8. To own is to… Acquire
Chapter eight
To own is to… Acquire
W arrick
“Sir, the bidding has begun.”
I pull the cool night air through my lungs, treasuring breathing when it’s not filled with overpowering cologne, sex, or cigars. “Thank you, Stuart.” The older man simply nods before heading toward the doors of the balcony, letting me toss back the last of the gin in my glass. Already, the sound of bids being called fills the ballroom, a far cry from the hedonistic scene that was played out here last night. This one is reserved, more befitting the people in attendance.
“Ten grand going once, going twice-“
“Twelve!”
“Thank you twelve. Does anyone wish to-“
“Fifteen grand!”
“Sold! To Mr. Acevedo, a lovely choice for your first auction.” The auctioneer, an old, craggy woman who will probably outlive us all, beams from her place on the stage. The nude carnation beside her stares blankly at her own feet as slides play out behind her, each one documenting her training, her… specialties .
Stuart settles into his spot behind my table, making a sound of disgust at a particularly graphic slide of what appears to be several spreaders gaping her asshole while a man's fist works its way in. I don’t bother hiding my chuckle. Stuart has served in the House of Serpent since long before I came to power. The man practically raised me, along with my father. Still, he refuses to take part in most anything held by the House of Bloom. Odd, seeing a man I’ve watched unload a magazine into a pregnant woman’s belly on my father’s orders turn his nose up at sex slavery.
I can smell Julissa Eaton long before she claws her way into the seat beside me, a crystal wine glass nearing empty balanced between slender fingers. “I didn’t get a chance to say hello last night, Basilisk. Leo and I were quite excited to see you attend a party again after all these years.”
My eyes leave the next girl being auctioned off on stage, attempting for a moment to hide my boredom. “Yes, well, you seemed quite occupied.” When my gaze lands on hers, I stare first at her plump, overfilled lips, then her unnervingly blue eyes, taking care to notice every pointy, crow-like feature. Her lips part as she shifts in the tight dress she’s wearing, straining as she presses her thighs together. It couldn’t hurt to have them on my side during bidding—not that they particularly care who gets what girl as long as their pockets are deep enough.
Mine are.
“I saw what you did, you know?”
I don’t respond to her; she could be talking about any number of things, but when she casts a pointed glance over to the House of Tyet table, I smirk.
“We should have you banned from the auction all altogether for such a childish display of disrespect, placing your emblem over the top of another.”
I make a noncommittal sound. “Pardon me. I must not have noticed in the heat of the moment. The woman’s neck was covered long before I reached her.”
She rolls her eyes, clearly not buying my shit. “Refrain from bringing old wars into my house, young Serpent. I’d hate to throw out any of your bids tonight. ”
“You won’t,” I return, gesturing for a server to refill my gin.
“And why—”
“Because your husband can’t afford to.”
The look of indignation on her face is almost funny. If it lasted a second longer, I might’ve even laughed, but she soon wipes it away with a smirk. “That’s why you’re here tonight, yes? To piss off the House of Tyet? Harun was a fool to show his interest in her so early in the night.”
My focus returns to the stage, the next woman being led out for display. Her breasts are so large, they look disproportionate to the rest of her, and I imagine the strain that must put on one's spine.
“She is a divine creature, is she not?”
I stare at the large-breasted woman with indifference.
“Not her , Warrick. The Lily.”
Pictures of messy blonde curls, swollen lips, and cascading tears fill my mind. “She’ll serve her purpose.”
Julissa huffs to a stand before bending in close to my ear, her wine breath making it hard not to shove her away. “If you buy my Lily and then let her waste away in that dated mansion of yours, I will ensure the House of Tyet wins her tonight, no matter how badly my husband needs your blood money.”
My chuckle is anything but humorous, my hands fisting with the effort not to throttle her. When I turn, my lips brush her cheek, but only barely. A tease, a reminder. “I assure you, she will be put to good use, but you already know that, don’t you?”
