Sold to the Beret (High Rollers Club #3)

Chapter One

Damien

Somedays my job sucks.

I’m back in the goddamn auction house again, the crowd buzzing as the main event is about to begin. This time, I’m here as a buyer. It’s an identity that serves my purpose for the moment. Attempting to channel the arrogance and power of the men surrounding me, I relax into my velvet chair and swirl my glass of whiskey before I take another sip.

My search was fruitless the last time I was here for reconnaissance. I paid some guard to let me search the rooms for Rose Beaumont. I saw what felt like a hundred girls and not one looked like her.

Well, something good came out of it.

I smirk as I remember Grayson and his woman. Who would have thought that big lump of a man would turn into a teddy for a woman?

A hushed chatter pulls me out of my thoughts. A quick scan around, and I see the reason for the quiet murmur. Another prominent buyer has arrived and is being pampered like the president.

My lips curl in distaste. Although my moral meter is low in comparison to an average person, I draw the line at hurting women and kids. It’s how I’m wired, and why I find the people in this place repulsive.

Motherfuckers .

It’s sick enough that these vile men purchase young girls for their sick pleasure, but it’s even more despicable that they’re being catered to like royalty. Many of them are old, with receding hairlines and bulging stomachs. I shudder to think about the fate of the girls they purchase.

What about Grayson? my subconscious whispers.

Grayson is different. He didn’t come to the auction house for the purpose of acquiring a woman, and I’m sure he would let Sophia go if she wanted. He’s a man of honor. It’s one of the things that brought us together.

I was taught that honor is something to be celebrated in a man. It’s honor that lets you know where to draw the line and helps you hold on to a semblance of morality. Otherwise I would be just as bad as the men in this room with me.

I lean back in my seat, giving off an air of indifference. It makes me look less threatening, which is exactly what I want—for everyone to let their guard down around me. My time as a special forces soldier taught me to blend into the background and show people what they want to see. And now, as a private investigator, those lessons serve me well on the job. My primary assignment tonight is to find the missing daughter of one of my clients.

I feel a pang of guilt at the thought of the girl—Rose Beaumont. I recently found out that her mother, who was my client, has died. Since I heard the news, the urgency to find her has increased. I owe it to her mother to fulfill my vow to look for her.

And, I never leave a job unfinished. It doesn’t bode well for my reputation and future clientele.

I’ve thought of several places where Rose could be, but my mind keeps coming back to this chapel. Apart from the fact that my investigation points here to these underground auctions, my instincts have also been fixated on this old building in the middle of nowhere.

I never go against my gut feeling. The last time I did, I almost died. Besides, the last time I searched for Rose here, I had a feeling I hadn’t searched everywhere. And since I didn’t know the lay of the land, the length of my search was limited.

This time, I’m sure as hell not leaving without her. And if she’s not here, I have to find a clue that will lead me to her. I’m not leaving without an answer, that’s for sure.

In my space in the far corner of the room, I’ve blended with the background, which gives me a good view of the occupants of the room. No one can notice me unless I want to be seen and I prefer it that way.

The more I watch them, the angrier I grow. Their laughter and hushed conversations piss me off. My ears have been trained to detect the quietest of sounds, so I hear it all—business deals going down, and the excitement of purchasing a new plaything. I’m furious. Especially when I hear them talking about the girls.

I palm my Swiss Army knife in my right hand, deftly flicking it open with the ease of a man used to killing. I don’t even know how I have it in my hand. I must have fished it out in my haze of anger. I continue to stare at the group of men, thinking about the different ways to end their lives. I want to gut them, or better yet slice their throats, but I’m here for a mission. It’s better not to stir up trouble.

I sweep my gaze over the large room again, humming in satisfaction as my eyes land on a man in the thick of the crowd on the other side of the room.

One job done .

I make a mental note to call my regular client, Theo Kane, after getting out of here. He’d tasked me with finding out whether this man is a buyer at the auction house, and I’ve gotten my answer. Now I can fully focus on finding Rose Beaumont.

“Gentlemen,” the auctioneer calls out, his booming voice dragging me out of my reverie. “The bidding starts in five minutes. In the meantime, make sure your purses are padded. The commodities available tonight are epitomes of innocence and purity. Delectable. Just the way you like them,” he says with a wink.

A growl reverberates low in my throat. I want to punch the greedy look off his face. Instead, I tune the idiot out and lean further back in my seat, almost in a sprawl, letting my mind travel back to when Beatrice Beaumont contacted me for this job. I wanted to decline at first. I had just completed a really dangerous job and needed a break. But, there was a sort of desperation in her voice that I couldn’t ignore.

And when I saw the image of Rose Beaumont, I understood her mother’s pain and need to find her daughter.

