Chapter Thirty Five
The day after that tedious dinner, although the after-party was sensational, I decided we’d all been separate for long enough. It took a herculean effort from the five of us who don’t sleep for nineteen hours a day and two full days to finish the job, but at long last, I have my wish. One huge bed. Or rather, three double beds pushed together in Axel’s childhood bedroom. At one point, I curled up with Axel just to watch a shirtless Hux, Dax, and Wyatt get sweaty using power tools. Avery joined us soon after.
And sleep came blissfully after that, until tonight, of course. Axel’s limbs are wrapped around my body, holding me in place by sheer force. Avery is stretched along the length of his back like a cat, but the rest of the elongated bed is empty. I stare at the ceiling while Axel taps his fingers impatiently on my shoulder, and Avery sighs every now and then.
None of us can pretend the auction isn’t happening downstairs, and while I’ve been ordered to hang back, Avery is staying away by choice. She couldn’t put herself through it again, not when Hux is planning to make his big move on Warren Briggs tonight. Across the wall, the clock ticks louder and louder, like a worm burrowing into my thoughts and eating me out like I’m an apple. Fuck that rapey worm.
Careful not to jerk Axel too quickly, I unpeel his arms and legs from the cocoon he’s created around my body. He tries to cling tighter, but luckily for me in this instance, he’s too weak. “Gare,” Axel growls with more force than I expected. “Don’t.”
But I’m already moving, shaking his grip off as gently as I can. The clock continues to tick, mocking me. I swing my legs off the bed and plant my feet firmly on the floor.
“I’m going.” Axel’s hand reaches for me, but I’m quicker. I’m across the room, rifling through the drawers to find something to wear. Anything to work off the nervous energy threatening to explode out of me.
“Garrett,” Axel repeats firmly, his voice causing the hairs on the back of my neck to stand up. I pause, my hands pressed on the wooden surface. It reminds me of how he played the Dom for Avery and me, and I shiver at the memory. But then I remember the woman who caused him so much pain is downstairs, living her best freaking life, and the anger boils up again. Hux is down there playing his role, while I’m being told to sit and stay, teetering on the verge of a psychotic break.
Turning back, I throw my arms wide, my voice pitched unnaturally high. “I’m not an apple!” And with that, I go back to the drawers while Axel pinches the bridge of his nose. I finally tug out a pair of clean boxers, Dax's, I reckon, when a soft hand touches my back. I spin around, looking down at Avery’s large, beautiful eyes. “I know what you’re going to say,” I sigh, balling Dax’s boxers into my fists. “But I can’t just sit here. We’re supposed to be a team. We’ve always been a team.”
I implore her to see my reason, but I know it’s useless. In about ten seconds, she’ll smile sweetly and tug me back towards the bed, where I’ll be stuck in my own head all night. Her hand glides across my body, sliding over my covered abs and chest. I inhale sharply, still not used to being touched there, but it’s not as torturous as it was before. Closing my eyes, Avery’s cheek scrapes mine, her lips by my ear.
“Wear something outrageous. And I’m coming with you.” My eyes fly open and my head jerks back to see an evil smirk appear on her usually angelic face. I splutter a response, choking on a manic laugh until Avery presses her fingers to my lips. “You are not an apple. And I can’t lie here like a lemon all night either.”
“You could never be a lemon. You’re a peach,” I snort, amusing myself. Avery’s eyes twinkle with mischief, and I decide right then and there, she’s spent far too much time with me. Avery giggles against my chest while Axel groans from the bed.
“You two are going to make matters worse,” he sighs but has already deflated back into the pillows, knowing it’s useless. I nod in earnest. That’s exactly the point. We’re going to make things so much worse—for Sharon.
When the dresser proves to hold nothing suitable, Avery has the idea to sneak into the student’s quarters while they’re preoccupied downstairs. I’ve never seen her so rebellious, sneaking around on those silent ballerina feet, using the student’s wardrobes like her own thrift shop.
