Chapter Four
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Conrad
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In a room filled with the world's most beautiful virgins and the world's richest men, she was the only one we saw.
The moment we stepped into the room, as if we were one, our attention locked onto her like a magnet. Everything else faded, reduced to nothing in the wake of her presence.
Had we been lesser men, it might have shown that she caught us completely off guard.
But no one noticed the subtle tightening of our jaws, the tension settling into our shoulders. To anyone watching, we remained the same, stoic and in control.
But we recognized the changes in each other, the silent shift between us that came into alignment when we faced something unknown... or potentially volatile.
And she was both.
Her beauty is beyond extraordinary. Soft, full lips.
Dark hair spilling around her like a curtain of silk, so long I could twist her tresses around my wrist and listen to her whimper as she comes on my cock.
I can safely say I'm not the only one to have had that thought.
Alec and Theron would have envisioned the same thing.
And yet her thick-fringed hazel eyes tell a different story every time they catch the light.
Her gaze is skittish as she takes in the room, worry and fear bordering her irises.
There is a slight but unmistakable quiver to her shoulders, one she keeps trying to quell only to fail again.
As if she doesn't belong on the stage, as if she isn't really here to sell her virginity to the highest bidder but for other reasons. But what?
Her hands are clenched tightly at her sides, and she makes a concerted effort not to look at us. Interesting, considering we'd already decided her fate.
No other man would be taking her home with him. We could easily outbid all the billionaires here if they pooled their money together. She's ours until we say otherwise.
But it doesn't take us long to see who she is looking at.
Christopher West. A new billionaire. His first virgin auction.
We don't vet the billionaires who attend the auction personally since the virgin auction is an age-old tradition, centuries long, and is handled by a different branch of the mafia council.
And they're known for their thoroughness.
There is no way they would approve someone who didn't tick all the boxes.
Which means Christopher West has been properly authenticated.
Each family on the board of the council has a chance to host the event.
Well, not a chance so much as it is compulsory.
There are certain rules for the mafia families set by the council that even we need to adhere to.
This is one of them. We couldn't get out of it, if we tried.
The virgin council is run by a group of women, no one dares go up against—including us.
We had no intention of claiming a virgin for ourselves. But she changed everything.
"Just let us leave, please," she says, finding her voice, and defying Alec's order to stay where she was. Not very many people defy Alec. None do.
She steps off the stage, her pale pink gown shimmering against the fire from the hearth, her hair, a sea of dark waves following behind her like a cape as she heads toward West.
"This was all a misunderstanding," she says, but I block her from reaching West.
"A misunderstanding?" I say congenially. I don't want to scare her as well, especially since Alec and Theron can do that without saying much.
"Yes. Just let us leave and we can forget this. Please," she pleads, her lower lip quivering. She's so fucking gorgeous, my chest momentarily constricts painfully against my ribs.
"Well, we'd love to hear how you misunderstood things, so please stay and talk to us."
"It was a game," she says, but she's having trouble maintaining her lie. Her eyes give her away. She tries to look past me, toward West, and her action makes me clench my hands.
Are they together? Not anymore, she isn't, we decide for her.
"Please," West says as Theron takes him by the arm and forcefully ushers him out. He won't come back into the cabin until West's helicopter is airborne and the helicopter pad closed.
"No, I have to go with him," she says and moves toward him, but I wrap my hand around her bare arm, her skin so soft, it's like rubbing silk over my calluses.
"You have to let me go. It was a game. We wanted to have some fun and we got in over our heads. It's all innocent," she cries, struggling and failing to jerk herself free of my hold.
"Is it?" Alec asks. "Innocent?"
"We didn't mean to cause anyone any harm, so yes, it was purely innocent," she says, tears rolling down her face. The shape of her mouth is so fucking extraordinary. Her lips are full with a tiny bow in the center of her upper lip, like a present we'd like to unwrap.
"Please, let me go. Please. Please. Please." She's crying now, her body shaking nonstop.
But the sound of the helicopter's rotors slices through the air. Her head snaps toward the window, her tear-stained eyes widen as her breath grows shallow.
Then, as if realizing she was on her own here—in an isolated cabin in the mountains, with a snowstorm heading our way soon, and with three of the deadliest men she'd ever meet.
Still she jerks herself free of my hold. Her shoulders straighten, bit by bit, as if she's physically putting herself back together again. Accepting her fate but determined not to go down without a fight.
Fuck, I don't think we'll ever get over how beautiful she is.
She wipes at the tears streaking down her cheeks with the backs of her hands, then wipes her hands on her dress, and it looks as if she's silently vowing never to cry again.
Pity. Her tears are like the rarest diamonds the world has to offer. The thought of tasting them heats my blood all over again.
But the panic in them doesn't vanish completely; instead, she seems to hide it better, leaving it in the shadows of her irises.
She doesn't look at us, not even when Theron reenters the room, with the Virgin Chalice in his hand. She doesn't even blink.
Was that her reason for being here? To steal the Virgin Chalice. Granted, it's a beautiful piece of art. The cup forged from dark rose gold, with its fine and intricate engravings of a rose, it is a sought-after piece.
The stem is narrow, with a base that flares out and embellished with rare gems of different colors. The rim is smooth, the gold worn smooth by time. It was a practice: men of the Minotaur family would rub their fingers along the rim for days on end, believing a virgin would come their way.
That virgin would be a gift summoned from the gods.
A treasure the man would give up his life to protect.
It was a beautiful story, but no one followed it anymore.
Certainly not us. And it's been in the Minotaur family's possession for centuries now.
It was one of many priceless pieces in our treasure trove, displayed openly in the reception room where all the virgins gathered and prepared for the auction.
Was this truly just a heist for the Virgin Chalice?
Alec, Theron, and I exchange looks.
No. There was something else going on, and we planned to get to the truth.
We could have kept West and tortured answers out of him, but he is irrelevant. Of course, it would be interesting to see who he comes back with if he wants to reclaim her.
It's her we want answers from. It's her. Because as of a few months ago, we know everything about Raine Nichols. From how she takes her coffee, to the shape of her breasts in the shower.
Someone else is behind all this, and she's going to give us a name no matter how we get it out of her.