My hand unconsciously slips into the pocket of my jeans and I rub my fingers softly over the picture. For some odd reason, my protective instincts had hummed to life the moment I laid my eyes on the woman. Barely twenty years old, Rose Beaumont has a youthful light in her eyes, and an innocent, carefree smile. In the photo, there was a slight twinkle in her bright blue eyes that instantly drew me in.

My lips tug in a ghost of a smile as I let the image of her fill my mind for a moment. Something about that big, innocent smile has touched a place in my heart that I didn’t even know existed. I have never felt this ferocious need to protect someone before—someone I haven’t even met.

The bright lights dim, cloaking the area. I sit up, ready for the shit show to commence. White light floods the center stage, putting other areas of the room in shadows. I can still see everyone else around me, but the blinding stage lights gave the space a foreboding feel.

Right on the five-minute mark, the auctioneer appears on the stage. “Alright, gentlemen. It’s time to start bidding. I’ll be presenting ten items for auction tonight. That’s right—ten gorgeous girls for your viewing pleasure, well-groomed and ready to go. I’ll start with number one!” he shouts.

Suddenly, the air is rife with sick anticipation and greed as a tall, slim girl stumbles onto the stage. I fist my hands, banning the image of Rose from my mind as I watch the debacle.

“Bidding starts at a hundred thousand!” the auctioneer states.

I remain stiff in my seat as I listen to the barrage of bids and counterbids flying around me. The girl in question can only stare into the audience, wide-eyed in shock. I should feel pity for her, but it seems like a waste, and I’m too focused on my goal—single-minded. I’m a man of action, not reaction. That bit of emotion won’t save these women, so why should I muster the feeling? If it makes me look like an unfeeling bastard, then that’s what I am.

“One million!” the big-bellied man a few seats from me calls.

The hall goes silent, then the auctioneer chimes, “One million. Going once. Going twice, and…sold!”

I watch impassively as the man shakes hands with his friends and walks to the stage for the girl, then drags her back to his seat to force her to pleasure him. A sick tradition the auction house uses to ensure compliance from their buyers, and to put on a show for those who lose the bidding. I turn away as the man gropes the girl with sweaty hands, a leering grin on his face.

The whole thing fills me with fury, and the constant image of the Beaumont girl serves as my only anchor. She’s the only one that matters. No one else. If I want to get her out of here, I have to put a lid on my rage.

Still holding on to her angelic smile, I slow down my breathing, reminding myself that I’m in a delicate situation and I have to remain calm and alert.

In no time, I’m back to being detached.

“Now, on to the next item of the night,” the auctioneer announces. “Number two is a gorgeous specimen and you won’t believe it…” He lowers his voice to a dramatic stage whisper. “She is a virgin!”

There’s a shift in the air as the second girl enters the stage. Everything fades and she’s all I see. Her steps are tentative as she walks to stand under the bright light. Every emotion I struggled to keep in check breaks free, and a shiver of awareness travels down my spine.

Fuck!

It’s Rose Beaumont. I’m tempted to pull out the picture burning a hole in my pocket, but I can’t take my eyes off her. And anyway, I’ve stared at her picture long enough to memorize every line and angle of her face. She looks older than she looks in the picture, more of a woman, with curves designed to make a man go crazy.

Her long blonde hair cascades down her shoulders, framing her angelic face. Her luscious curves are barely covered by lace lingerie that leaves almost nothing to the imagination. My possessive instincts roar to the surface. She doesn’t belong in this godforsaken place, and I’m getting her the hell out of here if it’s the last thing I do.

A murmur of excitement rises around me at her appearance. Rage fills me up, hot and searing, burning everything in its path. None of these assholes can have her. I will gut them and string them up if they so much as breathe in her direction.

“I can see that number two has stirred up a lot of excitement. Which is why her bidding price is starting from two hundred thousand!” the auctioneer shouts, excitement vivid in his voice.

Rose looks down immediately at the announcement. Her hands are clasped tight in front of her, forming a V-shape down to her thighs, as if she can cover her perfect breasts with her arms. I bunch my fists as the bidding starts, and my fury escalates with every bid.

I feel covert stares being thrown in my direction. I’m sure the people sitting close to me can feel the anger rolling off me in waves, but I don’t care. Fuck them. I didn’t ever think I would bid for a girl at an auction, but for once I welcome the idea of going against my moral code.

I’m known to get my job done by any means possible.

Who am I kidding? The need to protect her goes beyond the dictates of my job. It’s a driving force. This feeling makes no sense, but I don’t care. I keep my eyes trained on her, my fingers digging deeper into my palm as I watch her flinch with every bid.

Fucking bastards. I want to kill them all for making her so scared.

“Six hundred thousand,” an unfortunate buyer calls out.

I grind my teeth, putting a lid on my anger until I’m back to the aloof and devil-may-care man that strolled into the auction house.

“One million,” I growl, daring anyone to challenge me.