I only hesitate for a moment when she asks me to take off my T-shirt, pulling the material over my scruffy hair and keeping my eyeline above her head. She dresses me like a gothic ken doll, skintight pants, and combat boots. The belt buckle uses diamonds to spell out the word ‘SLUT’, and the leather jacket hangs heavy on my shoulders, only leaving a sliver of my body visible through the mesh top she’s picked out. Avery completes the look with black nail polish on my fingers. I’m busy blowing them dry as she changes, her body briefly and gloriously naked in some girl’s room until she’s dressed similarly to me.
Her hair is tossed up in a messy ponytail, her bright red lips the only color amongst her black catsuit and thick eyeliner. She steals a pair of chunky heels to rival my height, and I hold out my arm.
“Ready?”
“Let’s go fuck some shit up,” Avery nods. My wrinkled little heart swells.
“God, I’ve never loved you more.” I sweep her into a hurried, passionate kiss, smearing said lipstick, before sweeping her out of the room and down the staircase.
The noise emanating from the ballroom is a powerful mix of enthusiastic chatter and bitchy whispers. Butler Bill, as I’ve taken to calling him in my head, is just closing the main doors as we appear. He glowers, but holds off long enough for us to slip inside, punctuated by the bang on the wood at our backs. The smartly dressed students take no notice, too focused on bidders who are eager to feel the goods before the auction starts. Good, we’re not too late.
Being head and shoulders above everyone else, I’m able to see the set of French doors at the rear are open this evening, leading out onto an equally as packed terrace. Busier than last week, I wonder what the special occasion is.
From out of the crowd, Sharon steps onto the podium, no sign of her lapdog this evening. Not a hair is out of place, tightly tied back in a slick ponytail with the deep shade of red on her lips matching her tight bodycon dress. A spotlight shines down on her brightly as she starts the same spiel to welcome everyone and outlining the rules. She has the full attention of guests in the finest suits and cocktail dresses, the students, the staff, and across the far side, the Souls.
Dressed in their own suits and shiny black shoes, they blend in perfectly. Wyatt and Dax stand by the window, sipping champagne. Hux is a few feet in front, accompanied by Warren Briggs.
“Stick with me,” I mutter into Avery’s ear. Linking our fingers, I guide her along the edge of the ballroom, exiting via a patio door at the back. Each table holds a bucket, presumably for ice and champagne, a glass bowl of salty snacks, and a large parasol, fitted with an electric heater to beat down on those sitting underneath. Avery and I settle into a table near the back, finding blankets have been provided. How thoughtful.
After reciting her speech, Sharon asks the students to leave via the back door and for the guests to get comfortable. The salty snacks currently have my full attention until Avery’s nails are embedded into my hand. “Ouch!”
“Look,” Avery hisses, still refusing to withdraw her talons. I follow her eyeline to watch Hux, in his posh penguin suit with his hair gelled back like Wyatt’s, striding beside Taylor to exit through the back door. My stomach plummets, the snack falling free from my fingers.
“Holy shit,” I breathe.
“What the hell is he doing?!”
I pat Avery’s hand, twisting her body into mine much like I did last week. “Trust him, Peach,” I whisper into her ear. “He’s a big boy.”
“I know. And they are all about to know it too.” Jerking her chin out, I also see the group of ladies and a few men, hungrily following Hux with their eyes and licking their lips. I smile, winding an arm around her shoulders.
“You’re cute when you’re jealous. Do you ever get jealous about me?” Avery rolls her eyes and gives my side a little shove. Once all of the guests are seated, the waitresses come around with the champagne bottles and bidding paddles. I take one of each for show.
The first Lot is called out, a heavily freckled guy of medium build with bright auburn hair. He struts the length of the ballroom before detouring around the patio and finally finishing on the stage, his dick swinging between his meaty thighs the entire time. A small group of ladies to our right corner to giggle and bounce with anticipation. Sharon presents him as Nolan the artist, given that he’s twirling a paintbrush around in his fingers, and suggests the bidding starts at fifteen thousand dollars. A plump woman in front of me gets ready to shoot her hand into the air.
“Hey Aves,” I call out loud enough for anyone nearby to hear. “Wasn’t Nolan the one who gave crabs to a whole group last week?” Avery’s eyes flash to me, but she doesn’t miss a beat, tapping her chin in thought.
“Oh no. I heard they were fleas he got from the cat. That guy sure loves licking pussies.”
