washed over me as my heart rate spiked. Fear? Anxiety? All of the above? Maybe I'd hyperventilate and lose consciousness before they could trot me out for the buyers.

An involuntary tremor worked its way through my muscles, and my gut twisted into a knot.

His hand clamped around my wrist at the same time I heard a door open, and the warm breeze of a southern night hit me. Frogs and crickets were my only soundtrack as he tugged me hard until I stood on wobbly feet, the crunch of gravel under the soles of my stilettos urging me to tread carefully.

"Hurry up," my captor grunted.

"I'm going to break my ankle. I can't see, and the ground is uneven. Where did you bring me? The stockyards?"

He didn't even bother answering that one. He simply tightened his hold on me and practically dragged me behind him.

"You know, for a guy who got real pissy about me being marked up, you are doing a terrible job preventing that very thing right now. I don't think road rash is going to be a big selling point. People don't much like pus and oozing wounds."

"You'd be surprised what gets people off."

I blanched. I think that was supposed to be his version of a joke. He wasn't funny.

"Walk forward."

"No."

"Walk, or I'll throw you over my shoulder and give everyone an early preview of what they're buying on our way inside."

"That's not much of an incentive, Sergi. What's a couple of hours in the grand scheme of things? They're going to see it all eventually, right?"

"That's not my name."

"Ask me if I care."

Somehow my fire had been reignited. Maybe it was the imminent auction or the fact I'd been held captive and forced to live in a drugged stupor for who knew how long, but I was spoiling for a fight. And if I was staring down the end of the barrel, I might as well go out swinging. Or whatever the expression was.

I wasn't a meek creature by nature. I blame the drugs and disorientation for the state I'd been reduced to while locked in my cell. But out here, with the wind brushing across my skin and smelling of home, I felt like myself again. Like if I could just break free and run for it, I might be able to make it back to the arms of my men.

Pytor shoved me from behind, hard enough I stumbled forward. He didn't try to catch me, but I also kept my balance—barely. "Walk forward, bitch."

I'd kill him first.

Definitely.

But I took a begrudging step, then another, and another, until I reached a paved area and the cocksucking dickstain pushing me finally stopped.

The air changed too, somehow growing both oppressive and thick with anticipation. It was hard to explain the reason for the change with my eyes covered, but it sort of felt like walking into a cool supermarket after being outside in the hot sun. Except instead of a supermarket, it was a meat market, and I was the piece of ass for sale.

The sweat on my skin instantly chilled, and the air no longer smelled like a familiar combination of dirt and sweet grass. It was replaced by the artificial scent of roses, citrus, and jasmine. And maybe a hint of Aqua Net. It was cloying and reminded me of being backstage the one time I was in a beauty pageant.

The blindfold was removed, and I was shoved into a chair, Pytor glowering down at me.

"Stay. Someone will come for you when it's your turn."

He left, slamming the door behind him, and I finally turned around to take in my new jail cell. I wasn't alone this time. A handful of women—if you could call some of them that—sat huddled around the space. All wearing similarly revealing slip dresses, all made up just like me, all terrified. A few of them looked young enough to be in high school.

Christ, we were one rhinestone choker away from being a group of high-class escorts waiting for our johns to drop by for a visit. Or, given the age of some of these girls, maybe it was more like a sorority.

I was going to be sick.

From the looks of things, I wasn't the only one. A couple of us braver souls made eye contact with one another while others wept silently. Any time someone tried to talk, they were stopped with a look from the older woman in the corner. She wasn't for sale. That much was clear, but she was definitely afraid of the Russians.

Time marched on, one girl after another being removed from the room and not returning. Until the only one left was me.

"Why are you helping them?" I asked the woman in the corner, unable to keep the accusation from my tone.

She simply shook her head and cast her eyes down.

They may not have her up for sale, but she was theirs.

Precious seconds were slipping away. If I was going to make a run for it, she was my only hope. I opened my mouth, intent on trying to convince her that if we worked together, we could make it. But then the door opened again.

Time's up.

My heart fell to my feet. There was no avoiding what was coming. No amount of denial was going to change my fate.

I was going to be sold.

I shouldn't have come back to Devil's Grove when Senior summoned me. I should've let Twisted Cross Ranch rot. But a pang of utter loss hit me hard at the same time those thoughts sent me reeling. If I hadn't come back, I wouldn't have them. Would it have been different if I'd just accepted everything and let Cross love me? I'd been stubborn and hurt, unwilling to admit he still meant something to me. And now I'd never see Cross, Walker, or Sterling again.

How was this the end of my story? How did I even end up here? There was no way this was really happening. That this was actually my life. It all felt like one tragic dream I couldn't wake up from.

"No, please," I whimpered, unable to stop the pleas from falling from my lips.

There was no brazening my way out. No pretending this wasn't happening.

