Chapter Twenty Eight
“Good evening, everyone,” Sharon smiles at her enthralled audience from her raised podium. My stomach twists painfully, my heart hammering so hard that I’m sure it’s visible through the thin straps of this dress. I have no idea what game Wyatt is playing, dressing us up and parading us around when the idea was to lay low, but I can’t spare it any thought now. Not when I’m about to witness a live reenactment of Axel’s trauma taking place in front of me.
“Welcome to what is due to be another splendid evening. A small bit of housekeeping for the newbies, and then we can jump straight into the main event. The auction.” A round of cheers and raised glasses fills the room, tempering down as Sharon lifts her hand. “As you will have noticed, each one of our Lots has a number stripped to their wrist. This figure is the early buyout fee if you should wish to secure your partner for the evening, although I must say, bidding is half the fun,” Sharon winks, accompanied by another round of agreement. “I do hope you have all had the chance to mingle, because I’m going to now ask the Lots to leave the room to prepare.
“We have an exciting development this evening.” I swallow harshly while dread turns my stomach to stone. A few of the keen-eyed guests cast sly glances our way, sensing that we’re new here. Luckily, Sharon reaches for Taylor’s hand and beckons him onto the stage.
“Tonight, our beautiful Taylor here is available for silent bids only. If you’d like to try your chances, please find the pens and paper at the back of the room, where you can slip your bid into the box provided. The highest bid at the end of the night will be the winner.” Taylor’s eyes create a beeline to the man he was hanging on the arm of and gives a challenging raise of his brow. Sharon allows him to leave, joining his fellow friends on the dance floor.
“As always, transfers need to be settled in the drawing room before you are able to claim your prize. For early buyouts, please come see me now. Otherwise, take your seats, and happy bidding.”
With this, the students wave fluttery fingers and some even blow kisses before departing through a door at the back of the room. Taylor is last, his head poking out of the crowd to search for Huxley. When their eyes connect, Taylor gestures to the back room with a questioning raised brow. Huxley stiffens, his clenched arm crushing mine, and he curses ‘ fuck no’ under his breath.
The guests choose their seats, a few waitresses smoothly filtering in to make sure a champagne glass is in every hand. Bidding paddles are casually placed on the tables, like this is just another Friday night dinner party. The polished chandeliers overhead cast sharp light across their faces, illuminating their predatory expressions. The atmosphere is suffocating, each breath of air heavy with the sickly sweet scent of expensive perfume.
Huxley’s arm is still locked with mine, and I can feel the tremble in his muscles even as he tries to hold himself together. I glance sideways at him, his face pale and his jaw set tight. He refuses to look at me, his gaze glued to the stage where Taylor had disappeared moments before. I don’t know what’s beyond that door, and I don’t want to know.
Wyatt steps closer to us, his presence a source of both comfort and frustration. He nudges Huxley’s other side, forcing us to move towards a lonely table in the back corner. Overcast in shadow, this table seems to be reserved for spectating only, which no one tonight seems interested in. They’re all muttering excitedly between themselves, hungry for their piece of flesh.
As I choose my seat, Hux tucks me in, and Dax takes my side. His phone buzzes faintly in his pocket before he slides it out to check the screen. He doesn’t say anything, but his shoulders tense, and the way his thumb hovers over the screen tells me the message isn’t good. Before Hux can settle on my other side, Garrett slides in, his hand hot and firm on my thigh.
“The time has come,” Sharon’s voice cuts through the murmurs as she moves to the edge of the podium, taking the microphone with her, “to see your first Lot. Please show a warm welcome back to Trixie.” Mostly the gentlemen start to cheer, but a few women whoop too, the energy in the room turning electric. The back door opens, and my breath catches in my throat.
Trixie exits, striding confidently in black kitten heels and nothing else. Completely naked and holding a pair of handcuffs, she catwalks across the ballroom floor, putting on a brilliant show of self-assurance whilst swinging the metal loop around her finger for it to catch the light. Her perfectly rehearsed smile stays in place, her shoulders squared to push out her chest. She has a phenomenal figure, pert breasts, and slim legs. It’s no wonder a handful of paddles shoot into the air.
I gape, blinking through the shock yet unable to look away until Trixie has retreated to stand center stage. Once there, Trixie clasps her hands in front of her, pressing her boobs together, widens her stance slightly, and lowers her head in submission.
