Chapter 47 Jade #2
But I need to shut the shit down, and unfortunately, I don’t think killing Randall will accomplish that. That’s not to say I won’t kill him someday, because I most certainly will. But for now, I need to know who’s in charge, so I’ll play the game, and in the end, I’ll win.
Fourteen girls and three boys.
That’s how many people I’ve failed tonight. I burn each of their faces into my memory, hoping that someday I can help them.
Randall started the night by letting everyone know there were twenty ‘uncontracted’ up for bid tonight, which means there are only three left.
Uncontracted, what a fucked up thing to call someone.
The auctions were started so that the monsters in the skin trade could sell people more easily, the ones who weren’t making them enough money.
I’ve been contracted more times than I can count, which means I’ve never been up for auction, but I can’t imagine how it must feel.
I’d seen enough auctions to make me sick, after all.
I watch as a boy who can’t be more than eleven is brought to the stage.
The collar on his neck is a close match to my own, but instead of silver metal, it’s black.
The girls get silver, and the boys get black.
That way, you know what you’re bidding on, no matter how malnourished or underdeveloped they might be.
It makes my stomach churn just thinking about it.
The poor boy looks up, and when his eyes meet mine, I try to offer him comfort.
But it's almost impossible, not only because I can’t go to him, but because what can he possibly think I would do for him?
He doesn’t know me, and I’m sure this is all one huge nightmare to him.
His gaze turns down to the floor after a moment, and I can see the tear tracks down his dirty face as he climbs the stairs.
I fucking hate this.
I pull my gaze away, unable to continue looking at him without doing something. It’s always the same heartbreaking feeling. It never gets easier.
Without meaning to, my eyes land on the deep blue-masked man again. I’d been distracted by what was happening up here and hadn’t felt his eyes on me, but now that I’m paying attention, I wonder if he’d ever looked away to begin with.
When he notices my eyes on him, he gives me a nod before lifting his glass of what I’m sure is expensive alcohol.
I have no idea what that means.
The boy is bought quickly, and I turn my attention back to him as he kicks and screams while he’s hauled away into the back.
Two more.
The last two go quicker, or maybe I’m just not paying as much attention as I let my eyes scan the room and hope for some kind of clue to take this shit down. Neither of the girls fights, both standing tall, even though I can tell they’ve been crying.
It’s not until the auction is over and the last girl is dragged away that Blue-Mask finally stands. I’d been keeping tabs on him since his weird shot to me, and I noticed he didn’t bid once, didn’t even seem interested. I bet we're about to find out why.
“Randall.” His voice booms, carrying around the room with little effort.
I’m not sure who this guy is, but I know for sure he’s important.
The sound of his voice stopped every conversation in the room while all eyes fell on him.
That kind of power is earned, not given freely, and as I watch Randall from the corner of my eye, I know he’s uncomfortable with being his focus.
Blue-Mask has power that Randall could only dream of, and Randall doesn’t like to feel less than others. He also isn’t stupid, so as much as he hates to feel less than others, he still turns his attention toward Blue-mask. Smiling, he inclines his head as if to say, ‘go on.’
“How much for the beauty you share the stage with?”
He asks so casually that it takes me a moment to realize he’s referring to me.
What the fuck?
In all the years I've been taken to the auctions, I’d never been requested before. It was as if there was an unspoken rule that you didn’t make requests for those who wore leashes. Judging by the look on Blue-Mask’s face, though, I’m pretty sure he’s aware of that. He just doesn’t give a shit.
Randall’s posture goes rigid, his lips tightening, making his smile look forced, but he doesn’t let it drop.
“Apologies, but she’s not for sale,” he says, pulling on the chain in his hand hard enough that I stumble toward him. Thankfully, my reflexes are good enough that I catch myself before I go down, but that doesn’t stop me from throwing him a heated glare for it.
Not that he even notices, which is probably a good thing for my whole compliance act.
Randall is too busy watching Blue-Mask as he approaches the stage.
At first, I don’t understand what the big deal is and what has Randall so clearly on edge.
But when he starts up the stairs, and nobody makes a move to even attempt to stop him, I realize Randall might have a problem.
Which also means I might, because who the fuck even is this guy!?
He walks past Randall to stop directly in front of me, and I’m struck fucking stupid.
Hooking his finger under my chin, he lifts my gaze to meet his.
This man is stunning, not a hair out of place. His suit is tailored specifically for him and fits him like a second skin, but it’s his eyes that have me trapped.
They are the most beautiful shade of brown I’ve ever seen. The blue of his mask only makes them pop more, and the longer I look at him, the more I feel like he’s looking through me than at me.
“Pity.” His voice is deep and quiet, as if it’s meant just for me. I hear a slight accent even though his words have all been spoken in perfect English. I have no idea what the accent is, but it somehow suits him.
The hairs on the back of my neck are standing at full attention, and my gut is begging me to run. This guy is a fucking predator if I’ve ever met one, but for some reason, I don’t think I’m his prey.
Maybe my time with the guys has made me too trusting, but I can’t shake the feeling that he doesn’t mean to harm me.
Randall clears his throat, and when I attempt to turn my attention to him, his grip on my chin stops me.
“Luciano, piccolo guerriero. Remember it?” he asks, and even though I have no idea what he’s talking about, I commit the words to memory before I give him a tiny jerking nod to let him know I got it.
He smiles down at me, and it changes the whole demeanor of his face, the perfect predator.
Both beautiful and deadly.
I know. I’ve trained myself to be the same thing. He lets his hand drop to his side before he stands straight once again and leaves the stage without so much as another glance at Randall. Instead of going back to his table, he moves to the door, and every head in the room swivels to watch him go.
The moment the door closes behind him, Randall's mask drops, and he turns an unnatural shade of red, yanking me all the way to him.
“What the fuck did he say?” He spits the words in my face, and I have to resist the urge to wipe my cheek where actual spit landed.
“I don’t know. He was speaking in another language,” I tell him in hopes that he’ll let it go. It’s true, it was another language, and while I didn’t understand it, I did what he said and memorized it. But something in me says he doesn’t need to know what was said.
Randall lets out a huff of frustration but doesn’t push for more before he starts toward the stairs, dragging me behind him as I try to keep up.
“Let’s go. We’re done with this fucking city.”
What the hell just happened?