Chapter Ten
Ravi
The inside of Shadow smells like furniture polish and latex.
The converted mansion is almost entirely open on the bottom floor, with a stage at the back wall and a gleaming giant birdcage to the left, and I sure wonder what goes on there.
Or on the raised platform to the right. Or in the rooms upstairs.
The small rectangular bar, gleaming with cut glasses and polished wood, is the most elegant thing I’ve ever seen.
Michael has wandered over there, admiring the glossy surface and tracing the golden trim with the tips of his fingers.
It definitely looks like the sort of place wealthy people would drink.
Not people who simply have a lot of money, but classy people, stylish people.
People who are friends with politicians and who use their money to pull strings from the shadows.
If I listen carefully, I can almost hear my mom chiding me for my overactive imagination.
Honestly, though, I don’t belong here. My clothes are damp and muddy, and even though the place isn’t open for business yet, the few employees milling about are all polished and well dressed.
Over at the bar, Michael has seated himself to chat with a guy who looks like he’s stocking bottles, his clothes somehow pristine even after slogging through Liam’s muddy yard.
Trying to tamp down my envy, I turn to take in the rest of the massive room, gasping at what’s in the middle of the floor.
There are clusters of comfortable-looking chairs and loveseats, each surrounding a sort of padded table, a low bench similar to what I’ve seen in Liam’s garage.
One group of chairs is situated around a hanging contraption that looks as if it’s maybe meant to tie a person to it?
If I had my phone, I’d take a picture so I could look it up later.
The carpet under my feet has a dark, abstract kind of pattern, sort of like at the movie theater.
Absurdly, I remember an online video about what the carpeting of pricey hotels looks like under a blacklight.
Would it be the same here? Worse? People have sex here, but they have sex in hotels, too. People who aren’t me, obviously.
I make a circle in the middle of the room, picturing it with the lights low and full of people. Do they come here dressed in cocktail attire like the employees, or black latex like I’ve seen in the movies?
Guess I’m about to find out.
“Like what you see?”
“Ah. Sorry.” I’m certain my feet leave the ground when I spin around to find the voice.
It’s the quiet growl of a guy who has power and money but doesn’t need volume to get people’s attention.
Like Liam, sort of, but this guy looks more refined, and he has an accent.
Not sure what kind. British-ish? But not quite. I don’t know.
“You must be Ravi.” He’s looking me up and down, and immediately I wish I could sink into the floor.
I know what I must look like. Soggy. Dirty.
At least I had the foresight to clean my feet off on the mat out front.
Now, though, I realize I should’ve asked Michael if he could take me somewhere to change.
It’s real work, fighting the urge to turn around and slink back out the door.
“Mr. Corvus? Hi.” I hold my hand out, see a smear of mud on my palm, and then pull it back. “I-I’m sorry we’re late. I was kind of…being held prisoner?”
He raises one eyebrow. He won’t believe me, I know he won’t, but I wasn’t sure what else to say. Anything else would be a fake excuse and would probably sound like one.
From living with Liam, I know how easily some people can detect lies. I’d bet my stolen moving fund the owner of Shadow is that kind of guy.
Still shouldn’t have told him you were a prisoner, dumbass.
Daniel Corvus stands close enough that I have to crane my neck to make eye contact. He’s as built as Liam muscle-wise, and he’s got the same calculating look in his eyes. Like even if he sounds friendly and casual he’s probably already thought of how to pin you to the floor if you step out of line.
The thought makes me shiver. Or maybe it’s the air conditioning on my wet clothes?
He’s also very…I don’t know…stately? Like, I could picture him on the back of a horse with a helmet under his arm. His voice makes a weird rumbly sensation in my chest. Not sure what to do with that.
I do my best to hold still as he circles me, his feet silent on the dark carpet beneath our feet. Whatever he’s looking for as he sizes me up, I don’t know if he’ll find it.
“Held prisoner? I don’t see a tattered dress or long, flowing hair.”
