Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Rian
Igrunt and release the rope I'm holding, which is knotted around the neck of a low-level Vitelli thug. He slumps to the ground. For a moment I think I killed him, but then he inhales a sputtering, red-faced breath, clutching at the rope.
"Useless." I spit on him. "You said you had information about her."
The thug crawls away from me, still choking and gasping for air. I showed up at his front door twenty minutes ago, because he anonymously tipped Ransom off that he had a scoop on where Noemi could be. When I asked him, with a noose around his neck, he stammered out the name of her bookstore.
That's the news he thought was worthy of a pile of reward money.
My phone rings. I check it, see it's Ransom, and answer while I pull the gun from my waistband and put a bullet in the thug's head. It makes a mess of blood and gray matter on the floor when it passes through his skull.
"Yeah," I say into the phone.
"Jesus, man." Ransom chuckles. "I'm guessing that's the last tip?"
"Give me a name," I growl.
"It's from Noemi's aunt. Kathleen Caruso."
I go still. "That sounds like it could be something."
"Yeah. You're not going to like it, though."
"Ransom, I swear—"
"Okay! Okay. She tipped me off that the Vitellis are hosting a very special auction. What they're calling a Sleeping Beauty auction. All the girls for sale are given a shit ton of Gloss, dressed up, and put on display according to value."
"What the fuck?" Alarm floods my system.
"Virgins are the highest value. Then it's ranked by—"
"I don't fucking care. When is it? Where?"
"I'm sending you the coordinates," Ransom says.
"When does it happen?" Beast is whipping up into a maelstrom, shouting vile things about me, about what men are probably doing to her as I stand here.
"Be patient, Rian. The bidding starts in an hour."
"Fuck."
"It's going to be okay. I can put your name on the list of approved guests. We can send men there to back you up, just in case."
I look at the coordinates and immediately recognize the area. Heavy industrial neighborhood in the Bronx.
"Hale. I want Hale there, in case things go sideways."
"Of course. But I'll come too. I might not be a bare-knuckle boxer, but I can hold my own."
"I can pump up your ego later. Right now, I can't let my girl be sold off."
"Your girl, huh?" Ransom says.
I hang up and look down at myself. Plain black t-shirt, black leather motorcycle jacket, black jeans. Not exactly what your usual buyer wears to these auctions, I'd bet. No time to find something nicer. Getting there will have to be enough.
* * *
In an hour, someone is going to buy the woman I've kept alive for four months. That someone is going to be me, or it's going to be a man who paid to hurt her. Those are the only two options.
Fuck, my hands are shaking. I clench my fists.
I meet Ransom and Hale a couple of blocks from the address with only a few minutes to spare.
Ransom is dressed like a goddamn politician, his Brioni suit and neat Oxfords perfectly in place, his dark hair slicked back, his eyes sharp with readiness.
Hale, on the other hand, is dressed like a thug.
His hair has been buzzed, he wears a black hoodie and sweats, and his knuckles are still split open from a recent run-in. He lifts his chin when he sees me.
"Come on." Ransom motions to me. "There are some of our guys arriving, but they won't be here before the auction starts."
I follow him down the street, glancing behind me to make sure Hale is with us. Hale isn’t the most talkative guy. What is he is a solid brick wall, covered in scars, and fucking terrifying to looking at. He's the first one you want in your corner when weapons aren't an option, though.
He’s got a killer right hook.
Ransom hands me a long, thin ceramic blade in a sheath. "Tuck it somewhere in your jacket."
I have just the spot—a hidden pocket on the side of my jacket that looks like part of the seam. A vision of my future swims in the back of my head. Me pulling this blade on the first guy I encounter after I walk through the door. Hot blood on my hands, his screams in my ears.
My mouth curls up at the corner. I don’t know what lies ahead, but I know I’m ready for anything.
"You're enjoying this," Ransom says, watching me check the blade's weight. "The part where you get to save your girl."
"A little." I tuck it into the seam pocket. "Better an avenging angel than a silent martyr."
"Mm." He straightens his cuffs. "And it doesn't bother you, going to this much trouble over a woman who doesn’t even know you exist? She could hate you."
I look at him. He's got that flat, amused expression he wears when he thinks he's the reasonable one in the conversation. Ransom likes being the man who keeps his head while everyone around him loses theirs.
"That's funny," I say. "Coming from you."
His expression doesn't change, but something behind it does. He eyes me. "You want to explain that?"
