Auctioned to the Cowboy (Sold To The Naughty List)

Auctioned to the Cowboy (Sold To The Naughty List)

By Violet Rae

1. Shay

Chapter 1

Shay

The spotlight’s glare is like a physical force, pressing against my skin as I stand on the stage at the Tease and Please Auction. My pulse races, an erratic drumbeat that matches the pounding of my heart. The auctioneer, a man with a voice like molasses, is selling me off to the highest bidder like I’m some kind of prize cow.

The heat of the lights above me is suffocating, baking into my skin while the chill of the room creeps up from the floor like an invisible force pinning me in place. My palms are damp, and I press them against my thighs, trying to hide the nervous tremor in my hands. Somewhere in the crowd, muffled whispers and faint chuckles rise and fall, a background hum that makes me want to bolt.

“Shay O’Riordan, ladies and gentlemen! A vision in white satin, a jewel yet untouched,” the auctioneer calls out.

The words land heavily, and I fight the urge to shrink under their weight. I swear I can feel every eye in the room on me. He’s laying it on thick, and the mention of my virginity sends an uncomfortable ripple through the crowd.

My cheeks burn despite the icy tendrils of air-conditioning sneaking under my flimsy attire. Virginity. As if that detail alone elevates my worth. It’s humiliating, but it’s also the reason I’m here. My ticket out of a life filled with my dad’s drunken rages and my mom’s blind eye.

At least I know the bidders at this auction are tightly vetted. Background checks, wealth, and secrecy—the three pillars of this strange, humiliating ritual. But knowing that doesn’t stop my stomach from twisting into knots as the auctioneer’s voice crescendos, building the anticipation in the room.

“Let’s start the bidding!” His booming voice snaps me back to the present.

I chose this, volunteered for it, because the money’s good. Good enough to escape and maybe even start over somewhere new. If the marriage doesn’t pan out, I have a backup plan. I’ll save the money I make from my sale, invest it wisely, and keep a nest egg growing.

At least that’s the lie I keep telling myself to stay calm. The truth is murkier. Desperation doesn’t leave room for tidy plans or carefully plotted futures. It’s about survival, plain and simple.

My attire, a glamorous white negligee chosen by the auction staff, clings and shimmers, making me feel exposed and vulnerable. The material hugs every curve, and the satin catches the light, creating an illusion of elegance that doesn’t match the turmoil inside me. It’s strange how something so beautiful can feel like armor and a prison all at once.

But the nerves clawing at my stomach are more about what comes after the gavel falls than standing here quasi-naked in front of strangers.

The room is silent for a heartbeat, and in that brief moment, the doubt creeps in. What if no one bids? What if I end up walking off this stage as humiliated as I feel?

But then, it starts.

“Five thousand!” a voice bellows from the left.

“Six,” another counters from the right.

A flurry of numbers follows, and I struggle to keep track. The auctioneer rattles off bids with an enthusiasm that’s surreal and detached, like this is a game and not my life being parceled off.

But it’s not until two voices, deep and harmonious as if woven from the same cloth, dominate the bids that my attention sharpens. They’re persistent and determined. When I squint past the lights, I see them. Two men who share a striking resemblance, clearly brothers. The resemblance is striking, though one’s expression carries an edge of humor while the other’s is all business.

Something about the way they stand—shoulders squared, heads held high—sends a shiver down my spine. They don’t seem like the types to waver or back down, and as their bids escalate, I realize they’re not here to lose.

“Sold to the Sutton brothers for fifteen thousand!”

The gavel smacks down, and my fate is sealed.

The sound echoes in my ears, loud and final, like the closing of a door I can never reopen. My legs are wobbly but I hold my head high as I steady myself, the knowledge that this is my escape keeping me upright.

It’s done.

I keep repeating those words in my mind, a mantra to keep myself from spiraling. It’s done. Or so I think until they approach me, these Sutton men, their strides confident, their eyes fixed on me.

“Miss O’Riordan,” the first one says, his voice smoother than it sounded during the bidding. He offers me a hand, and I take it, noting the strength in his grip. “I’m Angus Sutton, and this is my brother, Tom.”

Tom offers a nod, his grin easier, more relaxed than his brother’s stoic demeanor. “Welcome to the family… sort of.”

I blink, unsure how to respond, and Tom chuckles, the sound warm but slightly teasing.

