Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
SLOANE
The diner is dark as I settle on the sofa, hoping to eventually get some sleep on this cold night.
But sleep is the last thing on my mind. My muscles are knotted so tight that my body aches in places I don’t usually notice. Every time I try to relax, I only manage to tense somewhere else, like fear is a liquid that just moves to the next crack.
I’ve been telling myself for an hour that I’m going to fill out the application, upload the photo of myself from Mandy’s birthday, and hit submit. Then it will be done. But the truth is, I keep scrolling up and down the form like I’m looking for an escape hatch that isn’t there.
Just do it. There’s no other way.
My thumb hovers over the first field, the cursor blinking like it’s impatient. With my pulse beating in my skull, I start typing.
Name. Birthday. Phone number. Email. Address. Every field completed until I have to choose the auction type I want to submit for.
I stare at the words—Claim Auction—just imagining what they will cost me, what I am volunteering for, and every sane part of me screams to close the tab and run.
But I check the box anyway. If I start thinking about any of this more than I already am, I won’t be able to go through with it.
When I tap the upload button and my camera roll opens, Milo’s face pops up. There’s a picture of him from last week when I drove past his school just as he got out and I quickly snapped a photo of my baby. Him smiling so wide at a friend, his cheeks look round.
I almost lose it right here, almost fold in half on this couch and let the tears come. I don’t deserve him. I never have.
I scroll until I find the photo of me in the dress. The image attaches to the application, and then I move down to the section where I can list what I don’t want the winner to do to me.
I don’t understand what half of them mean, so I select no on those, plus some that I don’t want to even attempt to try like golden showers. I know what those are, thank you very much.
My thumb drifts down to the bottom of the form where the submit button waits, and a wave of dizziness hits, like the room tilts around me.
Once it’s sent, I can’t take it back.
“Oh, God.” I press a palm to my sternum.
Then I picture Milo asleep, warm and safe and unaware that a monster could be coming for him, and that fear turns into something sharper.
I hit submit in an instant, and simple check mark appears with the word RZVRT on the bottom.
It’s done. I did it.
Shit.
My hands start to shake so badly, I have to knot my fingers around the phone just to keep from dropping it. I gape at the confirmation page until my eyes blur, until the letters smear and I am not even seeing them anymore.
The phone buzzes in my grip.
The sound punches straight through me. I fumble for my messages, half convinced it’s Eli already, sending me a picture of Milo’s body on some dirty floor. The thought is so violent, it’s like a blade twisting under my ribs, and I shove it down as I open the thread.
But all I find is a text from a private number.
Unknown
Your application has been received. If you are accepted, you will be notified within 24 hours.
You will also receive a separate message with the time and location of the event.
A masquerade mask will be mailed to you and must be worn to enter the event.
The message containing the time and location will disappear 30 seconds after being opened.
You are responsible for recording the information.
I read it once, then again. Disappear in thirty seconds? That’s crazy.
Willing my nerves to settle, I pull up Eli’s thread and type with stiff fingers.
Sloane
It’s done.
Eli
K.
K. Like I just told him I picked up milk.
Throwing my arm over my forehead, I focus on the ceiling, the dim outline of water stains and old tiles blurring as my eyes burn.
I keep waiting to wake up from this, to find out it’s just some messed-up dream, but it’s worse than a nightmare.
At least you can wake up from those.
The next day, my phone vibrates in my pocket while I’m balancing two plates on one arm, and the second that buzz hits, my stomach drops.
Eli. It has to be.
Probably texting to harass me about the auction, asking if I’ve heard anything yet, which I haven’t. It hasn’t even been twenty hours, but of course he’d be impatient.
As soon as I drop the plates at a table, I ask one of the girls to watch my section for a minute so I can run to the bathroom. My hands are already sweating by the time I slip into the stall and lock the door. Pulling out my phone, I open my messages, bracing for his name.
But it isn’t a text from Eli.
It’s from an unknown number again. My heart climbs right up my throat as I open it.
Unknown
Congratulations. You have been formally accepted to the auction. Below are your instructions. Please note: this text will disappear in thirty seconds.
I just stare, hardly trusting what I’m seeing.
I’m in.
I’m actually in, which somehow feels like a victory and a loss at the same time.
The details blur as I read: the auction is in four days, the time, the address, more rules about what to wear. Four days. That isn’t a lot of time to figure out what I’ll wear, how to get there, or how not to throw up every time I think about what I’m doing.
Then it hits me.
Oh my God. I have thirty seconds.
Panic lances through me. My fingers go numb as I try to screenshot the text, but a warning pops up and blocks it.
My inhales stutter as I scramble instead to copy and paste the information into an email draft, hands shaking so badly I almost hit the wrong button. I send it to myself, and the moment the message leaves my screen, the original text vanishes like it was never there.
Holy…
I unlock the stall and walk to the sink on unsteady legs, clutching the edge of the counter to take in my reflection.
How did my life end up here? Was I doomed from the start? Or did I choose this?
I don’t even know the answer, but whatever my life has become, I have to try to get out from under Eli’s thumb.
How am I even supposed to make sure Kirill shows up at the club that night? I don’t know if he goes there often or if he’s the kind of owner who keeps his distance, and it’s not like I can just ask him.
I need him to be there. I need him to win.
He’s the only man I trust not to hurt me the way the others would.
Maybe if I tell him I’m doing it for money, that I fought with my sister and got kicked out, he’ll feel sorry for me and let me crash at his place long enough for me to find the safe, block the cameras somehow, and take whatever Eli wants without Kirill ever knowing.
The idea is so pathetic, I almost laugh. It’s never going to work. I’ll have to stall with Eli as long as I can and pray I find another way to keep Milo safe.
In my head, I try to make it sound simple. Maybe Milo can stay with me. Kirill wouldn’t even have to see us. He could stay in his area of the house and we could stay in the basement or something.
Except that’s a lie and I know it, because I want to see him. All the time. I can’t stop thinking about him. About how gentle he is with Lev, how kind he’s been to me, and how much of a father he could be to Milo.
I’m sorry, Kirill. But I need to be done with the gang once and for all.
Even if I have to hurt you to do it.