CHAPTER 4
HARLEY
It happens fast.
Too fast.
One second I’m sitting on the floor trying not to panic, and the next—
A hand clamps around my arm.
“Up.”
I barely have time to react before I’m yanked to my feet.
“Hey—!” I start, but the words die in my throat when I see the gun up close.
My body goes rigid.
“Move.”
I don’t fight.
I can’t.
Not when there are at least four of them in the room, all armed, all watching like we’re nothing more than cattle.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Archie being dragged up too.
“Dude—what the fuck!” he snaps, trying to twist out of the guard’s grip.
It earns him a shove.
Theron doesn’t say anything.
But I see the tension in his shoulders as they grab him too.
For a brief second, our eyes meet.
And something unspoken passes between us.
Stay alive.
Then we’re being dragged toward the door.
The hallway is blinding.
After the dim, suffocating darkness of that room, the lights feel like knives stabbing into my eyes.
I flinch, trying to turn my face away, but the guard jerks me forward.
“Keep moving.”
My vision swims.
Everything is too bright. Too sharp.
The floor is smooth under my boots—polished concrete or something similar—and the sound of our footsteps echoes endlessly.
The halls stretch on forever.
Left. Right. Another corridor. Another identical stretch of walls and lights.
It feels like we’re going in circles, like this place was designed to disorient. Or trap.
My head is still foggy.
My body is sluggish.
Every step feels slightly delayed, like I’m not fully inside myself.
And my thoughts—
My thoughts won’t stop.
Where are they taking us?
Where’s Archie?
Where’s Theron?
Are they still behind me?
Will I ever see them again?
The questions hit one after another, faster than I can process.
My chest tightens.
Because deep down, I think I already know the answer.
No.
We’re not meant to stay together. We’re not even meant to matter.
Just… pieces.
Separated. Sold.
The word makes my stomach twist.
Sold.
My mind flashes back to the party. The masks. The skulls. The way that red one watched me like I was already his.
A cold shiver runs through me.
Who are those people?
What kind of men come to a place like this?
What happens after someone buys us?
My throat goes dry.
Would my family even notice I’m gone?
The thought comes out of nowhere.
I swallow hard.
Probably not.
Or if they did, they’d spin it into something clean and acceptable.
Harley chose to leave.
Harley is traveling.
Harley is just… gone.
I huff out a weak breath.
Yeah.
That sounds about right.
Still…
A small, stupid part of me wonders if anyone would care.
If anyone would look for me.
If—
“Move.”
The guard shoves me forward again.
I stumble slightly, barely catching myself.
My stomach twists painfully.
Everything feels unreal.
Like I’m stuck in some nightmare I can’t wake up from.
We turn another corner.
And then—
A voice. Male. Calm. Authoritative.
“Careful with him.”
I try to look up. Try to see who’s speaking.
But the lights overhead burn into my eyes, making it hard to focus.
And then—
Pain explodes through my stomach.
A sharp punch as the guard slams the gun into me. All the air rushes out of my lungs in a strangled gasp.
“Eyes down,” he snaps.
I double over slightly, coughing, my entire body tightening around the pain.
“Hey,” the other voice says sharply.
“Not too much.”
There’s a pause.
Then, colder—
“No visible damage. We can’t sell marked merchandise.”
The word hits harder than the punch.
Merchandise.
My head snaps up slightly despite the pain.
Merchandise?
That’s what I am to them?
Not a person. Not a name. Not a life.
Just something to be displayed. Sold. Bought.
My jaw clenches so hard it hurts.
Fucking assholes.
Monsters.
If I wasn’t half-drugged and outnumbered, I’d fight. I’d do something. Anything. But I’m not stupid. There are too many of them. Too many guns. They’d shoot me without hesitation. And I know exactly what will happen next.
Nothing.
They’d replace me. Like I never existed.
“Take him to prep,” the man says.
“And make him presentable.”
A pause.
“Something that shows him off. His clothes are already in the room, make sure he’s wearing all of it.”
