Bought by the Owner’s Son (High Rollers Club #6)

Chapter One

Elena

A muffled ringing fills my ears.

I try to swallow, but an unbearable ache pierces my skull. I try to move my hand to clutch my throbbing skull, but my body feels like lead.

Why can’t I move? Am I paralyzed or something?

I push hard at my uncooperative body, willing it to move. And after what feels like an eternity of mental struggle, my brain jolts fully awake. My eyelids are heavy but I force them open, blinking away the haze in my head.

Where am I?

The small room is nearly empty, except for a single metallic chair beside the bed and a wooden table wedged against the wall. There are a few medical supplies on the table, but not enough to consider it a hospital room. The hammering ache causes me to close my eyes, but my head continues to pound and my tongue grows heavy with pain.

What the heck is going on?

Despite the pain, I open my eyes again, hoping this is some kind of nightmare—but it’s not. I try to remember how I got into this situation, but my mind is blank.

Last I remember, I was at work, asking if I could introduce my new key lime pie recipe to the menu. But no—that was Monday…and then on Tuesday I remember that one angry customer. I managed to calm him down with a complimentary chocolate croissant. No one can stay angry while they’re eating delicious baked goods.

But I don’t remember how I got home that night…and that feels like it was at least a week ago.

All my memories of the past week are blurry, like they’re out of focus, or just out of reach. And I certainly don’t remember anything that could have led me to this place.

Tears of frustration well in my eyes as I push myself to remember. The effort causes my head to bang like a loud drum. A soft groan escapes my lips just as the door to the room opens with a creak.

“Good. You’re awake.”

I look up to see a tall, hard-faced man entering the room. My heart skips at the long, angry scar running across the left part of his face. He stops beside the bed, his dark eyes boring blankly into mine. “Get up.”

I swallow nervously, straightening my upper body despite the numbness in my limbs. “W-who are you?” I croak, forcing the words past the dryness in my throat. “Where am I?”

He doesn’t answer, but his hard stare is enough to push me out of bed. I gingerly touch my bare feet to the cold cement floor, holding the bed for support as my heart threatens to give out from fear.

He drops a satchel onto the bed. “Get dressed,” he commands. “Everything you need is in there. You have five minutes, and if you’re not fully dressed, I’ll drag you out—naked.” His voice is tinged with sinister promise, and he chuckles darkly as he leaves the room.

Dread mixed with crippling fear threatens to drown me. But I push it back and quickly pull off the hospital gown I was wearing. I wonder briefly who put me in the gown, and what happened to the rest of my clothes, but I quickly focus on the task at hand—it’s obvious that the scar-faced stranger is not one to cross. I dump the contents of the satchel on the bed and freeze at the sight of the obscene clothing and footwear. A green backless mini dress that leaves little to imagination, and heels that are so tall I’m not sure I’ll be able to walk.

With the guard’s threat looming over my head, I quickly put on the clothes, feeling uncomfortable at my exposed cleavage. The red heels are the hardest to wear under the force of my headache, and I only pull through by sheer grit.

The scar-faced guard barges in as I gingerly straighten and lean on the bed frame for support.

“Come with me,” he orders after a few seconds of quiet inspection.

“Please,” I say faintly, my head and limbs feeling lethargic, “I need a minute.”

“I don’t have the patience for your theatrics. Get the fuck up!” he snaps, sending another jolt of fear shooting down my spine.

I should do as he says, but protests and questions swarm my mind. “Where am I?” I ask again, despite the pain threatening to split my head. “What is this place? I don’t know how I got here—I don’t really remember much of anything.” My voice is trembling, but I try to keep a lid on my fear.

“I won’t ask again. Get up!” he snaps tersely.

But I can’t just go with him blindly. I need something. Any information. As I open my mouth to ask more questions, he reaches into the waistband of his pants and pulls out a gun, aiming it directly at my temple.

“One more word and I’ll put a bullet in your skull. Don’t fuck around with me, girl.”

I freeze, blinking in shock, and then burst into motion, wobbling softly as his threat registers. A throbbing pain slams hard and repeatedly against my skull with every movement, and I stifle the loud cry threatening to burst out of my lips.

We cross the doorway and enter a long hallway. “Follow me,” he commands, marching forward.

I fall into step behind him, scared to do otherwise, and we walk down the dimly lit hallway. With no way to ask him questions, I try to force my mind into remembering anything. Anything at all.

But nothing changes, and my memories remain elusive.

You’ll be okay…

The words appear in my mind like a beacon in the dark. I don’t know why, but I have a feeling it’s something I say to myself a lot. So, I repeat the words like a mantra with every step taking me closer to the unknown. There is no one to rely on. Not even myself. At the moment, I can only go with the tide and pray it doesn’t overwhelm me.

The man with the scar leads me down a flight of stairs to a room filled with several other girls, dressed in skintight, barely there dresses like mine. He withdraws a tag with the number one from his pocket and attaches it to my dress.

“Stay here, and when you hear your number, go through that entrance,” he says, pointing to another doorway. Then he walks away without a backward glance.

Everything is a blur, and my aching head isn’t helping. I look around, feeling lost, scared, and lightheaded.

What is this place?

I stare at the girls in the room—some of them seem upset, like they’ve been crying, while others are staring blankly at the wall. None of them seem to want to talk.

At least they probably remember how they got here, unlike me with all these unanswered questions cluttering my mind. I feel so stupid and helpless. Tears of frustration slide from my eyes, but I quickly dab them away.

I’m about to break the silence and ask if anyone knows where we are and what’s happening, when I hear a sharp voice call out my number. My heart starts to beat faster as I head out of the room, passing through the entrance like the guard instructed. I find myself walking onto a brightly lit stage, my steps heavy and my breath loud and erratic in my ears. I stop at the center of the stage, looking out into the dimly lit audience.

“Gentlemen!” a man shouts into a microphone, the noise going straight to my throbbing skull. “The time has arrived to bid on a damsel of your choice. We begin with this blue-eyed angel, and the bid starts at five hundred thousand!”

Bid? What bid?

I look at the faces in the audience, and my stomach churns harder. The sick delight and greed in the gazes of these men tells me all I need to know about what’s going on here. It’s an auction. The ache in my head intensifies, almost paralyzing, and the bright stage lights pierce my eyes, worsening the pain.

“Six hundred thousand,” someone calls.

“Seven hundred.”

“Eight hundred thousand,” a thin voice counters.

“One million,” another interjects.

I curl my hands into fists beside me, trying to push down the debilitating pain in my skull. With the fear twisting my stomach, the men in suits, their loud voices, and the lights, I feel like I might pass out at any second. I blink hard, pushing at the sick feeling inside me just as my gaze moves to the edge of the room.

Standing at the far end of the room is a tall, handsome man, holding himself rigid. His dark brown hair falls smoothly over his forehead, and his eyes are penetrating and cold, holding my gaze from across the room and sending shivers of awareness down my spine. I keep my eyes on him, watching as he raises a round glass to his mouth with a deliberate slowness.

My vision swims again, and this time my feet wobble dangerously in these ridiculous heels.

Oh, crap.

My body grows lighter, a familiar darkness tugging at the edge of my consciousness.

No, please. Not here.