Her gasp is soft, much like the ones I used to bleed out of her before I got bored, and she went back to playing wife. I was a teenager then, almost a man myself. Now, I find it hard to remember why I saw fit to fuck her at all. The years of alcohol and coke haven’t been kind to the woman.
“I’ll remember my manners going forward. You have my word, but if you don’t mind, I have some shopping to do.”
“Then best of luck to you, Basilisk .”
With that, I give the stage my attention again, my mind wandering to business deals and arms runs while a sea of red after red girls are paraded around like a morbid Miss Universe pageant. The room is filled with the most powerful men and women on the planet—not presidents or senators, but those who truly run the world. Out of the ten influential houses, four stand out at the center, the inner circle. Sex, drugs, weapons, and information are what we’re known for, our niche. Therefore, we have the closest any human can get to unlimited power. Here, in the House of Bloom, they control all leading hubs for human trafficking, specializing in training and selling sex slaves, shipping flesh around the world to be exploited and abused. These auctions are held yearly, where the best of the best are offered to the inner circle. House of Tyet, the treacherous bastard who has me wasting my weekend and money, controls and sells information.
The glass in my hand strains as I fist it, an old, festering anger building deep in my chest. Betrayal isn’t something our world takes lightly, something the inner circles frown upon. The fact that any wrong still exists, a wrong that hasn't been paid for in blood, keeps me awake at night, keeps that old wound from scabbing.
“Sold to Mr. Licard from the House of Ragnar! Excellent taste, as always, sir.”
The House of Ragnar has a hand in pretty much any memorable drug operation in the world, their pockets endless and their morals nearly as corrupt as the House of Bloom.
My house ring glistens in the dim light, twin serpents with precious stone inlaid eyes winding their way around crossed rifles. It’s the same emblem I stamped on the girl I’m here to steal away from Tyet—not because I want her, but because I make a point to schedule time to undermine them at every turn. This serves to annoy and piss off the house, but it also makes them look incredibly fucking stupid. It’s a public slap in the face. This auction is the event of events for the inner circle. It's where we come to network, to fuck, and to boast about all the blood money we’ve destroyed lives for. My house is no better. We specialize in weapons—dealing them, making them, hiding them. Sometimes, it's for our own government, who occasionally turn a blind eye to the number of slaughters they cause. Sometimes, it’s to threats overseas. It’s simply a different flavor of moral corruption .
We finesse and oftentimes downright obliterate the concept of wrong and right because it makes us money, and money makes, well, everything.
“Now, ladies and gentlemen, I’m honored to present to you this season's Lily, a talented pianist who was kept… sweet for your pleasure. For such a rare item, bidding will start at a hundred thousand. As you can see, she was trained soft and is a very docile and obedient girl. She will make a lovely showpiece. Seeing as all houses have made claims, there will be no leader’s bid tonight.”
Paying closer attention than I have all night, I straighten in my seat, the glass in my hand meeting the clothed table with a quiet thud. I focus on the graphic pictures displayed behind the stage. The same pretty blonde hair is matted in filth. What now is still a nearly unnervingly thin body is nearly skeletonized in the photos. Wide brown eyes stare off into space with the same stare you see on war-ravaged children. The woman who walks on stage is as bare as the others but draped in lilies. House of Bloom is nothing if not good showmen. The invisible strings give the appearance of flowery raindrops, dangling and hugging her body like they’re suspended by her will alone.
An already serious and quiet room goes silent as the woman approaches the grand piano on the stage and leads the band in a quiet, beautiful song with a somber and defeated look in her eyes. She doesn’t display herself, shove her ass out, or fondle her cunt like the other girls. She stands back and plays. I can’t tell if it's poor training or disobedience, but my hand fists on my lap, stifling the need to correct her. Already, her chest hiccups with the weight of her silent sobs, and my annoyance is quickly mounting with her. I don’t tolerate emotional women well. I’m hardly buying her for pleasure either way, so I assume it can’t be helped. Her price climbs to ridiculous heights long before I give Stuart the signal to place mine. I’ve got too much to do tonight to play games with the rest of them.
