Chapter 12

twelve

. . .

Cross

One hour earlier

" L et's go over this again," I said as Walker drove us down the deserted road, nothing but our headlights cutting through the night.

"What's there to go over? I drive, then Bishop and I sit in the car with our thumbs up our asses while you pay this fucker for your wife."

Bishop shook his head. "I'll be in your ear the whole time, Cross. Just remember, as much as you want to, don't bid until it slows down. She'll know it's you the moment you open your mouth."

"I know how to work a damn auction, thanks."

"Not one like this."

Walker slowed as we approached the crest of a hill, then let out a low whistle. "I think we found it, boys."

The mansion was located on a remote piece of land about an hour out of town. I knew for a fact it wasn't one of Volkov's properties, which meant he'd conned—or more likely blackmailed—someone into using it for the night's festivities. The place screamed opulence. There was a massive fountain in the driveway, with a whole-ass valet stand waiting to receive cars as they pulled in.

"Uh... no one planned for valet?" Walker asked, panic in his voice.

"Just say you're the driver. Drop Cross off. Go park. It'll be fine."

Walker pulled his hat down lower to hide his face as we approached the circular driveway. The fountain was lit up like we were attending a party, not an underground auction.

As soon as he stopped, Bishop got out and made a show of opening my door. I adjusted my bowtie, hating that, on top of everything else, I had to wear a goddamn monkey suit. With an aggrieved sigh, I put on my mask before stepping out of the car.

A valet leaned his head into the window, but Walker waved him off. "Just droppin' the boss off. No need for your help. Just point us toward the parking lot where we can wait."

The guy gave him some directions, then approached me, face expectant. I already had a fifty in my palm, ready to bribe him for his cooperation, so I shook his hand and murmured, "Thank you for your discretion. I don't let strangers drive my car. Ever."

"No problem, sir," the guy said, pocketing the cash and heading for the next car in the line.

Bishop's voice crackled in my ear. "No matter what you see, keep your shit together. You're only here for one thing. Walk in like you belong, grab a drink, and take a seat. Don't talk to anyone. Just keep to yourself until it's time. She'll be the last one up."

I didn't bother responding. It was never a good look to be caught talking to yourself.

Large French doors opened into a grand foyer, complete with a spiral staircase and a chandelier I swore I saw in a documentary about Versailles. Men were milling about, no one in any particular hurry to get to the main event.

I guess to them, the women were interchangeable so long as they were the one to break them. Bastards.

It took everything in me not to start tearing motherfuckers apart here and now. It was a good thing they were wearing masks, or I'd have made a note of every fucking one of them and added them to my kill list. Right under Dominik motherfucking Volkov.

"Drink, sir?" a cocktail waitress asked. I'd been so focused on assessing my enemies I hadn't seen her. She blended in somehow in her black skirt and white top. Perhaps it was more that she faded into the background.

"Whiskey, two fingers, neat."

"Right away."

She scurried off, and I wondered how safe it was for her to be here in a place like this. Was she at risk of being taken? Probably. But as far as the outward appearance of this gathering, it was just a regular party filled with the usual rich assholes. If she had any idea about the type of men she was serving, I doubted she would have shown up to work tonight. Women didn't survive in this world without learning how to handle themselves against the unwanted advances of drunk men. Just like bunnies knew to fear and recognize foxes. But neither would have a fucking clue what to do against a T-Rex. And tonight, this poor woman was surrounded by dinosaurs.

I moved through the crowd as soon as the waitress brought me my drink, pretending to sip here and there as I familiarized myself with the exits.

A man dressed in all black with his face fully hidden called out from a set of double doors at the end of the hall. "Gentlemen, please take your seats. The presentation is about to begin."

I joined the other guests, blood humming with apprehension as we made our way into the room where I'd get my sparrow back. One by one, men started taking seats at various low-slung sofas and club chairs set around the parlor. I selected one near the back that gave me a good view of the rest of the space without placing me in anyone's direct line of sight. It also made me the least vulnerable to any kind of attack from behind. Knowing Volkov, he'd clocked me the second I walked through the doors.

Cigars were lit, and the slimy pieces of shit here ready to bid on women happily chatted like it was a normal Saturday night. Until the lights dimmed and the auctioneer stepped up to the podium.

"Welcome, gentlemen. We have a particularly luscious selection for you this evening. Most of you are repeat guests, but in the interest of the few of you who are new to us, bidding works the same as any auction. High bid wins, cash only, payable before prize collection. Don't bid if you can't pay."

