Chapter 9 #3
Now pay attention because I will only say this once, because this is something that shouldn’t be said at all.
I could be relieved from my duties within the agency and permanently removed from the world for even speaking these words out loud to an outsider.
Consider yourself lucky, and warned. If I go down, you are coming with me.
Tonight there will be one winner. They take the prize.
The one prize up for auction is, Bensen.
And this is how the Blood Sport Agency really gets paid, while also getting a tiny percentage of my initial payment from the bounty.
They keep the cash from tonight, thus continuing the endless cycle of the rich getting away with murder, literally.
While also ridding the world of people that serve no use to them, the criminals.
Once the auction draws to a close and a winner is declared, they, the agency, will deliver Bensen on a silver fucking platter to the Blood Sport cabin. Folks are driven there blindfolded. I don’t know where the cabin is located. Only those who have had the privilege of visiting have a general idea.
I’ve heard rumblings, rumors if you will, that it’s just north of the city. Outside of Sleepy Hollow on a large acreage. Others have whispered it’s in Long Island, Amityville specifically. It’s hard to say what is fact from fiction. It truly doesn’t matter, even if I am a tad nosy.
Regardless, once the auction winner arrives, they release the prey and hunt their prize.
Yes, you heard that right.
It’s a Blood Sport. Their agency name is truly fitting.
There can be a couple of hunts happening at the same time. Sometimes friends will save their wins and they plan their trip together and make a weekend of it. There are also times when multiple winners want to hunt at the same time, making it a group hunt completion. Who can get their prey first?
A loud whistle interrupts my explanation, bringing all attention back to the warehouse.
The room is quiet. Some folks are sat surrounding the middle, circling Bensen, shadows covering the features of their faces.
Others stand behind them, and I step to the side to watch the main event.
A few women are here, but the majority of the space is filled with men, generations.
I can’t entirely fault them. Their desire pays my bills, and it’s what they were taught growing up as acceptable behavior. Who am I to judge it?
A middle-aged gentleman in the front row gets things started with the rise of his finger and three words. “One hundred thousand.”
The auctioneer repeats the bid and encourages more to roll in.
“One hundred thousand. Do we have two hundred?”
Oh, that is quite the jump.
A nod from one of the older females marks her bid of two hundred thousand dollars.
Interesting.
Bensen could have had many encounters with the individuals here tonight, not just with the person who put the bounty on her.
They could be bidding for their chance of revenge as well.
It’s hard to say what drives everyone’s intent here this evening.
What is for certain is that the result from the auction leads to Bensen being murdered.
All evidence of her life will disappear along with her body afterward.
And me?
I will be on to the next hunt.
A slight war of back-and-forth commences between the two, driving up the price until a deep, dominant voice steals the attention of the room. “Three seventy-five.”
Shivers tickle down my spine. This is getting exciting. The palms of my hands rub together in anticipation.
“Fuck you!”
Oh, Bensen, fighting your fate never works here, darling.
“Do we have four hundred?” the auctioneer asks the crowd of millionaires and billionaires which has now drawn quiet. Nobody responds.
“Three seventy-five going once, going twice.” He pauses, glancing around once more before ending the auction. “Sold for three hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars! Congratulations, sir. Come meet your prize.”
The room claps. The individuals seated rise, and Bensen screams bloody murder.
“I hate you. I fucking hate you! TRAITOR! Fuck you!”
Oh, my. Surely she isn’t talking to me? I don’t even know her.
I poke my head around, opening my ears to the whispers which have already erupted. Being petite in these situations is always favorable.
“Oh my word, is that…” one older lady questions to herself while literally clutching her pearls. Another person answers her as his eyes widen in shock. I bounce on the balls of my feet in anticipation.
Who is it?
“I thought he was dead?” another voice from behind me whispers.
Who was dead? I wonder silently.
While another questions, “I think… it can’t be. Can it?”
Who can’t it be? Somebody say something. Please.
“How is he here? Jesus Christ.”
“It’s Greg.”
Her mentor!
My jaw drops to the floor. Ophelia, Taco, and Connor gasp in unison.
Hands reach to my head, fingers tangle in my hair, and I am in complete disbelief.
This is fucking iconic.
He is her maker. Literally. What a full circle moment.
Greg steps forward. He is definitely older, gosh, he could be in his late eighties, or dare I say nineties.
Taco is eager for information. “Tell us what’s happening.”
I cover my mouth casually. “It’s Greg. Without a doubt. And the way he is looking at her with his eyes and teeth, it’s like, ‘you’re fucking mine and you better be scared.’”
Taco wallows. “Ugh, to be a fly in that hunt.”
The auctioneer, who is masked in a balaclava, walks to meet Greg beside a disgruntled Bensen.
They exchange whispers. Greg glances at his phone once before nodding.
Then the two separate. Mr. Burly snatches Bensen and the room begins to clear.
I follow the crowd, leaving the warehouse.
This part is quick. The longer we stay at a location, the more suspicious it gets.
Rows of luxury cars lining the streets by a warehouse isn’t a good look no matter the time of day.
Curious minds tend to explore and we can’t have loose ends.
And you are a curious mind who got to peek inside this evening. Don’t make me fucking regret it. Remember, this is worse than fight club. This life, it’s a Blood Sport. And I will hunt you if you ever dare to betray me, or the agency. For the right price, of course.