I was fucking terrified, and I couldn't hide it.

Pytor offered me a grin that looked purely sinister. "I like it when you beg and cry. So will they. Keep it up."

He wrapped his palm around the nape of my neck, the place Sterling always touched me. It sent chills down my spine now, and not the good kind. I shuddered, nausea coiling in a reflexive response to this man's touch.

"Get your fucking hands off me. I can walk on my own."

A dark chuckle escaped him. "You certainly can."

He didn't release me.

Motherfucker.

"So help me God, if you don't release me right now, I'm going to stab you to death with my stiletto."

He laughed, the low rumble reminding me of thunder preceding a deadly storm. "Oh, malyshka, you could try."

As we approached the deep red velvet curtain separating this hallway from what I assumed was the den of sick, twisted men who would attend something like this, my heart hammered.

I hadn't known what to expect, given the storeroom we'd been locked in. I'd sort of guessed it was a restaurant of some kind, maybe a club. But no, this was so much worse. Not because it was some depraved dungeon or anything, but because it was so fucking normal. Sins like this should not be allowed in a living room that could double as a museum. Or perhaps a library.

The scent of wood polish mingled with tobacco and brandy. Floor-to-ceiling woodwork, carved with intricate designs, framed dark green papered walls. Taxidermy animals posed in eerily lifelike ways were scattered around, giving this house the feel of a macabre hunting lodge. The haze of cigar smoke hung over the heads of the masked men seated in velvet club chairs as they talked and laughed together like they weren't fucking disgusting pigs.

They broke out into hushed murmurs as I was escorted into the room. I could feel their eyes on me like a series of unwanted caresses as they sized me up. One man blatantly adjusted himself as they rushed me past. I forced myself to look away before I did something brave but stupid. Like bum-rush him and rip his dick off before beating him with it.

Where were the other women? Had they already been purchased? Guilt and grief overtook me and nearly brought me to my knees. I'd done nothing to help them. But what could I have hoped to achieve? I was unarmed, outnumbered, and sadly, outmuscled.

"Get on the stage, malyshka. Undress. Don't make me do it for you."

Gritting my teeth, I took the stairs slowly, unable to bring my gaze to meet the eyes of any of my potential new owners.

"And now, the one you've all been waiting for. Our prize. Lot 723. Age twenty-eight. While not a virgin, this one has never given birth, but bloodwork shows she's healthy and fertile. She's fiery, with a will I know you're all eager to break."

My kidnapper gestured for me to remove my dress. I didn't. I may not have control over much, but I still had that. Perhaps my resistance was futile, but when autonomy is all you have, you cling to it. His eyes flashed with malice as he pulled out a pocketknife and stalked forward. I swallowed the bile rising in my throat as Pytor sliced my dress down the front with a growl, letting the fabric flutter to the floor.

They were really auctioning me off like I was breeding stock. Like a heifer at the stockyards. Though I'd rather they kill me than breed me.

A hum of approval went through the crowd as my body was bared for them, and I wanted to slit each of their throats and watch them choke on their own blood. I hated each and every one of these men.

I held my chin high, refusing to cower, even though I was shaking like a leaf on the inside. Let them look. They might purchase me, but I would never belong to them. The only men I belonged to were the ones I chose. The ones I willingly gave my heart to.

I cast my gaze around the room, silently cursing each and every asshole I made eye contact with.

Fuck you, Gramps.

Burn in hell, Satan.

My eyes locked onto a pair of midnight blues I would have sworn I recognized. Electricity shot through me, lighting me up as I stared. It was impossible to make out the man's features beneath the mask that concealed everything but his jawline and lips.

My heart leapt, foolishly believing it was Cross. But I killed the hope before it could take root.

No one was coming to rescue me. They would've found me by now.

They were probably all dead.

Just like Bear.

"We'll begin the bidding at?—"

"$100,000!" came from the back of the room.

"$125!" This from a man right in front of me, his beady eyes and ruddy cheeks making me take a step backward.

The bidding war went on and on, with nothing from the blue-eyed man who'd seen into my soul earlier. That bitch hope just didn't know when to leave me the fuck alone.

When it finally slowed, we were at a whopping four hundred grand. I didn't know the going rate for a woman, but that seemed like a lot to me. At least it did until I remembered it was me they were bidding on. I wasn't sure there was a number high enough that could make what was happening to me palatable, let alone worth it.

"Half a million!" When Blue Eyes spoke, the world dropped out from under me. I may have doubted myself once, but I'd recognize his voice anywhere.

Cross.

He was here for me.

I had to work to keep my composure. I couldn't let them see my renewed vigor. They had to think I was still a shell of myself.

Beady Eyes huffed and shouted, "$750!"

Cross stood, calm, casual, and much more together than I expected, eyes locked on mine. "One million."