Chapter 47 Jade
Icry the entire drive. I can’t make it stop.
Randall keeps talking, but I can’t even begin to focus. It feels like I left a piece of myself back there with Zander, and with every mile we travel further from him, I worry if I’ve left it to die with him.
Fuck.
This is all my fault. I should never have let them help me. I knew that, but somehow, they talked me into it, and look at what they got for it.
When we pull up to an old warehouse on the outskirts of the city, I know we're there.
The auctions are never held at the same place twice in a row.
They rarely use the same building ever. It happens occasionally, but this building is completely new to me.
It’s not until the car comes to a stop that I realize my tears have dried up, though my breathing is still labored.
I’ve literally run out of tears, yet my body still feels the loss of leaving Zander bleeding on the ground.
All because of me.
Randall’s hand closes around my chin, jerking my head to the side to face him. “I know you think they care about you, Pet, but those boys don’t know what love is,” he tells me with a smile on his face and compassion in his eyes, and I think he really believes what he’s saying.
I don’t, but I don’t really care what he says.
“We’re going to go in there, handle this auction, and then we’ll be free of all this.”
I open my mouth to ask him what the hell that means, but he presses a finger over my lips and hushes me.
“Don’t worry about it right now. Just know that you’ll be taken care of, and after a few months, you’ll forget all about Zander and the rest of his little group of misfits who have been following you around like little lost puppies.
Let me remind you what it’s like to be loved by a man.
” He doesn’t even give me time to respond before he presses his lips to mine so harshly that it feels like a punishment. Knowing him, it probably is.
He pulls away without another word before he climbs out of the car.
Coming over to my side of the car, he pulls my door open.
When he extends his hand to help me out of the car, I take it.
I’m too tired to argue right now. Between the spiked drink, the adrenaline crash, and crying, I feel like I could sleep for days.
But I know if I tried to close my eyes now, all I would see were my waking horrors.
We walk through the parking lot and into one of the side doors.
If not for the cars in the lot, you would think this place was abandoned.
There's not a soul outside or even at the doors. It’s not until we go through the first building that we even start to hear distant sounds of life deeper in the building.
We come to a stop at a bright red door. It’s the only color I’ve seen in the whole place so far. Everything else is washed out, blacks and grays. I’m not sure what this place used to be used for, but it’s a lot of machinery and very dull to look at.
But the red door is a given.
It doesn’t matter where the auction is; the entrance is always a red door. I’m not sure if it’s because of the old red-light district or if they just picked something to stand out, but I’ve been to a lot of auctions, and it’s always red.
Randall taps on the door, and a slider pulls back, exposing the eyes of a man who is either a giant or on a step stool.
Randall flashes his wrist and the ink that sits on the skin there.
He’s never let me see the symbol before.
Usually, his shirt covers it, and on the off chance it doesn’t, it’s missing, thanks to heavy makeup.
I only catch a quick peek of it before he drops his arm again, and the door swings in for us to enter, but it looks like some kind of dragon in a circle.
It doesn’t mean anything to me, though it feels vaguely familiar. I file it away for later and hope that I have a later that will let me dig into it.
When we walk through the door, I see that the man in charge of it is, in fact, just a giant. His shoulders are so wide that I have a hard time believing he fits through the damn door. He’s probably wider than I am tall.
Fuck.
Looks like I’ll be waiting to try and give Randall the slip until after the auction.
I don’t usually base people's fighting skills on their size, but given the drugs still in my system, my overall exhaustion, and the luck I’ve had so far tonight.
I’d rather not test it on a man who could crush my skull with one hand.
We head down a hallway that’s so long it feels never-ending. The lights are dim, making it hard to see, but I know that’s intentional. It’s supposed to set a mood or something—something I’ve never understood.
When we make it to the end, the hallway opens up into a huge room that looks nothing like the rest of the warehouse. It looks like we just took a step back in time into a fancy ball like the ones in stories and movies, and not like we're on Chicago’s south side.