The women around us balk and gasp, a few quickly rushing away to filter the rumor through the crowd. Avery and I try not to fall apart laughing, our composing slipping as our shoulders shake. Bringing a hand up to cover my mouth, I clear my throat and opt to drink some champagne instead.
Sharon calls again for the bids to start, her face dropping as no response comes. She appears absolutely horrified, looking around the room in confusion. Shooing Freckle Face from the stage, she flaps her hand for the next girl to jump into the spotlight. A blonde with purple tints in the ends of her long curls bounces onto the dance floor, her chest hugely fake and her waist teeny tiny. Introduced as Vicky, she pushes her tits together whilst I lean back to put my feet up on a nearby chair.
“Vagina wider than the Grand Canyon, that one. I tried to fuck her once; it was like throwing a sausage down an alley.” I call loudly. Not surprisingly, a flow of hushed whispers passes from one end of the crowd to the other, and no bids are entered. Sharon stomps across the stage on her black heels, dismissing Vicky with a harsh whisper.
Next, a brunette rushes into the ballroom. She’s quite pretty, an eyebrow cocked over her doe eyes as she nibbles on her bottom lip suggestively. Floral tattoos follow a line from her shoulder, down her ribs and hips, and all the way to her ankle.
“Let’s start Felicity off at ten thousand, shall we? She’s rather wild and enjoys sharing partners with a group.” Sharon’s voice rolls through the speakers dotted around the patio.
“Don’t forget how she passes out every time she cums, without fail. We had to call for an ambulance last time!” Avery basically shouts this time. Murmurs and questionable glances are passed around, and no one bids on poor Felicity either. She runs off stage, holding her face in her hands, but I can’t bring myself to feel bad. I’m too busy having the time of my life by ripping away the only thing Sharon cares about. Money.
“Moving on,” the plastic shrew continues. “A few of you might recognize Karen?—”
“Oh, not Chlamydia Karen!” I yell. “My dick has been itching for months!”
“Whoever that is needs to report to me at once,” Sharon glares through the French doors. It quickly becomes apparent that she can’t see much past the spotlight gleaming overhead. “There have never been any complaints with my Lots, and they are all tested for sexual diseases on a weekly basis.” There’s a defiant tick in Sharon’s jaw, but still no one raises their hand to bid. Silence falls over the ballroom and gardens, only the sound of crickets filling the empty void around us. She huffs and moves on.
“Well, Daniel here?—”
“Cries when he cums!” Avery cups her mouth to shout. Holding a hand up against the glare, Sharon squints out into the crowd and demands whoever is ruining her auction to come forward. I shrug down in my seat, dragging Avery down with me until our noses are level with the table. Many of the guests around us are shifting uncomfortably, the wooden knock of their paddles being put down. Most of the Lots seem to have understood tonight isn’t happening for them and stopped bothering to come out, except for one.
Taylor, aka Top Knot, steps onto the stage confidently, widening his stance and crossing his arms in a dare for anyone to challenge his reputation. His cock is thick, hanging freely, and even I strain for a better look. I’m only human after all. It’s no wonder plenty of guests around us sigh dramatically, clearly familiar with him, and Sharon smirks knowingly.
“Ahh, Taylor. Now here is a young man no one can dispute against. He has a perfect track record for satisfaction, always goes the extra mile, and is especially well-equipped, if I do say so myself. Since it’s been a slow evening, we will start the bidding at fifty thousand dollars.”
Every head of those sitting around us spins around sharply, waiting for approval to bid. So many pairs of eyes are pleading to be given the all-clear, but it’s not me that responds to their questioning stares.
“Oh yeah, sure. Best night of my life,” Avery calls out, much to the delight of every woman around us. Their shoulders sag, and they share relieved smiles. A few paddles start to rise. “Until he went on top for sixty-nine without telling me about his rectal condition. I’ve never been able to get the smell of shit out of my nose.”
An uproar of cries and gagging gives us the perfect cover to duck out. Slipping the rest of the way to the floor, we crawl beneath the tables and jump a low wall. The grassy bank beyond slopes, sending us skidding towards the pavement at the bottom. I manage to catch Avery before she breaks her ankle, stomping to a stop with my chunky combat boots.
