Chapter 12 – EMMA
EMMA
The fire crackles in the tense silence, flames dancing in shadows across the walls while Kozlov sips his whiskey and watches me like a cat watching a mouse. I keep my eyes fixed on my hands, clasped so tightly in my lap that my knuckles have gone white, and try to remember how to breathe.
Bodhi stands behind me, far too big to sit safely on the antique furniture.
He stays close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body.
Every few seconds, I hear the soft creak of boot leather as he shifts his weight.
When he rests his fingers on the back of the sofa, not touching me, but almost, I recognise it for what it is. Reassurance.
But nothing anyone can say or do is going to make me feel any better right now.
I’m still reeling from the pantry. My skin feels too tight, overheating and torturously unsatisfied. When I shift on the sofa, a jolt of pleasure shoots through my core, sharp enough to make me catch my breath.
And it feels shamefully wrong to still be on the precipice of coming when I’m facing a monumentally dangerous situation like this.
My flimsy underwear is soaked through, the evidence of how close I came to falling apart against him now cooling against my skin. If I close my eyes, I can still feel the way his hands gripped my thighs, that barely contained power ready to be unleashed on me.
The doorbell echoes through the house, and Kozlov rises from his chair, smoothing his jacket.
“Ah. Right on time.” He sets down his glass and moves toward the door. “Remember, Emma. Smile. Be charming. First impressions matter.”
The threat underneath his pleasant tone is unmistakable. I force my spine straighter and arrange my features into something I hope resembles composure. Much as I want to fuck up the auction for Kozlov, I don’t think humiliating him publicly is the way to go.
Kozlov opens the door, and a couple steps into the suddenly overcrowded room.
The woman is older than I’d expect, mid-forties perhaps, with elegant blonde hair that’s swept up in a sophisticated chignon and diamonds glittering at her ears and throat.
She’s beautiful in a well-maintained, expensive way.
Her eyes sweep over me with the cool assessment of a surgeon looking for flaws to be fixed.
I assumed she’d be younger, bending to the will of her rich, possibly abusive, definitely manipulative husband. But this woman, far from being na?ve and submissive, looks like she’s equally in charge of the decision-making process.
“Pretty. And I like that she’s not some runaway teen.”
Because it makes this more palatable that I’m of legal age?
I want to scream that she’s a vile disgrace of a woman, but I don’t. Instead, I bite back the retort that’s dancing on the tip of my tongue and keep my expression neutral.
Because it’s the man who makes my stomach turn, and I can’t force my eyes away from him. My finely attuned senses know that he’s the immediate threat in the room, understated and well-hidden, but bone-chillingly lethal nonetheless.
He’s younger than his companion, maybe late thirties, with a handsome face that might be appealing if not for the vicious hunger in his gaze as it locks onto me. His eyes travel down my body slowly, deliberately, lingering on my breasts, my hips, the hem of my skirt.
“Quite lovely,” he murmurs, and the word slithers across my skin. ”Well done, Mr. Kozlov.”
Behind me, Bodhi goes rigid. The air around him seems to thicken, and I resist the urge to lean back into his strength. He gets the same feeling I do.
“Mr. and Mrs. Ashworth.” Kozlov’s voice is warm as he gestures toward the sofas. “Please, make yourselves comfortable. Can I offer you a drink?”
“Scotch,” the man says, his eyes never leaving me. “Neat.”
“Just water for me.” The woman settles onto the sofa across from mine. “She’s thinner than the photos online suggested.”
They have photos of me. Online.
That first night, after they took me from my apartment, Kozlov had me pose for some pictures, saying it was to remind Jake what he needed to do. To keep him focussed on the task at hand.
Obviously not. I wonder how many other potential buyers have been studying my face, my body, deciding whether I’m worth the investment?
“Emma is exceptional, a rare find, I think you’ll agree.” Kozlov hands out drinks. “No family to speak of. A brother who’s indebted to me. And no boyfriend, of course, completely untouched. Nobody will be looking for her.”
Hearing my sad life laid out like that is jarring.
I have friends, work colleagues, some exes who might wonder where I’ve gone. But he’s right, other than Jake, I have nobody who’ll go out of their way to look for me when I don’t turn up for work. Nobody who’d scorch the earth to figure out what happened after I’m declared a missing person.
Ashworth leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Is that so?” His smile is insipid.
Kozlov nods enthusiastically. “So less risky than our other premium option, as you requested.”
Mrs. Ashworth nods, but her husband’s eyes narrow. It’s not him who wants less risk. I get the distinct impression that for him, the taboo nature of this arrangement, and perhaps the thrill of possibly getting caught, is part of the appeal.
“But safer doesn’t have to mean boring. She’ll be yours to do with as you please. To teach. To train. To share.”
The blonde’s eyes light up. “A blank canvas.” She leans into her husband, resting her slim hand on his arm. “Our options would be more… limited… with the other girl.”
My throat burns with both humiliation and fear, making it hard to swallow. It’s like Kozlov is trying to give him ideas for all the depraved, fucked-up things he could do with me once he hands me over.
“A virgin, you say? And how can we be certain of that?” He doesn’t direct the question at Kozlov.
Instead, he looks me dead in the eye. “She could be lying. She wouldn’t be the first woman to erase her body count when asked.
” He laughs. “I mean, who gets to twenty-five without having some kind of regrettable tumble in the hay?”
Kozlov’s smile doesn’t waver. My cheeks burn. Every instinct screams at me to refuse, but I can feel Kozlov’s eyes on me, the implicit threat if I don’t answer.