He adjusted his paperwork and cleared his throat. "No touching the goods until ownership is transferred. No photography or videography of any kind. Anyone caught with a cell phone will be permanently removed.

"Now that we're clear on the rules, let's begin. Bring out lot 711."

The room was dead silent until a door on the far end opened and a blond man and slender redhead—barely legal if my eyes weren't deceiving me—walked in. I recognized the man immediately, anger causing my blood to boil in my veins. It was the fucker who took River. I had to curl my fingers into the leather of my chair to keep myself from jumping him here and now.

She was paraded into the space like a showhorse, but the poor woman was trembling, tears trailing down her freckled cheeks with each step. Then they made her undress, and I thought I might vomit. I wasn't sure I could do this, and I definitely knew I wouldn't survive seeing River in the same state.

Bids came in hard and fast. The woman ultimately sold to a man who had to be old enough to be her grandfather.

Lifting my drink to cover my moving lips, I asked in a voice barely above a whisper, "How many more?"

"Intel says it's at least a dozen."

Fuck.

There was no way I was going to make it until River's turn.

One after another, they came in, were demoralized, and then sold. And I couldn't do a damn thing to stop it. Then the auctioneer announced a short break while they ‘prepared' the final lot for the night. My wife.

"We need to stop this from happening again," I murmured, using the same trick to hide my words.

"People have been trying for years," Bishop said back, somber as ever. "Bastards like this pop up all the time."

Walker's voice filtered into my ear. "Good thing we're richer than God. I'll donate to every cause there is. Hunt down and kill every asshole who ever participated in the flesh trade. This is fucking sick, and I can't even see it."

"You're not wrong," I muttered.

The door opened again, and my heart damn near stopped.

River.

She barely looked like herself, but my body responded to the sight of her all the same, and I hated myself for it in that moment. Now wasn't the time to think of anything other than saving her. Love made you sloppy. It clouded your judgment. I needed to be sharp for this. I could love on her when she was in my arms, tell her how much she meant to me, and make sure she knew how cherished she was.

"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."

I had to grit my teeth as they shoved her onto the platform and her kidnapper cut the dress off her. It was impossible not to miss the way she curled in on herself, and my gaze zeroed in on the faint bruising on her sides.

They'd pay for that.

Before I left tonight, I'd see about burning this entire place to the ground.

Fuck these assholes. No one deserved to be treated like this.

Her eyes raked across the room, my sparrow making her own kill list if I knew her like I thought I did. But when they landed on me, I saw the jolt of recognition, the little spark of hope.

I sent her a silent, "It's me, baby. I'm here. It's gonna be fine," before she shook off the connection.

The auctioneer tried to start the bidding but was cut off immediately. The men in the room were salivating at the chance to get their hands on my wife. Especially the ones who already lost out to earlier auctions. She was their last chance, and the desperation showed as bidding quickly surpassed the highest ones of the evening. I forced myself to stay silent even though I was itching to bolt up there and take her home. Twice now I'd had to stop myself from removing my coat and rushing to her side.

"Not yet," Bishop said. "Wait for my signal."

I let out a growl of frustration. I wanted her to know I was here for her, that I'd come to bring her back where she was safe.

"Four hundred thousand!"

"Now," Bishop said.

The words flew out of my mouth faster than a bull at a rodeo.

"Half a million!"

I didn't miss the way she tensed at the sound of my voice. She knew for certain now. I'd come for her.

A paunchy man near the front huffed and shouted, "$750!"

I stood, ready to put this to bed. No one would have her but me. Not even over my dead body. I'd kill her myself before letting her suffer that fate.

"One million."

"That'll shut them down. Go claim our girl," Walker said.

I waited for my victory to be announced, for the man to bang his gavel and my prize to be won. Instead I froze in place as Dominik Volkov's voice rang out from the darkened balcony in the back of the parlor.

"Two million dollars. We're done here. Send her to my room."

River gasped, her shocked, "No," hitting me like a knife through the ribs.

The auctioneer looked to me and a desperate agony spread through my chest, settling as a deep pit in my stomach. I didn't have anything else. I was fucking tapped out.

Volkov looked down at me, his knowing smirk and cold icy irises revealing what I'd already suspected. He'd been lying in wait all this time. The sonofabitch wasn't even wearing a mask. He wanted me to know I'd been outplayed.

But if that sick bastard thought I was going to back down, he was about to learn a serious lesson. One he'd take with him to the grave. Because that's where he was going.

Spinning around, I stormed out of the room.

Not giving a damn who heard, I said, "It's time for Plan B."