Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
SLOANE
The rest of the week blurs into a nervous haze, and before I’m ready, the night of the auction arrives.
I’m already in the driver’s seat, the black pencil dress I’ve owned forever hugging my hips and thighs—a little tighter than I remember, though. I smooth it down for the fifth time, my fingers shaking from the nerves sitting in the pit of my gut.
Mandy’s kitten heels are on my feet, the ones I was supposed to return and completely forgot about. At least they’re cute and low enough that I won’t snap an ankle in them tonight.
My brain is wired like I swallowed ten coffees, even though I’ve had nothing but water and a few bites of food I barely tasted.
I sit there with both hands braced on the wheel, dragging air in and out until my lungs start working again.
You’re doing this for Milo. You’re protecting him. It’s what any good mother would do.
The words don’t calm me, but they’re the only ones I’ve got.
The mask sits on the passenger seat, still nestled in its black velvet box, the lid stamped with a black circle and a red club. I’m supposed to put it on when I get there, wherever “there” even is.
It’s gorgeous; I’ll give it that. Deep green with intricate lace and tiny stones around the eyes. It also looks expensive enough to make my stomach tighten.
I start the car before I can chicken out, the engine coughing to life. The address from the text is already pulled up on my phone, a blue line guiding me turn by turn toward the worst decision I’ve ever made.
Streetlights thin out as I drive, buildings giving way to warehouses, auto shops, and lots packed with shipping containers. Then the cars start appearing, one after another, too polished for this part of town. Black sedans. Low, sleek sports cars. SUVs with tinted windows.
By the time the navigation tells me I’ve arrived, my palms are slick on the wheel.
A line of masked people moves toward a glass door. Men in tuxes, women in beautiful gowns. Their voices drift back to me, easy and amused, like this is a normal Friday night for them.
Maybe it is, but for me, this is insanity.
The building itself looks like an abandoned warehouse, three stories of dark brick and blacked-out windows looming ahead, set back from the road. People start to form a line before a man in a red devil’s mask appears.
I roll forward with the line of cars, my little Volkswagen hopelessly out of place between a sleek black sedan and a low silver sports car, then pull into an open spot and cut the engine before I can talk myself out of it.
“Okay,” I whisper. “You’re a big girl. You’ve got this.”
But the last time I was at any kind of party, I got too drunk and ended up pregnant, so I’m not much of a party girl these days. Especially when said party is actually a sex club.
My God, I never thought I’d actually say that.
Sliding my mask into place, I grab my handbag and step out, shutting the door behind me. My nerves hit my gut as I wait in line, a few women glancing over with knowing grins.
“Hi,” one of them says.
“Uh, hey…”
Her gaze rakes over me like she’s sizing me up. “You look nervous.” A laugh slips out, her red lips tipping up. “First time?”
I nod, and the woman beside her giggles, both of them glittering behind gold masks studded with rhinestones. The first one leans closer like she’s about to share gossip, then pauses when her friend murmurs something in her ear, and her whole expression stills.
“Are you joining the claim?”
My pulse jumps as the line inches forward. “How did you know?”
She flicks her eyes to my mask. “Color gives it away. People doing the claim wear the same shade.”
“You’re brave,” her friend adds, tugging at the delicate straps of a white gown that barely qualifies as fabric. It’s sheer enough that I can make out everything. She looks pleased about it too. “A month with a stranger is…a lot.”
Yeah, thanks for the reminder, asshole.
“She’ll be fine. People here know how to behave.”
“Because if they don’t…” the friend says, smile turning sly. “The owners get unhappy.”
They both laugh like it’s a private joke.
“What do you know about them?” I ask.
They both fall into a long silence.
The first woman tips her chin up. “If you don’t already know, you don’t need to.”
The friend glances toward the door, then back. “Trust me.”
As soon as I’m about to ask more, they’re next in line. The man in that red devil’s mask scans theirs and lets them pass through the glass doors. Inside, I catch a flash of a chandelier and velvet sofas before they’re swallowed by the crowd.
They step into an elevator, and the doors slide shut.
Then it’s my turn. The same man scans my mask and a soft beep sounds.
“Phone.”
“What?”
“You have phone in bag, yes?” His thick Russian accent carries a bite.
“Oh. Yeah. I have to hand it in?”
He nods once. “Da. You get it after you are done.”
Clearly, I have no choice. Digging the phone out of my bag, I hand it over, hating that I have to. If something goes wrong in there, I’m on my own.
He drops it into a clear bag and writes a number on it that probably matches whatever’s coded into my mask.
“Do not remove your mask inside.”
I nod again, not trusting my voice.
“Go.” He motions toward the door, and I slip inside fast, where a woman immediately steps into my path. She’s in a fitted black gown that skims every curve, a slim red collar sitting snug at her throat.
Without a word, she reaches past me to press the elevator button. I stay close to her, tension humming under my skin as I try to guess what’s waiting for me upstairs. When the doors glide open, she tips her chin toward the car, letting me step in first.
As the elevator climbs, my heartbeat ramps up with it, each number lighting and changing overhead like a countdown I can’t stop watching.
“Once you arrive, check in at the table located to the left,” she finally says. “Do not enter through the main doors. That is for club participants only.”
“Okay.”
Trust me, I have no desire to participate, lady.