She stays like that, listening to Sharon calling out the bids like an auctioneer and shouting ‘ sold’ to a portly woman with vibrant orange curls near the front. Trixie looks up, smiles at her temporary owner, and makes her way over. I lose sight of Trixie’s head, so I shift into Dax’s space to see she’s dropped to her knees by the chair and remains there for the rest of the evening.
Then it happens again. This time it’s Zara, a blonde who has a braid resting over each shoulder and a teddy bear in her hands. She’s much more lively, skipping along the dancefloor, letting everything bounce. When she comes near enough, I catch a glimpse of bold freckles over her nose and cheeks that must be artificial. She follows the same routine, clasping her teddy bear and bowing her head in submission on stage, before going to kneel by the man who has purchased her.
One after the other, the students reenter the room. All butt naked with a prop of some description, all embracing the crowd’s attention on their exposed skin. Cards shoot into the air, the guests practically salivating over the human beings paraded before them. The numbers climb higher and higher, absurd figures being thrown around. With each Lot, Sharon’s enthusiasm grows. She’s laughing and joking. At one point, she smacks the ass of a naked guy when he passes. It’s a circus, and she’s the ringleader.
I’m not sure at what point I faze out, my mind taking a path of its own. When the next student exits the back room, all I see is Axel. My sweet, innocent Axel being gawked and pawed at. The smart, loving man I know reduced to being livestock, all for the benefit of the woman cackling on the edge of the stage. My hands grip the fabric of my dress as I fight the urge to turn away, but I force myself to watch. I owe it to him to bear witness to what he has been subjected to. I’m plagued by the images of what Axel might have endured, what parts of himself he sacrificed, and I can’t stop the tears that spill down my cheeks.
“Peach?” a voice whispers in my ear. The hand on my thigh squeezes, trying to ground me, but I reject the comfort. I need to watch and experience every depraved moment. I need this to reignite the fire in my soul that I let fizzle out. Everyone who parades themselves naked around the room becomes Axel to me. One woman grabs her prize, shoves two slender fingers into his mouth, and when he gags, the whole table around them hollers.
My heart shatters.
“Peach,” Garrett twists my chair, breaking my trance on the room. I can’t fully make out his dark, bottomless eyes in our shaded corner, but I can tell they’re boring right through mine. “Come back to me.” Both of his palms settle on my thighs, kneading me gently. It takes valiant effort to remember to speak, to think, or to breathe. A sob lodges in my throat.
“I can’t… I just,” the words fumble out. Beyond Garrett’s shoulder, both Wyatt and Huxley are looking over in concern, but neither approaches, giving Garrett the space to console me. He licks his lips, nodding slightly.
“I’m not going to tell you it’s okay, ‘cause that’s a fucking lie. None of this is okay, and I know what you’re thinking. If it helps, it wasn’t exactly like this for him.”
Garrett’s words are like a stone tossed into a deep, still pond, rippling through the images in my mind. My vision, blurry with tears, clings to Garrett’s silhouette, his broad frame blocking me from the madness happening all around us. His hands press firmly against my thighs, kneading gently, pulling me out of the swirling darkness and anchoring me to him.
My brain wants to resist. As though it doesn’t want to come back. It doesn’t want to leave the haunted images behind because that would be like leaving young Axel behind. Leaving him to suffer alone and endlessly. My hands tremble, and I twist the fabric painfully between my fingers. Every sound in the room, Sharon’s gleeful commentary, the cheering, the vile cacophony of laughter. It all rings like a bell in my skull, impossible to drown out.
Garrett leans closer, forcing me to breathe in his freshly showered scent, the tickle of his hair gracing my forehead. I inhale his exhale, twinged with mint. “Look at me,” he says. My chest heaves as I fight for air, my ribs expanding painfully against the tightness that binds them. I shake my head, unable to obey.
His hands slide from my thighs to my forearms, prying my fingers away from the crumpled fabric of my dress. Garrett’s tattooed fingers are warm as he threads them through mine, grounding me in their steady grip. Slowly, he lifts my hands, his touch firm but patient, like he’s coaxing a bird back into its nest.
“Peach,” he murmurs again, the nickname soft and familiar, tugging at something deep inside me. “I know it’s hard, but you’re here with us. Not back there. Stay here.”
The tears don’t stop, but they shift. They’re no longer hot streaks of pain but cool drops of release. I blink hard, and Garrett comes into sharper focus. I can make out the strands of his messy hair, the barely visible hint of stubble along his jaw, and the lazy open collar of Hux’s ripped shirt.