My stomach drops.
“Understood,” one of the guards replies.
The next room is smaller. Brighter. Colder.
They shove me inside hard enough that I stumble forward.
“Get dressed.”
I turn back toward them, my head still spinning.
“Are you fucking serious right now?” I snap.
“You’re just gonna stand there and—”
They laugh.
Actually laugh.
One of them nudges the other.
“Told you he’d be mouthy.”
“Give it a minute,” the second one smirks.
“Bet he won’t be complaining when he’s on his knees.”
My stomach churns.
“Go fuck yourself,” I shoot back.
Wrong move.
Another punch comes fast. This time he slaps me across my face with his massive hands.
A sharp crack across my face that sends my head snapping to the side.
Pain blooms instantly.
“Shut the fuck up, you stupid bitch. If you wasn’t up for sale, I’d keep you for myself and do whatever I fucking want with you. Because that's the only thing you are good for – servicing a real man like me. Now do as you’re told before a shot your sissy ass,” the guard growls.
“And get dressed.”
My cheek throbs.
My jaw tight.
I don’t say anything else.
Because I know better.
Slowly, I turn toward the outfit laid out on the chair.
And for a second—
I just stare.
It’s… not what I expected.
At all.
The fabric catches the light immediately.
Deep black. Slick. Almost liquid-looking.
I reach out slowly, my fingers brushing over it.
Silk. Or something close to it. Soft. Cold at first touch, then warming against my skin.
It’s a fitted top—tight, structured, with a plunging neckline that dips lower than anything I’ve ever worn. The fabric clings in a way that’s… deliberate.
Designed to show. Everything.
The pants are just as fitted.
High-waisted, hugging every line of my body, tapering down to the ankles.
And then—
My eyes drop.
Heels.
Black. Sharp.
At least five inches.
My stomach flips.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter under my breath.
But there’s no one to hear it. Or care.
Next to the outfit sits a choker. Silver.
No—
Not silver.
It’s diamonds.
Tiny stones embedded all the way around, catching the light with every movement.
It looks expensive.
Too expensive.
Like something meant to be seen. Displayed.
My throat tightens.
I don’t have a choice.
I know that by now.
So I move.
Stripping off my clothes and pulling the new ones on.
The fabric slides over my skin like water.
The top clings to my chest, my waist, outlining every inch of me like it was tailored specifically for my body.
The pants leave nothing to the imagination. And because I have no other choice but to go commando, silk feels smoother against my skin. And I can’t say I hate the feeling.
And the heels—
I wobble slightly when I step into them, gripping the edge of the chair for balance.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
The choker is the last thing.
I hesitate for a second before fastening it around my neck.
It sits snug against my skin.
Like a collar.
A few minutes later—
“Done,” I say quietly.
The guards look me over.
One of them whistles low.
“Damn. He doesn’t look bad. Too bad his ass would be sold, because if not… we would have some nice time with you, and especially that smart mouth of yours. You wouldn’t be able to function without being stuffed by our cocks.”
The other grins.
“Yeah. They’re gonna pay good money for this one. The guy who’s gonna get you is one lucky motherfucker I’ll tell you that. Besides, the crazy ones, like him, are always the best in bed. Speaking from experience.”
My stomach twists again.
The hallway doesn’t hurt my eyes as much this time.
They’ve adjusted.
Or maybe I just don’t care anymore.
And then—
I see him.
Standing a few feet away.
Watching.
The guy from the lobby.
Only now he’s not wearing a hotel uniform. He’s wearing a black shirt, and black pants.
But he still has the same knowing smile.
My breath catches slightly.
He looks me over slowly. From head to toe. Taking his time. Like he’s assessing a product.
Then he smiles wider.
“Well,” he says smoothly.
“You clean up nicely.”
I don’t respond. I can’t. My throat feels too tight.
His gaze lingers for a second longer before he nods.
“I have a feeling you’re going to be very popular tonight.”
A pause.
