Chapter 47 Phoenix
Phoenix
My body quivers and jerks, jump-scared by the rattling of my cell phone on my nightstand in the wee hours of the morning. “Fucking hell,” I mumble, feeling my heart thud in my chest, reminding me I’m still alive.
I check the stupid thing and find a text message from him.
Boss: You’re going to help Clark with the auction tonight.
That’s it. That’s all it says. It’s an unusual request, though to call it a request is kind of comical.
Phoenix: Sure thing.
I’m not going to ask for any more details, not at this hour. Not like he’d provide them if I did. Knowing I have several hours before I even need to care, I toss my phone back down and roll over under the soft covers where my Little Temptress still sleeps soundly.
I’m glad I didn’t wake her. It wouldn’t have been fair.
I also don’t want to explain why I just got a message in the middle of the night.
I can’t tell her it’s about an auction. That’ll bring on more questions, and before you know it, this lie I’ve upheld all this time will be exposed.
And then what? I don’t want to do that to her.
It’s nowhere on the list of things I want.
I scoot closer to Roni’s body, enveloping myself around her curves, my arm thrown around her side, my beard nestling into her neck.
I use my chin to swipe some hair away so I can kiss the edge of her ear softly.
She wiggles and moans in her sleep but stays under.
Still, my cock hardens at her sounds before I drift off once more.
I’m rocking my white hockey mask over my nylon covering when I step into the office. I’ve gone the extra mile in a tuxedo, black with pearl cufflinks, a crisp white shirt under a black waistcoat, and a black-and-white-polka-dot bow tie.
“Boss told me come. What can I help with?” I’m curt on purpose.
It’s a bullshit assignment. Unless they’re having software issues—which they aren’t—I have no role in the organization anymore.
He’s as predictable as ever—his slick porcelain mask a stark contrast to his everyday black suit—clacking away on the keys to his computer.
Before he can answer, I take another step forward, closing the distance to his desk.
“I just want to make it clear that I’m not here to participate in the bidding.
” Our eyes meet in a flash of blaring silence.
“I won’t be hunting. That’s not me anymore. ”
“Of course not.” He placates me with that smug air he’s always basking in. “That’s not why you’re here.”
I let out a big sigh, my shoulders relaxing a little. It’s a huge weight off them.
“Why am I here?” I urge and he shifts in his seat.
“We need to clean out some inventory,” he says plainly, as if I’m supposed to know exactly what he expects from the statement alone.
“Okay,” I say, not sure where to go from here.
He pauses, taking a breath, clearly thinking over the words he chooses next.
“The boss wants to make some changes around here.”
I blink slowly as if to say ‘and’?
“There’s new blood coming soon,” he adds without explaining shit.
This isn’t exactly what I expected when I received the text in the middle of the night. When he reached out, I figured he’d have some computer issue or a cybersecurity concern. Not my actual help in trafficking these women.
“How exactly can I help with that?” I add after my hesitation.
“I know you added tracking software recently. If I remember correctly, it’s easy to inventory what’s coming in and going out.
Right?” I nod along to confirm. “He’s going to be watching the auction closely.
” The way his eyes bore into my head feels heavier than usual.
It makes me uneasy. I’m never comfortable here.
Not when any fuckup could be the end of me.
But his feels—extra. “I just want someone to have eyes on the software to make sure it can keep up with the pace I expect we’re going to have tonight. ”
“The pace?”
I have no idea what he means. These auctions have relatively been the same, and while they can get heated and sometimes fast, there’s never been an issue.
It’s an unusual request. But my program’s built for virtually any scalability changes.
So long as he’s not making me responsible for the zeros and ones, I guess it’s reasonable.
“I’m happy to make sure the digital stuff runs as promised.” I’m intentional in my phrasing. “I just want to make it clear, however, that it’s the program that will track the money.”
“We’re not worried about that.” He waves his hand, offering me some relief. “But he figured, given your contract, you’re the most appropriate person on the payroll for tonight’s event.”