Shaking my head makes my glasses slip down my nose. I push them back up again. “I’m sorry? I don’t understand.” Was that sexist? Should I be offended?
He tilts his head to one side and then the other, examining me. Self-consciousness has me wanting to shrink back, but then again, I’ll have more than one person staring at me on the night of the auction. It’s probably something I should get used to.
“You don’t look like a helpless maiden.”
“Oh. Uh, I’m not? I had to pick a lock, though. I’d seen videos of it but never practiced on that kind, so it took me a while.”
Why am I even blurting these things out? Why does he keep staring at me like that? I don’t like the way he pauses and stares after every sentence. It gives me this squirmy, uncomfortable sensation that he’s rooting around in my brain or looking into my soul or something.
God, imagine if someone could really do that. I’m not sure they’d like what they found.
“Ravi…Novak. is that correct?”
“Is that correct?” Wait, he’s asking me. “Uh. Yes. Sir.”
I don’t know why I tack on the last part, only that it feels important.
“Your parents are Polish?”
“My father. My mother’s from Jamshedpur. India.” I cough to clear the tight feeling in my throat. “Was.”
He takes a breath that’s deep and slow, and for some reason I find myself doing the same thing. Which is good, I suppose. Now my shoulders aren’t so tight.
“This auction. Are you certain it’s something you’re willing to do?”
“Oh.” I straighten my spine. “Yes. Sir. Very certain.”
“Are you certain it’s something you want to do?”
I open my mouth, about to repeat my previous answer, wondering why he’s asking me the same question twice. But then it hits me. I don’t think he is asking the same question.
Do I want to do this? As in, is it something I desire? “It was my idea.”
“Hmm.” It’s impressive, really, how he packs so much skepticism into that one sound.
Maybe I haven’t hidden my mixed feelings as well as I thought.
Deep down inside where nobody can see is this little burning ember that still glows with all the hopes I’ve ever had about Liam and what I wish we could be to each other. About having a family. Belonging.
Doing this auction means snuffing that ember out. Pouring cold water on it. Stomping it to dust. When I think of killing it, my stomach feels like it’s full of battery acid.
It also feels necessary. How else will I ever move on?
I mirror Mr. Corvus’s breaths by taking another slow and deep one of my own. “I’m certain that I need the money, sir. I’m also certain that I’m willing.”
The corners of his mouth lift a little. From the look on his face, I could swear he understands what I’m saying and everything I’m not.
It’s almost nice to feel like someone understands. Even if that someone is as intimidating as Daniel Corvus.
He pulls a clipboard from behind his back. How did I not notice he was holding it this entire time?
You were too distracted by the way he’s eyeing you up like a prize-winning purebred.
“Fill this out. It’ll be useful in weeding out the applicants for attending your auction. There’s been a great deal of interest, and we have limited space.”
Once again, I scan the room we’re in. It’s huge. I can’t see how they would fill it, much less have to turn people away.
“The final page is a contract,” he continues. “Dotting our i’s and crossing our t’s, legally speaking.”
A contract. For the auction. I can’t decide whether that’s terrifying or awesome. Maybe both, from the way my heartbeat is all scattered.
When I take the list and scan it, I can see what he’s getting at. It’s a list of kinks, with a row of checkboxes next to each one. A box to mark if I’ve tried it, a box to mark if I haven’t, and a box to mark if it’s something I’m definitely willing to do, maybe, or definitely not.
“There are things on here I’ve never even heard of,” I say with a hard swallow. “I’ve been doing a lot of research but…” Clothespins? Sensory deprivation? “Why is kissing on here?”
Kissing? Like Penny Mackenzie at the fall festival? There wasn’t even tongue. Her dad’s a pastor. Like Dean at that party? None of that seemed kinky at all.
I’m going to have to look all of this stuff up later. If I had my phone I could take a picture.
“Kissing isn’t always as vanilla as one assumes, and it’s not something everyone enjoys. Explicit consent is best.”
I think of Liam throwing me across his lap and pulling my pants down at three in the morning.
