Chapter 16 #2
Now that their guest of honor has arrived, Darryl moves toward the front of the stage.
He makes a speech that I’m barely listening to.
It’s mainly praise for his leadership, and a reminder of how important it is for the men of East Jersey to provide for their wives—and how grateful said wives have been in return since the lurkers took over.
The prick slips in some chauvinistic jokes that make the men laugh and my stomach churn. Every minute that passes, I’m more and more aware of the comments and catcalls being directed at me. I’m wearing the damn bikini, but as skimpy and tight as it is, I could be naked up here after all.
After introducing me as Alexandra, a twenty-year-old virgin—I do my best not to burst out laughing at the two big whoppers—who likes killing lurkers as much as doing whatever she can to make her new husband happy, Darryl opens the bidding. I don’t know what I’m expecting, but it isn’t this…
“I bid a jug of milk,” says the first man.
Milk? Do they have cows here?
“Two dozen eggs over here. Fresh ones.”
Chickens, too?
Maverick raises his hand. “Five lighters.”
“A fresh-baked loaf of bread. Oh, and I’ll get my Suzie to throw in a pot of honey for a sister-wife.”
Darryl nods. “I’m bid.”
“Three rolls of toilet paper,” offers another. He’s standing up front next to Maverick, and he looks like he’s about seventy years old. “Two-ply,” he adds with a toothless grin.
“A bottle of mouthwash and half a roll of toothpaste.”
Maverick raises his hand again. “I’ve got a bottle of whiskey, with all but a single mouthful still inside.”
That gets a smattering of applause. I’m not surprised, though I’d like to know where he got a bottle of whiskey from—and why he hasn’t shared any of that with me this week.
“High bid belongs to Maverick Brooks,” announces Darryl. “Anyone want to beat the outsider and his whiskey?”
The old man calls out hopefully: “Six rolls of toilet paper?”
“How about a trade, Darryl?” That’s a big, boisterous man standing in the back. He has his massive hands cupped around his mouth so that we can all hear him. “I’ll give you three of my girls for the first night with this one.”
Darryl laughs while I have to fight from showing my outright hatred for these people. “No can do, Wyatt. You know the rules. High bid wins. So should we call it, boys? Alexandra, going once—”
I bite my bottom lip, thinking: I fucking wish.
“—Alexandra, going twice—”
Please let one thing go right for me… just one damn thing.
“Alexand—”
“A carton of cigarettes!” cries out a smug voice triumphantly.
I want to find whoever just shouted and kick them in the face. Looking at Maverick, I can tell he’s thinking the same exact thing.
There’s some groaning and a few curses bellowed after that list bid, and my stomach drops; they have to think nobody can beat that.
Darryl nods appreciatively before turning to Maverick with a sad shake of his head.
He’s still wearing that wolf’s grin as he says, “A carton of cigs, Brooks, that’s gonna be hard to beat.
It’s your bid. You got anything to add?” He glances over at me and there’s no mistaking his leer.
“Girl like this, she’s worth a lot. To beat a whole carton…
that gun tucked under your shirt, hanging on your hip might do it. ”
I can’t read Maverick’s expression. His lips thin, eyes unblinking as he stares at Darryl first, glances my way, then back at Darryl.
I’m holding my breath. Maverick promised me that he would win me no matter what, he promised, but would he give up his gun?
That piece of metal—that last relic from his old life—is like Rory’s jacket.
It’s the one thing he seems to really care about.
And, somehow, Darryl knows all about it.
Chloe had told me how to behave while on the stage. Just stand there, smile, and be pretty, she said, before warning me against doing anything that might piss Darryl off while he was standing in front of his men.
Don’t argue, don’t cry, and don’t show any emotion at what’s going on—it’ll be over in a few minutes and then, so long as I mind myself, I’ll be won by a good man who’d be a decent husband.
Except that’s not the way it was supposed to happen. Maverick had a plan.
I stare down at him, struggling to keep my expression from revealing just how fucking scared I am all of a sudden.
He’s not going to let me be sold for a carton of cigarettes… is he?
Mav’s hand slides to his waistband, placed over the bulge that both Darryl and I—and everyone in East Jersey—knows is his revolver. He looks away.
I want to kill him.
My rage returns, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from hurling angry curses at him. I actually bite down so hard that I clip it, the sharp pain making me even more furious as the rusty tang of blood fills my mouth.
I spit down at him and miss by a mile.
That fucker!
“Now, Alexandra,” Darryl says, and though he sounds like he’s simply reproaching me like a genial old grandfather would, I’m not so lost that I don’t hear the warning in his voice, “a carton of cigarettes is nothing to sneeze at. You’ll be happy with Coney.”
Darryl points out in the crowd, and if I thought this nightmare couldn’t get any worse, I was wrong.
He’s pointing at the same creep who grabbed me as he helped me up the steps.
A crumpled carton of cigarettes is held over his head.
When he catches me staring in open horror at him, he licks his lips, then blows me a kiss.
And I decide then and there that if Maverick doesn’t offer up his gun to get me out of this mess, then I wouldn’t rest until I used one of the two remaining bullets on him.
“High bid is Coney’s cigs,” announces Darryl. His echoing laugh makes my skin crawl. “Going once—”
I can’t keep quiet any longer. Through gritted teeth, I hiss Maverick’s name.
“Going twice—”
Maverick lifts up his head. He opens his mouth, but something stops him.
It stops us all.
“Wait! I bid an antidote!”
A ferocious mutter ripples across the crowd. For a second, I’m stunned. I can’t believe what I heard; from the rising volume of the men assembled, they can’t either. An antidote? Even I don’t think I’m worth that much.
Darryl raises his hands up high. “Quiet everyone!” he roars, and the crowd falls silent.
He peers out into the sea of faces below him. They’re all looking over their shoulders, searching for the owner of that voice. An antidote is a huge deal. We all know that.
Who is willing to use one to buy me?
Darryl shields his eyes with his spade of a hand, looking for the bidder. “No one can beat an antidote… if you really have one, that is. Who bid it? Step forward, boy! Show us what you got, and if it’s legit, you can come and claim your prize!”
It’s like the parting of the Red Sea. Everyone in the crowd moves back and away, leaving an empty path that leads right up to the stage.
A single figure stands at the back, his head bowed, a navy blue hood over his head, his hand cradled to his chest. It’s folded into a fist and, as he approaches the front, he opens his hand.
Resting on his palm is a vial that’s a twin to the one Jack gave me, down to the faded red ribbon tied around the bottle.
Darryl picks up the hammer and rings the bell. “And Alexandra is sold for one bottle of antidote to… to… show your face, man. I can’t tell from here. Who the hell are you?”
He hesitates for a moment before he lowers his hood and lifts his head, and I’m finally able to see the face of the man who is willing to trade his antidote for me.
I nearly collapse to my knees when I do.
“Name’s Chase. Chase Knight.”