Chapter 17 #2
He glares at me before ending the call and shoving the phone somewhere inside his toga.
I look down at mine and smile, that asshole thought of everything, even added built-in shorts with pockets.
Fucking Safra makes it impossible to hate him sometimes.
I light the joint, waiting for Nico to answer.
He broods for a moment, eyes looking at the moon before exhaling.
“I’m trying to convince Shiloh not to bid on me,” he replies softly, and all I can hear is heartbreak in his tone. “I can’t keep risking it.”
I nod, passing the joint to him. Clearly, he needs the distraction more than I do. “It’s the right thing, man.”
“Is it?” he asks as he takes a drag from the marijuana smoke.
I shrug, unsure of what to say to him. This is a fucked situation.
You’re damned if you do. Damned if you don’t.
Not the kind of situation anyone would like to find themselves in, but here he is…
in it. Front and center, and all I can do is be here for my dear friend.
Nico takes another long drag, exhaling towards the cliffs. “I swear if she bids on me, I’m throwing myself into the ocean,” he teases.
I snort, not finding that funny at all. There’s a seriousness in his tone that unsettles me. “You know she will. Stop being so dramatic.” He chuckles, but it’s hollow; the only purpose it serves is hiding the panic that's drowning him.
“You don’t get it,” he mutters, passing the joint back to me. “She’ll do it,” he adds quietly. “She’ll bid. And Peter will see it. And then—”
He doesn’t finish his sentence; he doesn’t have to. We both understand the danger this entails. I swallow hard, smoke burning its way down my throat.
For a moment, we just stand there, staring out at the cliffs as if the ocean might have answers we don’t.
We finish the rotation in silence, watching as the waves crash into the rocky edge.
The sound is relentless. The wind cuts through my toga, cold enough to sting, but it's nothing compared to the dread crawling up my spine. My mouth goes dry. From outside, we hear the announcement, signaling it’s time to head back in.
I push through the gym door, holding it open until Nico steps inside. Heat and perfume spill from inside, Ms. Torres' voice calls out the first name for the auction, and the crowd cheers. The bidding war has officially begun.
Nico flinches, halting in his step. “I need a minute,” he mutters, rubbing his face. “Just… a minute.”
With that, he disappears within the crowd, leaving me alone like cattle waiting for slaughter.
The tips of my fingers tingle with anticipation, my pulse thundering, and my throat feels even drier no matter how many times I swallow.
I exhale, watching the smoke twist around the dance floor, around the Gods, who hold up numbers, placing their bids on the offerings.
They’re laughing, entertained by the humiliation before them.
The music shifts—The Cure’s “Disintegration,” melody crawls through the speaker.
I find myself glancing at the stage. Shiloh stands near the front, her white toga draped to the side of her arm, gold bands clasping the folds against the arms and sides.
Her hair is braided into a crown that glows under the warm purple and blue strobe lights.
She looks like she belongs here, carved by Aphrodite herself.
Shiloh's eyes remain on the dance floor, searching desperately for Nico, I assume.
The crowd laughs, the bids growing higher until Ms. Torres announces the word. “SOLD !”
My fingers twitch, and just as I go back out for air, a woman appears before me, a gold mask covering her face entirely, her hair hidden beneath a purple palla that drapes over her shoulders and pools at her feet. She doesn’t speak—only holds out a small yellow envelope.
With a shaky hand, I take it, feeling the weight of a small drive pressing against it. “Who are you?”
She tilts her head, studying me through the mask.
There’s only one person I can think bold enough to do this, and nothing good comes from a woman like Fernanda.
Could it be? No… She’s a tad bit shorter, but before I can press her forward.
The woman turns and disappears into the crowd, just as my name is called to the stage.
“Number 22, Siren’s Left Wing. Zayden Orozco.”
My throat nearly closes, making me cough as my lungs fill with vanilla-scented smoke. The spotlight hits, the crowd cheers, and my stomach drops further into me with each small step I take. Once on the stage, the bright light makes it impossible to make out any faces.
The bid starts high, Ms. Torre’s voice rings out. “Ten thousand!”
Red cards rise to the air, voices overlapping. “Fifteen!” The numbers continue to climb even higher than the girl who was auctioned off before me. “Twenty!”
I stand still, blinking rapidly, trying to drown out the cat calling and the price placed on me. My breathing steadies, but my pulse refuses to slow. Then a familiar voice cuts through the chaos. “Forty!”
Fucking Safra.
He steps forward, calm as ever, a gold necklace clasping the shirt's top that cuts off halfway, exposing his slim waist and abs.
Two golden arm cuffs hold the translucent sleeves that run down his defined arms, where more bands glint against his skin.
Unlike my short toga, his is paired with long satin pants split at the sides—every inch of him designed to draw attention, much like the gold tears painted delicately under his eyes.
The crowd reacts instantly, whistling and gasping.
Safra doesn't move, he looks at me with a lopsided grin that tells me—he’s already won. Cocky motherfucker.
“Forty thousand from Mr. Safra. Do we have fifty?” There’s a pause, then another voice, smooth and feminine.
“Fifty.” Fabiola raises her card. She looks like Meg from Hercules. Hair pulled into a high ponytail, a lavender stola pooling at her feet, slit high on the sides, neckline plunging deep, and the crowd turns towards her, murmuring and gasping.
Safra grins falteringly. “You’re bidding now?” he calls out, half laughing.
She meets with a smile of her own. “Someone has to keep you humble.”
And I agree. But tonight, won’t be it.
The crowd laughs again, and then Thiago does the unexpected. In a low tone, he utters, “Sixty.”
Ms. Torres clears her throat, unsure if to keep calling for more or say the dreaded word, sold. The gold light catches the edge of his jaw when he steps forward and pulls out an empty check and waves it lazily in the air.
“Sold,” Ms. Torres mutters into the microphone, slamming down the gavel, and I step off the stage to where Thiago waits with a smirk. Such a punchable face.
“Spoiled brat,” I mutter, trying to brush past him, but his hand moves to my waist and holds me in place.
“Maybe.” He smiles. “Maybe that’s why I’m fascinated by you. You’re the one thing money can’t buy.”
My pulse stutters. The fog thickens, and the music swells. Fabiola walks around Thiago, her finger tracing the outline of his muscles. She leans, whispering something in his ear that makes his jaw clench, and his eyes darken. Then her attention is on me, as she speaks loudly now.
“Show me the monster I’ll be marrying.”She urges, her eyes focus on me. I swallow hard at her words, but it's what comes next that has my blood turn to ice. “You do that, and I won’t fight it. I’ll be your ally. But give me something real.”
Thiago exhales sharply through his nose; his eyes flicker back to me.
“Deal.”
With that, he motions for me to follow them. From the corner of my eye, I watch Peter rise from his seat as Nico is called to the stage, starting his bidding war against Shiloh. I freeze, Fabiola notices, and gives me a small smile and grabs my hand. “It’s done, just gotta keep moving now.”
Reluctantly, I move through the fog, past the pillars, and into the halls that lead to the donor rooms hidden all over campus. The knot in my stomach turns, making it painful to breathe. Fabiola's eyes meet mine. “We can be friends.”
Friends.
I snort at that. Thiago opens one of the red doors, and given all the windows in the room, I know already that we are putting on a show, and they will be watching from the other side of the two-way glass.
I need to get wasted. It’s better that way.
Easier for my mind to detach from my body.
I don't mind sleeping with women, but if I’m being honest…
I prefer to get fucked… Not the other way around.
Thiago closes the door behind us, and the music fades…