“Clark,” I snap, assuring he’s listening. “Is there something different happening tonight? Something I should be aware of?”
“We’re having a clearance sale. That’s the best I can put it. Fifty percent or more of the merchandise must go. He doesn’t care which half, but no less than.” He’s determined. Certain. Unwavering. Only the boss can make him this way.
“When you say ‘must go’,” I ponder the best way to ask this without pissing him off, “how are we getting rid of them, exactly?”
“Hopefully, some of our bidders will want to take them home. As you’re personally aware, we’ve often offered permanent solutions when bidders take a particular shine to one of the products.”
“Yes, okay, that makes sense.” It doesn’t, but I’m not going to argue with him. To my knowledge, I’m the only “bidder” to take a girl home. Though, I don’t know the details of how Mercy left. “And so, you’re offering those services at a reduced price this evening?”
“Not only at a reduced price. The boss is offering half off on a second product. A BOGO, if you will.”
Did he literally just tell me we’re having a buy-one-get-one-half-off sale on used women? He has got to be shitting me.
“And you think the bidders are going to be interested in more than just one?”
“He’s gone to great lengths to make sure those in attendance tonight will be some of our hungriest clientele. That they’ll be all too anxious to abscond with as many of these women as we’ll permit at these rates.”
Fuckity ew. He sounds aroused by the thought of offering discount pussy.
“I see,” I lie while straining to keep my cool. “And do we have a limit to how many anyone can leave with?” I follow up.
“He didn’t give me a limit when we last spoke.
But anybody who takes on more than four will need to sign a non-compete clause.
We can’t have our customers becoming the competition.
” I won’t admit it to him, but it makes sense from a business perspective.
“We have documentation for that already. You need to attach it to the dossier for each bidder before the bidding begins. And anybody who exceeds the number of acquisitions will be pinged to complete the documentation before taking delivery.”
“That, I can help with. It’ll take me some time before tonight’s events to reprogram the coding, but it should be easy enough.”
When the start time for the auction finally comes around, I find myself anxious, feeling uneasy about sitting beside Clark while he gives his performance. At this point I’m helping make the sausage. And I’m realizing how much I hate it.
I recognize some of the bidders. Dex. The couple who always comes in wolf masks.
There’s a ton of older men who I’ve seen here before, but who are usually dormant when bidding starts.
Perhaps most interesting, are seven women who have all registered independently to bid but are all hanging together in a crowd.
“Clark.” I get his attention and nod toward the group of ladies. “Your non-compete would not kick in if a group of seven partners each only bought two products.”
He doesn’t say anything, just looks at me and then looks over at the group of women all in ball gowns and expensive jewelry.
“That’s a good catch,” he finally mutters. “How fast can you alter the triggering mechanism to apply to anybody who purchases even a single product this evening?”
I’m already punching away before he finishes his thought. It’s as simple as altering one number to set the trigger.
“It's done. Will your paperwork reflect the change?”
“The paperwork is not specific to the number of products acquired,” he explains. “Only to an obligation to agree to a non-compete in order to take custody of their purchase. Full refunds are available to anybody who does not wish to sign.”
“Understood. That would mean you would have to have another sale, though.” I wish I could stuff the thought into a shell and fire it back into my head with a shotgun the second it leaves my lips.
It’s none of my damn business, and the last thing I want is for him to think I want to do this shit more often.
“There's nothing to worry about here. We will have more than half our inventory gone before the night is concluded. One way, or another.”
And he's right. The bidding goes off flawlessly.
The boss wanted to whittle his numbers down by at least half, but when all is said and done, there's only four products left.
It's kind of ironic he won't be able to have next month's auction unless he gets new products and has them trained in a hurry.
When the final document is signed, I take my leave and hit the road, headed for home.
I need to see her. I need to hug her. My Little Temptress.
I feel like a colossal piece of shit. And I know it's more than just a feeling. I need to atone for the horrors I have committed. My work has made The Sect’s trafficking empire possible.
In a way, I’m responsible for what happened to Roni.