Did he know he didn’t need my consent because he already had it?
Because when I offered myself to him at eighteen I was willing to give him every part of me, and everything I had?
Or did he simply think it was his right, because I’m his “job”?
Probably the second one.
Which burns, honestly. As much of an asshole as he’s been, there’s never been anything I wouldn’t do for him, except stay in a cage. That’s much worse than a crush, I know it is. My therapist would certainly have some things to say about that if I’d ever admitted it to her.
“Got it,” I tell Mr. Corvus. At least I think I do?
When I get to the line item about spanking, I suppress a shiver and try my hardest to keep my thoughts from wandering.
I don’t need to confuse myself any further now, and I definitely don’t want a hard-on in front of the owner of a sex club.
I squeeze my eyes shut and picture a bloody scene of lions eating a giraffe before checking “no” that I haven’t tried it and “no” that I definitely don’t want to.
That’ll be easier. I think?
Maybe it’s stupid to want to keep my first and last orgasm with Liam sacred. Maybe I won’t always feel this way. But yeah, for now, easier.
“A word of advice,” Mr. Corvus adds.
I swear my blood flow screeches to a halt. Does he know I just lied on the form? God, imagine if Liam saw this list. Would he be mad I lied? Would he punish me again?
I force another hard swallow. “Yes, sir?”
“For the purposes of this auction, if you’re uncertain about something, check the box for no.
You’ll be in an intense situation with an unfamiliar person whom you may or may not trust. I’ve already made it clear to Brennan and to my employees who are handling logistics that there will be no body modification allowed. ”
“Body mod—” The heading jumps at me on the list. “Branding. Scarification… Tattoos? People get off on that stuff?”
Hopefully his frown isn’t really as judgy as I’m making it out to be when he says, “You have no idea.”
Clearly, I don’t.
But I’d like to. I make a mental note to look that up later.
My eyes drift shut for a second, picturing the knife Liam always keeps clipped to his belt. Or the long one with the thin blade he uses when he’s interrogating people.
He doesn’t think I know about that, but when I first came to live with him, I didn’t like being left by myself.
One night I hid in his back seat, following him to a warehouse in the East End.
It was the first time I’d had a response to blood that wasn’t getting lightheaded.
Maybe because I knew if Liam was hurting the man, it must have been something he deserved.
My breath hitches when I picture Liam over me with that same knife, slowly and carefully bringing up a line of blood on my chest.
Oh, fuck. That’s… A shiver hits me hard.
I might need some help.
Daniel clears his throat.
My eyes fly open, and I shake myself, trying to clear the thought. “You’re right, I don’t think I’d want to do that with someone I didn’t trust.”
Unpacking the idea of trusting the man who locked me in my room this morning? That’s a problem for Tomorrow Ravi.
“I’ve done plenty of these auctions in the past. For charity, but never before for a person’s virginity.
I think it’s a strange obsession humanity has with that sort of thing.
Still, this event has the potential to bring in a great deal of money.
Mr. Doyle and I are both investing time and resources, with the expectation of a substantial return.
It would be unpleasant for everyone if you were to have a last-second change of heart. ”
I know it’s the lighting, but I swear his eyes flash with the threat. And I definitely hear a threat.
I think I get what he’s saying. And everything he’s not.
If I changed my mind now and walked away, they’d be pissed.
If I change my mind after signing this contract when I’m about to go on stage and he’s got this club filled with people who are expecting a show, I’m going to be in a world of trouble.
Probably massive trouble. He’s definitely reminding me more of Liam. And, well, I’ve seen Liam tie a guy up and carve him into pieces for doing something wrong. What would Daniel Corvus do?
With a nod, I roll my shoulders back, lift my chin, and meet his eyes. “I won’t change my mind.”
Saying it out loud, I can hear the nail being hammered into my coffin. In spite of my certainty, it makes my stomach turn.
“Good.” His smile is unsettling. “Then there’s just one more thing I need from you.”