“Do I hear one million? Thank you, one million from the House of Tyet.”
“One point five!”
“One point five million from House of Ragnar.”
I nod, my eyes glued to the weepy woman playing her sad song. The melody itself is a sensual and bold one, lavish, but I can clearly hear the notes of agony lingering underneath.
“Three million!” Stuart calls from behind me, halting the auctioneer for a moment.
Leo Eaton is practically beaming from his table near the stage, looking at me with an excited nod.
“Five!” someone calls in the room. I don’t place the voice, so it’s likely a nobody within a house. A large bid for a nameless voice.
“Do I hear seven? Seven million for a once-in-a-lifetime whore.”
I roll my eyes but nod.
“Eight million!” Stuart calls.
“Ten million.”
Now that makes me smile. My eyes cut across the room to meet the boisterous stare of Harun. Whatever he sees on my face steals his confidence, turning it to anger as I nod.
“Twenty million!” Stuart replies.
“We have twenty million dollars from the House of Serpents. Going once, going twice…”
I stare as Harun’s handler shakes his head, putting an end to his bidding that, of course, the over-gestated brat ignores, making the call this time himself. “Thirty!”
“Fifty,” Stuart replies, his gruff voice cool as ever.
The man’s handler is a picture of annoyance as he whispers something in Harun’s ear.
“Fifty million dollars from Mr. Hodge, head of the House of Serpents, going once, going twice…”
Sweet silence.
“Sold to the House of Serpents! A worthy price for a woman who will serve you well, Sir.”
I could’ve bought another house for what I paid for her.
Nodding in respect to Julissa and Leo before taking the final swig of my drink, I head toward the back room as my new pet’s song ends. I can see her eyes on me with the same apprehension and timid touch as they had last night as she’s led off the stage to meet me.
She smells sweet. Whatever oiled aphrodisiacs they’ve basted her in give me a headache as Rodney Sampson methodically removes her current collar. He looks more than a little annoyed, although with his ugly, scraggly long features, it’s hard to imagine him looking like anything other than some creep who would hang out at playgrounds, waiting to touch the unsuspecting children. Although his work truly speaks for itself as the lead trainer at the House of Bloom—he breeds the most sexually corrupt and malleable sex slaves. He leans in, his lips grazing her neck, a bold show of disrespect in front of her new master.
The anger that wells up within me is immediate. “You forget your station, Mr. Sampson. She’s no longer yours to touch unless I’ve given you permission. I have not given you permission.”
The deep breath he drags through his lungs is meant to be a calming one, or perhaps something to remember my pet by. Either way, it only serves to stoke my anger further. “Stuart, see that she is taken straight to my plane. We won’t be staying for the party tonight.”
“Yes, Sir. Come with me.”
The woman’s mouth opens and closes, her hands trembling at her sides. Perhaps she’d expected me to acknowledge her, sing her praises, fuck her on the floor like the dog she’ll soon become. I ignore her instead, stepping up to the smaller man, letting him meet my eyes in another bold show of disobedience. “I remember the stories my father would tell of you, ones where you served your masters on your knees with your tight hole bloody and abused. Your job title may have changed years ago, Mr. Sampson, but you are still a man's whore.” The rage that fills him is nearly palatable, inspiring, even, as I stare down at him.
“Mind yourself!” He snaps over my shoulder, no doubt to the woman I just purchased. I don’t bother checking.
“I-I’m sorry, Sir.”
“Come now,” Stuart orders her again, and the gentle clack of her heels signifies her overdue obedience.
With that, I settle things with the Eatons and head out to a separate car, pinching the bridge of my nose as we head toward the hanger.