"I’ve seen you at the Candy Club. Ever since we opened that spot, you’re up there. Four nights a week, sometimes five." I straighten my cuffs. “You think you’re a mystery, but I’ve seen you watching the same shot girl for weeks. Tell me. Have you said a single word to her?"
Ransom's jaw works. Hale, behind us, goes very still, looking amused.
"That's different," Ransom says. “You don’t know who she is.”
"Does it matter?" I roll my shoulders, loosening up for what's coming. “You’re not as opaque as you think, Ransom.”
His bright blue eyes narrow. “You stay away from her.”
“I’ve got my hands full.” I raise my hands. “I’m just saying that everybody seems to have a pressure point. Hale, back me up.”
“No.” Hale chuckles and shakes his head.
“Fucking cowboys,” I mutter. “We’ll see what you say when you get your girls.”
“Never going to happen,” Ransom says.
“What he said.” Hale jerks his thumb at his brother.
"At least I'm doing something," I tell him. "You just sit there and call it restraint."
Ransom looks at me for a long moment. Then he turns toward the warehouse like the conversation's over, which is how I know I'm right.
"We’ll talk about this later," he says. "We're up."
Nodding to Ransom, I follow him up to the door of a warehouse. A guard stands outside, armed to the teeth and wearing an earpiece. Ex-military, if I had to guess. He examines our hands as we approach.
"We're on the list." Ransom smiles at him, which has to be eerie rather than disarming. "Doug Parks, Adam Rendon, and Jay Black." He points to me and Hale. I'm apparently Adam for the evening.
Hale keeps his eyes on the guard as he checks his iPad. Then he searches us for weapons and opens the door.
"Masks are required." A young woman wearing a mask and a see-through lace dress offers us a silver tray of masquerade masks. We all take one and pull them on. Faintly, I can hear the low thud of techno music as she waves us on and parts a black curtain.
When I walk in, it's obvious this place is used regularly for trafficking auctions.
The stage is the main focus of the room, large and lavishly decorated with an ornate curtain drawn to a close.
To the left of it is a sleek bar, behind which two masked women take drink orders and make cocktails.
What gets my attention are the clusters of men spread out around the room, chatting and waiting for the auction to begin.
Nearly all of them are dressed in suits, as if this is an occasion to be celebrated.
My blood runs hot at the sight of them. A woman carrying a tray of drinks flits between the groups. When one of the customers grabs her and pulls her down onto a couch, she gasps. No one even breaks their conversation when the man shoves his hand up her short skirt and bites her neck.
There's no recourse for her. Hale's body stiffens, but I put a hand on his arm. If he starts a brawl before the bidding even begins, we're screwed. Hale's expression flickers. He shakes off my touch, but he doesn't make a move either. Hale hates to be touched.
"Let's grab a drink," Ransom suggests. "And then we can find a seat for the auction."
We saunter over to the bar. I try to keep my movements casual as I glance around, assessing the room. Guards carry automatic rifles at all the doors and more men with guns move through the small crowd. My assumption is that they work for the Vitellis.
I'm not a good man by any stretch of the word.
I kill people for a living and enjoy it, or at the very least feel nothing when I pull a trigger or squeeze the last breath out of a man whose number is up.
But for putting lovely, soft Noemi in danger, the Vitellis are dead, down to a man. My fury burns white-hot in my core.
"Gentlemen." A well-appointed man in his fifties strolls up to us, a suspicious smile on his face.
"This is a first. Usually, I know everyone on the short invite list for my little auctions.
" He seems to zero in on Ransom as the one in charge—maybe because he's the only one of the three of us in a suit. "Leo Vitelli."
“Ah, the Vitelli second in command.” Ransom smiles that shark-like grin. "Nice to meet you. We were referred by a mutual acquaintance. Mayor Pendleton?"
"Indeed." Vitelli's gaze flicks over me and Hale. "He’s a good customer. Influential enough to get you on the list, sight unseen."
Ransom merely nods. "We're excited to buy some new inventory. We just arrived in the city and weren't able to bring our own girls."
Leo seems to relax a little, his eyes glittering. "Would you like to see the list?"
Hale grunts beside me. I've known the guy for years, so I can easily read the sound as, I can't wait to kill this idiot. Leo hasn't had the pleasure, so he misreads it as excitement. His eyes light up and he passes us each a black binder. I clutch mine. My pulse skyrockets.
Kill him. Kill them all, you worthless idiot. What are you waiting for? Beast snarls.
He's not wrong, but he's not helping my patience just now.
"Since you're new, should I explain what's about to happen?" Leo asks.