I glance over his shoulder again, drawn to the emerald green behind him like a moth to a flame. Wyatt watches closely, his expression heavy with concern. Huxley is beside him, arms crossed so tightly over his chest that his knuckles are turning white. His eyes are fixed on my face, taking each tear trailing down my cheeks as a personal heartache. I hate how vulnerable I must look. Weak and fragile and broken.
“Focus on me,” Garrett urges, moving to hold my nape like he’s physically holding me in the present. “Count the missing buttons on my shirt if you have to. Hell, count the tattoos on my neck and tell me how shit they are. I know you like doing that.” His lips quirk into the smallest smile, and despite everything, a faint laugh bubbles up from my chest. It’s weak and fleeting, but it’s there, and it feels like breaking through the surface of deep water after holding my breath for too long.
I let my eyes travel across his open shirt, his chest firm beneath a white tank top. The jacket has a subtle sheen under the dim light. I focus on the rhythm of his thumbs as they sweep over my skin and the way his presence seems to fill the space around us like a shield. The noise of the room dulls, fading into a low hum at the edges of my awareness. I’m not fully present yet, but I’m closer than I was.
“I’m so angry,” I whisper, the words spilling out before I can stop them. My eyes dart toward Sharon, still cackling like the queen of this spectacle. Garrett grunts in agreement, his grip on my neck tightening just slightly, just enough to draw my attention back to him.
“I’ve felt that anger for years,” he says. “But we didn’t create this hellhole. We didn’t put Axel here. We’re not responsible for their sickness,” his eyes dart around and quickly come back. His own breath saws in and out, the hand on my nape shaking with the restraint to hold himself together. Garrett is going through the exact same turmoil as I am, although probably in much more vivid detail.
“But there’s a flipside too. We get to heal him. We get to build him back up to be even stronger than before and to show him what real love is. Thanks to you.”
“I haven’t done anything,” I instantly shake my head. Garrett hisses through his teeth, his hand slipping from my neck to my cheek, giving me a rough shake.
“You’ve done everything,” he growls almost angrily, releasing my hand to smack his chest directly over his heart. “You’ve unlocked me.”
There are no more pretty words, and they’re not needed. Garrett’s omission breaks something loose inside me. I press my forehead against his shoulder, letting his essence seep into me. He wraps his arms around me, holding me close, and for the first time since this nightmare began, I feel like I can breathe again.
The sound of bidding rises, the auction continuing without pause. But it feels distant now, like a bad dream fading in the light of morning. Garrett releases my shoulders but doesn’t let go, his steady presence a lifeline as I begin to piece myself back together. Wyatt and Huxley have relaxed somewhat, though their postures most likely won’t relax until we’re back upstairs in a cuddle puddle.
Steadily coming back to the table, I glance to Dax, who has been frozen until now. He breaks his stillness to glance at his phone clutched tightly in his hand when buzzes again. Wyatt catches the slight purse of his lips.
“What is it?” Wyatt presses his forearms onto the table and whispers harshly. Dax shrugs him off.
“We’ll discuss it later.”
Garret groans, pressing himself into my sight and casually hanging his arm over my shoulder.
“Please, for the love of fuck, can we discuss it now? I’m struggling to remain in my seat.”
“It’s Thiago,” Dax sighs. “The number Wyatt gave him was a dead end, already disabled, and any previous data on it was encrypted.” Dax’s phone buzzes again, and he glances down, his lips pressing into a thin line. This time, he leans into the table and lowers his voice. “So instead, he’s found a hidden security system in this room, and he’s working through the true identities of those present, trying to give us something to work with.”
My eyes flick around the corners of the room, spotting the tiny red lights hidden within the gold edging. I never would have noticed, and I wonder if the attendees are aware.
Opening an image, Dax turns his screen slowly for the rest of us to see, the glow briefly illuminating each of our grim faces. A gentleman with a thick moustache in the same shade as his light brown comb over, standing tall and proud as he accepts some award. He’s wearing a stiff black jacket, yellow stripes on the cuffs, and a checked tie. His badge identifies him as Warren Briggs, Chief of Police.
I suck in a breath at the same time Garrett’s arm around my shoulder tightens.
“That’s the man Taylor was talking to,” Wyatt mutters.