When the elevator finally slows, I swear the air leaves my lungs.
I can’t back out now. All I can do is hang on to my one desperate hope that Kirill is the one who wins and keeps this from turning into something I can’t undo.
The doors slide open and I step out alone, the woman in the black gown staying inside as the elevator closes and carries her back down.
Straight ahead, two men in plain black masks stand guard at the doors she warned me about, and to my left, a coat check sits tucked against the wall like it belongs in a hotel.
A few steps beyond it, a small check-in table waits, the woman behind it already assisting a few others, her red collar flashing when she turns her head.
I head toward her just as the two women she was helping glance back over their shoulders, their white masks trimmed with lace and feathers. I wonder what auction they’re here for.
“Hi,” the woman says. “Checking in?”
“Yes.” My voice comes out mousy.
My gaze catches on her collar again, realizing it’s identical to the one the elevator woman wore. Maybe all the employees wear them.
“Perfect.” She lifts a handheld scanner, sweeps it over my mask, then taps at the tablet in front of her, eyes moving like she’s confirming something I’m not supposed to know.
A moment later, another woman steps out of the main doors and heads straight for me.
“I’m Kira.” She offers me her hand, and I take it. “Come on. I’ll bring you to the back and get you dressed.”
“I have a dress.” I glance down at myself.
“And it’s lovely.” One corner of her mouth lifts. “But every auction participant wears one of our gowns. Come on. I’ll show you.”
She turns toward the club, and I follow, trying to prepare myself for what I’m about to see.
The bass thumps louder as we enter. The main floor opens wide beneath a high ceiling washed in deep purple and blue light.
At the center, a chandelier made of chains and crystals glitters above the dance floor where masked bodies sway together in slow, intimate rhythms. Hands slide over backs and hips, people kissing and touching shamelessly, though their clothes seem to be mostly on…
I keep to the edge of the dance floor as I continue to follow her, weaving around bodies without letting anyone brush me. We turn right, the space opening into a hallway with doors lining both sides, some shut tight, others open wide.
I tell myself to mind my business, but I take a peek anyway.
In one room, a woman kneels on a padded bench, wrists bound behind her, breasts covered in pink jeweled pasties, the rest of her bare.
A man in a tux pounds into her, one hand tangled lightly in her hair, the other resting lazily around a glass of dark liquor.
She’s moaning against the gag in her mouth, like this is the best night of her life.
Heat grows between my legs, and I try to ignore it, but it’s impossible.
I’ve never watched anyone like this, nor could I ever imagine myself doing that.
I force my gaze away, but it doesn’t matter.
Kirill is already there in my mind, his hands on me, his mouth warm against my skin while everyone here watches.
In the next doorway, a man hangs from the ceiling by his wrists, arms stretched wide while a woman stands before him with a flogger, each swing leaving thin red marks across a chest that looks like it belongs on the cover of a magazine.
Warmth keeps creeping through me and I try to push it down, focusing on Kira as I follow her deeper inside.
We turn into another hallway, quieter now, the music dulling behind us as two men in suits stand outside a black door with holstered guns resting openly at their hips.
The sight of guns would probably scare normal girls, but I’ve been around them long enough not to be afraid.
One of them steps aside and pulls the door open, and every instinct inside me flares to life, urging me to turn around and run. I’d rather face a firing squad than what I’m about to go through.
The room beyond feels like a different world. Deep gray sofas are arranged in clusters around a lengthy bar that stretches along one wall. Women fill the space. Some wear gowns, others silk robes or delicate lingerie, every face hidden behind a mask.
Kira guides me into a smaller adjoining room clearly meant for dressing. One wall is lined with mirrors framed in glowing bulbs, and opposite them, racks are crowded with dresses, robes, and lace.
A few girls sit at the vanities while women in corsets and red collars adjust straps and smooth hair.
Kira taps a chair in front of an empty mirror. “Sit. I’ll grab your dress.”
I lower myself into it, hands knotted in my lap while she starts flinging through the racks until she finds a green lace see-through slip-on gown.
“I-I can’t wear that.” Panic surges through me.
“It’s in the rules.” She gently gathers the dress. “Now, come. Stand up so I can help you dress.”
Shit. I probably should’ve read the fine print a bit better…
Forcing my legs to cooperate, I get to my feet as she pulls down the zipper, my dress sliding away along with my bra before she hangs them neatly on a hook. The new gown slips over me, the fabric settling against my skin and leaving far too much of me exposed.
What would Kirill think of this? I know he owns the place, and what people do with their body is their choice, but this was never a choice for me.
“All right.” Kira steps back. “You look perfect. Quick rundown. The contract says no forced acts, so whoever wins can’t do anything you don’t agree to.
Anything you marked as a no on your application is automatically off the table.
If they try anyway, you report it to the number we’ll give you once your winner is called. ”
“Okay,” I manage, though my mind immediately spirals to what happens if they don’t listen.
“Good. Let’s get back out. You’ll wait with the other girls, and when it’s your turn, I’ll take you.”
A shudder slices through me.
You’re doing this for Milo.
I repeat it under my breath as the minutes drag while I listen for my name, for Kira’s footsteps coming back for me, for the moment I’m led onto that stage where everything in my life is about to change.
And the only thing I cling to is hope that Kirill is there. That somehow he’ll find me before it’s too late.