I look up at the two men. Good lord, they’re huge, all broad shoulders and towering height. Dark hair, strong jaws, and blue eyes set in tanned faces. There’s no doubt they’re brothers. Their voices are deep, with an attractive drawl that catches me off guard. No leering or crude jokes, only genuine, open expressions. It throws me off balance, and I forget how to respond for a second.

“Listen, I need to be upfront with you guys,” I blurt, my voice steadier than I feel. “I’m not into being shared in some kind of reverse polygamy situation. I don’t need brother husbands. One man is bad enough. So, if you think that’s going to happen, you can think again.”

Angus laughs, a rich sound that somehow lightens the lead in my stomach. Something tells me Angus doesn’t laugh too often. “Oh no, darlin’, we’re not the sharing type either.”

Tom joins in, his laughter warm and genuine. “We’re here on behalf of our brother, Henry. He’s the one in need of a bride.”

I blink, trying to process this twist. The words land like a punchline to a joke I don’t quite get, and an incredulous laugh escapes me. “Your brother?” I ask, relief and curiosity threading my voice. “So, I’m supposed to marry him?”

Angus nods. “Yep. Our mother made it a condition of her will that he has to marry to inherit the ranch, and so far, he’s not doing a great job of finding himself a bride. So, we decided to find one for him.”

“Right.” I manage a chuckle. “Because that’s how all romantic tales begin, with an inheritance clause and an auction.”

Tom grins and shakes his head. “You’ll fit right in with our sense of humor.”

“Guess I’ll have to,” I say, the ice around my trepidation beginning to thaw. If I’m lucky, this will work out for all of us.

Half an hour later, I’m out of the magnificent house on the mountainside and on my way to my car. The air outside is freezing compared to the house. I shiver, both from the cold and the uncertainty of my decision. I’ve changed into jeans and a black sweater with a wool coat over the top, but it’s still freezing. Angus stands beside me, hands buried in his pockets against the chill while we wait for Tom. We watch as the first snowflakes drift down from the heavy sky.

“Thanks for, uh, buying me,” I say, fumbling with the zipper of my coat.

“Trust me, it’s Henry who should be thanking us,” Angus replies, his breath forming clouds in the frosty air. “You’re probably saving him from a fate worse than death. Mom’s leaving the ranch to a clown school if he doesn't get married.”

“You’re not serious,” I say, laughter tinting my voice.

Angus shakes his head. “‘Fraid so. Mom always had a twisted sense of humor.” His voice hold a note of melancholy, revealing how much he misses her.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I murmur, knowing how inadequate those words are.

Angus shrugs and says matter-of-factly. “Death is a part of life.”

His tone suggests a loss that goes beyond that of his mother. I wonder if the weight he carries is heavier than he lets on. The shadow of grief in his eyes seems deeper, more personal.

But before I can ask, Tom interjects, his grin breaking the somber mood like a ray of sunlight. “Henry’s gonna owe us big time for this one,” he says, rubbing his hands together against the cold. “We’ve pulled off a miracle here.”

“A miracle?” I arch an eyebrow. “Seems more like a very strange favor.”

Tom chuckles. “Strange? Sure. But you haven’t met Henry yet. You’ll see what I mean.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, half-laughing, half-dreading the answer.

“Let’s just say he’s not exactly a people person,” Angus replies, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s trying not to laugh. “But don’t let him scare you off. Under all the gruffness, he’s got a good heart. I promise.”

Tom nods enthusiastically. “Yep. Somewhere under the scowl and grunting.”

“Comforting,” I deadpan, a small smile tugging at my lips.

Angus gestures toward my car. “Come on, we’ll lead you to the ranch. It’s not far.”

I glance at my old sedan, packed with my entire life, and back at the brothers. I hesitate—just for a heartbeat—and I wonder if I’m making a mistake. But then I think about what’s waiting for me back home, and the answer is clear. Anything is better than that.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, I start the engine, and the brothers climb into their truck, the taillights glowing like beacons in the night. As we drive, the landscape transforms into a snow-dusted wonderland, the trees heavy with frost, their branches arching over the road like a tunnel.

My grip on the steering wheel tightens as the reality of what I’ve done starts to sink in. I’m about to marry a man I’ve never met, step into a life I don’t understand, with people I barely know. Yet, beneath the nerves is a flicker of something else—hope.

As we drive, I wonder about this Henry fella. Will he be like my father? That thought sends a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with the cold. No, I decide firmly. This is my chance to break free. I will not put up with an alcoholic ever again.