“I’ve never...” I have to stop and swallow to force the words out. “I’ve never been with anyone. Not... not like that.”
Ashworth’s tongue darts out to wet his lips. “Never? Not even fooling around with high school boyfriends? A little oral experimentation in college?”
The questions are invasive and degrading. I feel tears prickling and blink them away.
“No.” My voice comes out steadier than I expected. “Nothing except kissing and some heavy petting.”
At my back, it’s like I can feel Bodhi’s swell in size and stature. His thighs press against the couch, and his fingers are digging into the fabric. He might be a criminal, but I don’t think this kind of enterprise is within his comfort zone.
“Remarkable.” The woman’s tone is clinical, even as her husband sits back, fingers steepled, seemingly satisfied that I’m speaking the truth. “Though you’ll understand we can’t simply take her word for it. We’ve been disappointed before.”
Kozlov inclines his head. “Of course. What did you have in mind?”
“An examination.” Ashworth’s smile widens. “A proper medical verification. We have a physician we trust, very discreet and thorough. She’ll need to be examined before we’re willing to place a serious bid.”
Examined. I dig my nails into my palms, focusing on the sharp bite of pain. The only way someone will be examining me is when I’m cold and dead.
I’ll fight to my last breath before I let that happen.
“That can certainly be arranged,” Kozlov says smoothly. “If you’re prepared to place a deposit, I can have a physician verify her before the auction.”
The couple nods, like this is normal, like getting a mechanic to check over a second-hand car you’re purchasing, or a vet to look at a horse, and not two people buying a person and wanting to satisfy their sick, twisted minds that their deviant behavior is going to be her first sexual encounter.
“The deposit would need to be substantial.” Kozlov continues. “I have several other interested parties, and I’ve already turned down offers north of one million.”
One million. That’s what I’m worth to these people? Or not me, but rather the idea of fulfilling some fucked-up kink with a person who’s powerless to stop them.
“We’re prepared to transfer a quarter of a million tonight.” The woman opens her clutch. “As a show of good faith. The remainder upon successful verification and completion of the sale.”
A quarter of a million dollars just to hold their place in line. Just for the privilege of having a doctor confirm that no one has fucked me yet. No wonder Kozlov seems to have lost interest in collecting Jake’s debt.
“Deposits are non-refundable,” Kozlov reminds, his beady eyes shining with delight at the windfall. He rubs his greedy hands together with glee. “I just want to make sure you understand in case you’re not successful at the auction.”
Ashworth is still staring at me. He hasn’t stopped since he walked in, his gaze crawling over my skin. “We will be.”
My heart sinks. This is a man with the determination and means to get whatever he wants, and right now, that’s me. I already know the auction is merely going to set the final price; the winner is inevitable.
His wife’s adoring smile is tight, and I wonder if her enjoyment of these encounters is genuine.
“She really is exquisite,” he says to his wife, as if I’m not sitting right here. “Look at those eyes. That mouth.” He tilts his head. “I wonder if she’s a natural blonde.”
The woman laughs, a brittle sound. “You’ll find out soon enough, darling.” Mr. Ashworth stands and reluctantly shakes Kozlov’s hand. While his attention is elsewhere, the wife looks at him with a hatred that runs deep, then at me, with pity and anger that’s chilling.
That look isn’t one of desire, it’s something colder. She’s going to enjoy taking her rage out on me. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and all that.
Behind me, Bodhi shifts again, and I hear the soft sound of his knuckles cracking. Normally, I wouldn’t tolerate the idea of violence against a woman, but in this case, I believe I could make an exception.
Kozlov is walking the Ashworths through the terms, the minimum bid, the payment arrangements, and the transfer of ownership. What to do after, when they wish to end their possession of me. I focus on the hypnotic flames, letting the words wash over me but refusing to absorb them.
In my mind, I’m back in that pantry. Bodhi’s hands on my thighs. His growl against my ear. The way he said “no” as if it was killing him.
He said no, but his body said yes. And I’m not giving up.
When that physician examines me and discovers I’m not what Kozlov promised, these smug bastards will demand their deposit back. Kozlov will lose his mind. The auction will be ruined.
And I’ll be dead.
The thought sparks something warm in my chest. Satisfaction. Defiance.
Ashworth is describing what he plans to do with me after the purchase, his voice low and eager, and I tune him out completely. I will never be in his bed. I will never let those manicured hands touch my skin.
At this point, I don’t even care that it will cost me my life. I just hope Kozlov will be so enraged he’ll kill me quickly.
Kozlov is walking them toward the door, still outlining transfer procedures, when I hear the front entrance open and close, and the sounds of running feet.
Then the lights flicker.
Once, twice, then the room plunges into darkness.
Murmurs of concern quickly escalate into barked orders when the lights stay off. Dimitri orders the men to check the hallway, the entrance, the perimeter, and his radio pressed to his ear.
I twist, immediately turning to Bodhi.
He presses a finger to his lips and closes his eyes, head tilted, listening. When his eyes fly open, shining in the firelight, his whole expression hardens, like something inside him just snapped into place.
“Not here,” he murmurs, so low I almost miss it. “East wing.”
Bodhi grabs me under both armpits and hauls me up and over the back of the sofa like I weigh nothing at all, his mouth at my ear. “Stay down. Don’t move.”
Then he’s gone, moving toward the doorway before anyone else wraps their head around what to do.
He yanks the door open, and the muffled pop, pop of silenced gunshots floats in from somewhere outside the room. Then runs straight out into the mayhem.