“He’s yet to bid on anyone,” Huxley adds very observantly. All of our heads whip to the man in question, sitting off to the side and slowly sipping champagne. He doesn’t jeer or holler; he doesn’t draw any attention to himself. Hux clicks his tongue. “I bet he’s waiting for the silent auction of Top-Knot. ”
This is what Axel wanted. For us to make valuable connections and push forward with searching for Meg. That’s the ultimate goal here, to bring my twin home safe. It’s what we’re all fighting for. Wyatt swallows, his mind jumping into overdrive with possible scenarios. I see it in the ticking of his jaw, the pop of his knuckles against his palm. But whatever plan he might come up with is cut short, as Huxley apparently makes the decision for us.
“I’ll go.”
“Go… where?” Dax frowns, and Hux jerks his head towards Warren.
“There’s an empty seat next to him. I’ll go… I don’t know, mingle?” He half shrugs, already pushing his seat back. Garrett releases me to sit forward and hold out a hand.
“Wait. You want to mingle with someone who came here to peg a man with the same body shape and hair length as you? What are you going to do, crawl into his lap and call him Daddy?”
Huxley pales slightly, but he doesn’t look any less adamant. “I suppose. I’m his type, and we need a way in. I could do some digging, get something we can blackmail him with.” Garrett erupts in a bout of hysterics, earning a few glances from around the room. He can’t contain himself, the entire notion is ridiculous to him.
Wyatt tells Garrett to settle down before turning back to Hux. Shaking his head, he curses beneath his breath. “You can’t just rush into this. We need to discuss?—”
“There’s no point having a plan if we miss our shot,” Huxley growls back. “What if he only comes once a month, or a few times a year? How long are we going to attend these sick-fests with the hopes of implementing a well-thought-out plan?” Huxley’s nails dig into his palm, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He looks like he’s on the verge of bolting, his body vibrating with barely contained rage. Rage aimed at Warren, the performance taking place on stage, and us for shooting down his suggestion.
Steeling himself, he pushes to his feet and rounds the back of the table. His fingers brush my back on the way passed, and my trace snaps. I shoot up in my heels, spinning to grab Huxley’s polo and pull him into me.
“So we’re whoring ourselves out now?” I enter the conversation, previously dumbstruck by what I’m hearing. “Shall I strip down and jump up on stage? Maybe someone will spill all their secrets to me while I straddle them.”
Hux’s chocolate eyes darken, his nostrils flaring. He doesn’t like that idea, so he apparently knows exactly how I feel. I know what he’s thinking. He wants to get answers so we can get closer to finding Meg. But I made a vow to not let us become fractured along the way, to allow them to sacrifice themselves for my mission. My hand finds Huxley’s, squeezing it tightly. “We can find another way.”
But Hux pulls his hand away, his gaze shifting back to the man sitting oblivious a few meters away. His shoulders straighten, and he forces a calm expression onto his face.
“Wyatt isn’t the only one prepared to lose you if it means saving you.”
My chest tightens. The very idea of Huxley having to interact with this man and pretend to be interested makes me want to scream. He shouldn’t have to do this. He shouldn't have to sacrifice his dignity. Hypocritical, I know. If Warren liked women, I would already be in his lap, flirting my way towards asking for a favor. But Huxley has been through so much, his confidence is barely hanging on by a thread. The damage of trading his soul for my cause could be irreparable.
That must be what drives the anger to explode within me. The injustice of it all screaming louder in my head than Sharon’s following cackle.
“Well, maybe my love for you is too selfish for heroics, but I’m not prepared to lose you. Not one little bit.” I try to storm away, but I don’t make it very far. I can’t leave the room, can’t bring myself not to watch. At the back of the dining room, I press my back aside the wall and fold my arms. Wyatt comes to stand by my side, his expression hardening into something unreadable. Hux bridges the gap between himself and the man, and with every step, my heart aches more.
This isn’t right. None of it is right or fair, and a faint voice tells me we’re playing into Sharon’s hand.
Warren’s profile reveals itself as he turns his head and greets his new companion. My stomach twists with renewed unease as I notice the way his gaze lingers a little too long and the way his lips curl into a faint, greedy smile. His expensive suit stretches slightly as he offers out his hand, his eyes locked on Huxley. After a moment of hesitation, Hux accepts it and sits in the vacant seat.
The rest of the auction fades into the background as the two of them engage in conversation. I can’t hear what’s being said, but Warren’s body language is relaxed. Huxley, on the other hand, is visibly tense, though he’s doing his best to hide it.
Wyatt steps closer to me, his hand brushing against mine in a subtle gesture of support. I glance at him, and for a moment, I see the cracks in his carefully constructed facade. He hates this just as much as I do, but he knows it’s necessary. He knows it needed to be done, even if he’d never have asked Hux to do it.