“They always are.”
My stomach drops.
“Your friends are already prepared,” he adds casually.
“Waiting for the stage.”
Archie. Theron.
I glance down the hallway instinctively.
But I can’t see them.
“Move,” the guard says, pushing me forward again.
And just like that—
I’m walking.
One step. Then another.
My body is moving on autopilot. My mind is racing too fast to keep up.
Toward the stage.
Toward whatever comes next.
Toward the moment my life stops being mine completely..
****
The stage is brighter than anything I’ve seen since I woke up.
I step onto it, heels clicking sharply against polished black tiles. Thank God it’s not my first time in heels—if it were, I’d have already collapsed face-first under the bright lights, pushed and shoved around by the guards like I’m nothing more than a ragdoll.
The host’s voice booms over the room, smooth and commanding, carrying over the hum of the crowd.
“And next,” he says, gesturing with a flourish toward the stage, “we have an exquisite piece. Fresh, eager, and ready for new ownership. Everyone, feast your eyes on…”
He pauses, letting the tension build.
“Harley Rutherford.”
The spotlight hits me fully, blinding. I raise my chin despite the spin in my head from the fear, from the drugs, from the sudden adrenaline surge coursing through my body.
He continues, his tone calm and precise, as if reciting a catalog entry:
“Age: twenty-one. Height: five seven. Weight: hundred and sixty-seven pounds. Build: lean, athletic, fully groomed. Personality: submissive, eager to please, and a power bottom. And yes…” He leans slightly forward, letting his words hang over the audience, “he measures five and a half inches.”
I swallow hard.
The crowd murmurs. Whistles. Shouts. I can hear their excitement, their anticipation.
The host lifts a hand, silencing them.
“Bidding will start at $250,000.”
Immediately, hands go up. A man near the front shouts, “$600,000!” Another, from the back, calls, “$1.3 million!”
My heart starts hammering. My knees shake slightly under the heels, though I force myself to stand tall, straight-backed.
The host begins to count down, “One… two…”
And then… a voice cuts through the room, calm and smooth.
“Ten million.”
The words hit me like a brick. My chest freezes.
I look toward the voice. And then my stomach drops.
Red skull mask. Black suit. Same eyes that haunted me at the party, fixed on me now with that same piercing, almost predatory gaze.
No other bids. Just him. Ten million fucking dollars.
The host smiles faintly, nodding.
“Sold. Harley Rutherford now officially belongs to the gentleman in the black suit and red mask.”
My legs feel like jelly. My brain screams in panic, but nothing comes out of my mouth.
The spotlight shifts off me, and the guards are there immediately, shoving me forward with gentle but firm pressure.
I glance back just in time to hear the host start announcing Archie’s auction.
My stomach clenches. I hope—pray—my friends will be okay.
I walk through the hallway, my heels clicking against the floor, my mind spinning in a storm of disbelief, panic, and some stupid, confusing flicker of excitement I can’t let myself acknowledge.
Two guards flank me. Their grip on my arms is firm, reminding me how little I control any of this.
The hallway seems endless. I can still hear the murmurs from the auction room fading behind me, but the sounds don’t comfort me.
We reach the vehicles parked just outside the building. Black, imposing, tinted windows. Chevrolet Tahoe. How typical.
One of the guards opens the rear door and shoves me inside. I land in the leather seat, heels clicking against the floor, my body stiff from fear and tension.
Before I can even take a breath, one of the guards leans over me with a small syringe.
I try to jerk away.
“Relax,” he hisses.
“This is just for safety.”
And then the needle pierces my neck.
A burning numbness spreads quickly, crawling from the point of injection across my skin, curling up the back of my neck, settling deep into my limbs.
My eyelids feel heavy.
My head tilts against the seat.
Everything is spinning, softening, like the world itself is melting around me.
I hear the guard’s faint laugh from somewhere above me, and then… nothing.
Sleep takes me completely.
And for the first time since that party, I’m utterly, terrifyingly powerless.