From there, we casually stroll around the edge of the mansion, enjoying a little bit of quality time together. Every time Avery glances at me, we fall into hysterics again, drowned out by the sounds of screeching tires and the blaring of car horns. Guests seem to be in a rush to leave now that the party is over. Hand in hand, we enter the main entrance just as Sharon steps into our way.
“You little shits,” her lip peels back in disgust as she assesses my outfit. “I told you to stay out of the way. You must think you’re so funny.” I shrug and nod. That’s exactly what I think.
“Life’s all shits and giggles until someone giggles and shits,” I agree. Avery snorts loudly. Deciding to ignore me, Sharon pushes her way through us, trying to control the amount of people leaving with her fake smile back in place.
“Please, please come back inside. This is all a misunderstanding, I assure you.” We leave her to it, gliding back towards the ballroom to complete one big circuit. Annoyingly, there are still plenty of guests present, those who were sitting inside the ballroom being too far away to hear our warnings. Through the center, a pair of green eyes carve out a path towards me.
“Oh, hey, Riot. What did we miss?” I ask as he approaches, Dax trailing just behind. His glare is deadly, although it bounces off me like water rolling off a duck’s back.
“Don’t try that bullshit with me. You nearly messed everything up for Hux.” Wyatt’s head tilts aside, guiding my attention to where Hux is currently hand-feeding Warren a grape, his suit very much still intact. I force another shrug, despite Avery’s hand going tense in mine.
“Sorry about that. As much as I’d love to see Huxley do a naked parade around a ballroom, Avery here wasn’t feeling as generous.” Wyatt’s lips press into a thin line, his sharp green eyes darting between Avery and me. I know that look. Controlled fury. It’s the same look he gets before a game and, evidently, mostly every time he looks at me.
"Hux has been stressing about tonight all week, and you almost blew it because you can’t sit still for five minutes." Wyatt exhales through his nose, his patience clearly running on fumes.
" Almost. " I counter, flashing him my most disarming smile. "But I didn’t. And look, our boy’s still in one piece and fully clothed. Mission accomplished, right?"
Before Wyatt can retort, Dax places a firm hand on his shoulder, his calm energy tempering the storm brewing in Wyatt’s chest. “Let it go,” Dax mutters. “It’s done now. We need to focus.” Just then, his pocket starts to vibrate, and he steps away to answer the call. Wyatt visibly reins himself in. His attention shifts to Avery, and his glare softens a fraction.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Wyatt finally says, his words aimed at both of us but are clearly meant for her. Without waiting for a response, he turns on his heel and disappears into the crowd, Dax trailing after him like a silent shadow.
The tension lingers in the air, thick and suffocating, as Avery exhales shakily beside me. Her grip on my hand loosens, and I glance over to find her staring at Huxley, her eyes swimming with concern.
Hux has moved to stand by the far wall, Warren leaning casually against it, gesturing animatedly with his whiskey glass. Huxley looks composed, nodding along at the right times. But we know him too well. The slight tightness in his jaw, the way his hand clenches and unclenches at his side, the tiny cracks in his facade are all too apparent to me and Avery.
And then it happens. Warren tilts his head toward the exit, his lips curving into a predatory smile. Hux doesn’t hesitate. He pushes off the wall, his movements fluid as he leads Warren toward the hallway, away from the crowded ballroom.
As they pass, Hux’s brown gaze flickers to Avery. It’s brief, just a split second, but the weight of it is enough to make her freeze. His face is unreadable, but his eyes tell a different story. There’s a bleakness to them, a silent acknowledgment of the risk he’s taking. Avery swallows hard, her fingers twitching in my hand. I don’t need to look at her to know she’s holding back tears. And for once, I don’t have a joke or a quip to fill the silence.
Huxley walks off with Warren, his shoulders squared, his steps steady. But the farther away he gets, the heavier Avery leans against me. I wait a few minutes, ensuring no one is watching before I spin her into my arms and hold her tight whilst she cries into my shoulder.
“I’ve got you, Peach. Everything is going to be okay,” I promise without any reason to justify it. I seriously hope Huxley has thought long and hard about the lengths he’ll go to for whatever information he’s seeking, because some dark corners of our minds are impossible to come back from.