“Here goes nothing,” I whisper. Ahead lies a new life, one I choose for myself. And it starts with meeting Henry Sutton.

Snowflakes swirl around my car like a slow-motion dance as I put on my windshield wipers. It’s a real-life snow globe out here, minus the cheerful figurines and synthetic joy.

My phone rings, piercing through the silence with its insistent tone, and I glance at my dash panel to see it’s my mother calling.

“Great,” I mutter before pressing the button on my steering wheel. “Hey, Mom.”

“Shay,” she gasps, her voice shaking. “Your father’s at it again. He’s out in the street, naked and shouting about how I’m abusing him. Can you believe that? I’ve called the police.”

The familiar weight of frustration and weariness slams into me like a freight train. It’s always the same pattern, the same fights. I grip the steering wheel tighter, the leather creaking under the strain.

“Of course he is,” I say, trying to keep my voice neutral, though the anger bubbling beneath the surface threatens to spill over. “Mom, that’s your bed. You chose to stay in it. He’s beaten and verbally abused us for years, and now he’s trying to beat me even as an adult. I can’t do it anymore.”

My words are a mix of resignation and steel. I’ve been through this conversation so many times that the lines feel rehearsed, though the sting never dulls. My mother clings to my father and the life she’s built around his drunken rages, refusing to let go even as it crumbles around her.

“Shay, you can’t leave me!” she pleads, her voice clinging to denial like a lifeline. “You need us. Both of your parents.”

The words hit harder than they should, but not because they’re true. They’re a reminder of how deeply she’s buried herself in this delusion, dragging me down with her for years. Not anymore.

“Need?” I almost laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “I haven’t needed either of you since high school graduation. That’s not going to work on me anymore. You can leave him, and maybe we can fix things between us one day, or you can stay. Either way, I’m gone. I’m making a new life. A better one.”

The silence that follows is deafening. I can almost hear the wheels turning in her head, trying to piece together a response that might reel me back in. But I’ve heard it all before, and I’m not biting.

“Shay…” Mom’s voice trails off in disbelief and desperation.

“Goodbye, Mom.” My thumb hovers over the button for a split second before I end the call. The finality of it hangs in the air, heavy and bittersweet. My eyes sting with the threat of tears but blink them away. I won’t cry. I haven’t for a long time.

The Sutton brothers’ truck rolls on ahead, their red taillights like beacons guiding me toward this unknown future. And as the miles stretch on, with each passing second, I’m a little further from the turmoil I’ve known all my life.

The rhythm of the wipers brushing away the falling snow becomes almost hypnotic, a steady beat to my swirling thoughts. My old sedan hums along, the heater barely keeping the chill at bay. I catch my reflection in the rearview mirror—eyes wide, jaw tight, determination etched into every line of my face.

“Here’s to a better life,” I murmur, forcing a smile that feels more like a challenge than a celebration. After all, making the best of a dark moment is what I do best.

The snow falls heavier as we turn onto a long, winding road lined with towering pines. The darkness here feels thicker, the only light coming from the Sutton brothers’ truck ahead of me. It’s quiet too. A quiet that feels alive like the land itself is holding its breath.

Finally, the truck slows and turns into a wide gravel driveway. My headlights sweep over the scene as I follow. A sprawling ranch house looms in the darkness, its silhouette sharp against the snowy backdrop. A barn sits to the left, its doors slightly ajar, and several smaller outbuildings are scattered across the property. The place looks old but sturdy, a home that carries stories in its bones.

The Sutton brothers step out of their truck, the crunch of their boots on the snow-covered gravel breaking the stillness as I open my door.

Tom waves me over, his grin as easy as ever. “Welcome to your new home,” he says, spreading his arms like he’s unveiling a prize.

Home. The word sticks in my throat. This place is far from what I imagined when I pictured freedom, but maybe that’s the point. It’s not supposed to be easy. Nothing worth having ever is.

I climb out of my car, my boots sinking into the snow. The cold bites at my cheeks, and I wrap my coat tighter around me, trying to summon the courage to face whatever comes next.

“You ready to meet Henry?” Angus asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I reply, though the knot in my stomach tells a different story.

The brothers exchange a look I can’t quite read before leading me toward the house. My heart pounds harder with every step, each crunch of snow underfoot echoing in my ears. This is it—the start of something new, for better or worse.

This is it. My new beginning.

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