Randall reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out his mask, slipping it on one-handed so as not to drop his hold on me.
It’s a smart move on his part. Even though I’ve already decided to stay for now, he doesn’t know that.
There’s a stage set up in the very center of the room, and even before we start toward it, I know that’s our destination.
It always is. We pass people all over the place.
Both men and women alike, all dressed up and with masks firmly in place to keep their identities hidden.
Some sit at beautifully set tables, sipping drinks that probably cost more than I can imagine.
Some stand around talking and laughing as if this is just friends catching up.
I clamp my mouth closed so hard I’ll be surprised if I don’t crack a tooth.
Nothing I say to them will change how they see this.
I know, I’ve tried, and in the end, all I would be is more entertainment for their sick, twisted amusement.
Before we make it to the stage, Randall stops to talk to the security guard, who hands him some papers.
While their attention is elsewhere, I take a moment to look around.
I’ve felt eyes on me since I walked into this room, but they’re not all the same.
Usually, I can ignore the nagging feeling that comes from being watched, but the hairs on the back of my neck that are standing on end let me know that someone in this room isn’t just your everyday sleazebag.
I keep my feet planted so as not to draw Randall’s attention while I search the room with my eyes. Most of these people look like they wouldn’t know what to do if they spilled a drop of wine on them, but that’s not what I’m looking for.
No, I can feel the danger in the glare that rests on me.
There.
Alone at a table on the far side of the room is a man with a deep blue mask.
His eyes are already glued to me when I look his way, and a smile curves his lips before he brings a cigar to them.
Something about him isn’t the same as everyone else.
Yes, everyone here has money, but the way he dresses and holds himself suggests that his money is from old money.
Old money and new money aren’t the same.
Old money typically has decades of blood tied to it, and from the smile on his face, I would say he knows that.
Oddly enough, his gaze isn’t intimidating. If anything, he looks curious. As if I’m a puzzle, and he’s just decided he wants to figure it out. Too bad for him. I know the people in this room are all trash. It doesn’t matter where your money came from if you spend it on owning people.
Randall pulls my arm as he starts forward, and I jerk my eyes away and back to him as I follow him up the stairs to the mic.
He taps it to grab everyone's attention, and while the men and women around the room find their way back to their tables, a man walks up the steps toward us, and I take a deep breath through my panic.
In his hand is a collar.
It’s made of heavy metal that isn’t easily broken; I would know. I’m the reason the pretty collars aren’t allowed anymore. They were too easy to escape. He passes the collar to Randall, who drops my hand to grab it, and I dig my nails into the palm of my hand to keep myself from running off.
I wouldn’t make it far, and even if I did, we’re too far from any kind of city, town, or even woods to hide in. No, I need to bide my time so that when I do make a break for it, he’s unsuspecting. I need him to think I’m compliant.
I can do this. I tell myself over and over as he approaches me with the collar.
The moment the cold metal touches my skin, I almost lose it as memories rack my brain of all the times I’ve stood on a stage just like this, unable to do anything but watch.
The urge to run beats down on me so hard that I almost give in.
Looking up at Randall, I see a wicked grin on his face that lets me know he does, in fact, think he’s won.
It makes me want to show him just how wrong he is.
It’s the same way he looked when Jake went down in the parking lot and the same smile he wore when he had his goons drag Zander out for me.
I feel myself deflate as my mind jumps from one to the next, and I remind myself I’m not doing this for me. I’m doing this for everyone else. If I have to wear a damn collar to do that, then so be it.
The snap of the collar fixing around my neck startles me, but I don’t let it show. I refuse to give him the satisfaction. He brushes a stray hair behind my ear before he leans in.
“There. Isn’t that better, Pet? Now you're right back where you belong,” he whispers to me before he moves back to the mic with the metal link chain secure in his hands.
How I’d love to strangle him with it, right here in front of all of these assholes.